better if we know you have a weapon.” It was a lie, both men knew, but it was a good-sounding lie.
Lucius held the weapon in his hand for a moment, measuring its weight. Before the accident on Timor he could’ve defeated anyone, human or savage, with nothing more than his own two hands. Now he needed weapons just to make sure he survives the battle while his soldiers do the fighting. It was tearing his heart. All he could do was swallow his pride, nod, and stash the weapon in the small container on his back.
“This is your pod, Your Highness,” Pontius said as he led Lucius toward a door on the bulkhead. Once they reached it, Pontius helped him get inside. The door let a gentle sigh as it sealed behind Lucius.
Through one of the outer cameras, Lucius watched his men enter the children and prepare for departure.
On your command, Your Highness – sent Pontius.
Captain – sent Lucius – Position the ship so we land inside the cargo hold.
Acknowledged – sent Arrius.
Lucius switched to another camera, and on the small screen inside his pod the Lightning Bolt appeared. They were getting closer and the numbers under the screen proved that: twenty klicks, nineteen, eighteen… Gods, I am insane. I have no legs, no hand... My entire body can barely hold together. Even the launch will be dangerous for me. But he needed action. He needed to believe that the emperor was immortal. Unstoppable. He needed to inspire his people as well, to show them the righteousness of their cause.
Two klicks.
We are in position, Your Highness – sent Arrius – Deploying Caleus’s children on your command.
Lucius gritted his teeth. His hand grabbed a vertical metal bar attached to the pod’s frame while his claw surrounded it pathetically. Deploy – he sent. Ten space rocks left the hangar bay one after another in a collision course with Lightning Bolt. Lucius’s left hand gripped the handle so hard that he thought it will fuse with the metal. Everything shook. His teeth clattered. The screen flickered wildly and his wheels bounced. He had the feeling as if the pod would disintegrate. But actually it was only his body that shook, trying to withstand the shock of space travel in a human-sized tube.
His screen showed speed and seconds before impact. This time the numbers dropped down faster. The black hull was fist-sized when they started their launch, now it filled the screen with blackness and rust, and Lucius was speeding toward it head first.
Gods, give me strength…
…Three, two, one – detonation. Metal squealed and cried and trembled. Lucius’s claw detached and fell above his head. His knee hurt, his face smashed the screen, causing his brain to bounce inside his skull. He gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut in an effort to drive away the pain. And then the door above his head opened. His body dropped in a free fall. His eyes opened in panic, hand groped the air. Only speeding black-gray shapes flew beside him.
If only he had his body, he would’ve rotated and landed on his feet and he would’ve eliminated any threat before the rest of his soldiers came down.
But not this time.
His head smacked the floor so hard that his vision blackened. The rest of his arm detached, leaving only a tiny piece of metal below the shoulder. He then felt every worthless piece of his body send his brain pain impulses, one after another – and that meant all of it. Lucius wished Doctor Modius had removed all pain receptors from this antiquated garbage. But it didn’t matter now.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?” Lucius heard someone say. He turned on his back, squinted. It was Pontius. Lucius nodded, cursing his body, and tried to stand up with a little help from his soldier. All that slamming and falling made him lose his balance on those freaking wheels, but Pontius was there to assist his emperor. He held Lucius under his arm until the world stopped spinning. Lucius then looked around through grimace of pain. Quickly he realized the cargo bay was full of shiny crates with military equipment and prosthetics. The row he was looking at was ten meters tall, fully stacked. It made his lips turn into a wan smile. Finally.
“Secure the bridge,” said Lucius, “and bring me that wretched captain. Unharmed.” He had plans for him for what he made him endure.
Pontius bowed. “As you command.” He took two of his soldiers and disappeared through the door on the far left. Four soldiers secured the cargo hold, while Lucius’s two guards remained beside him.
The emperor approached the closest crate – a two-meter-tall piece of happiness – and he read the inscription: VULCANUS ARMA OPTIMUM. The finest Imperial weapons, forged in the foundries on Stratoins at the edge of the solar system.
I will be raiding Stratonis next, he decided. His hand touched the polished surface, his fingers trailed the inscription. He was wondering what was inside – was it a pair of beam rifles? A Gatling gun? Maybe beam lances? If he ever used a weapon, then beam lances would be his weapon of choice, Lucius had said once. But back then he didn’t need any weapons, his body was lethal enough.
His fingers moved over the keypad, gently touched a button, then another, and then another; and a green light came on with the word: OPEN. The crate’s door swung outward and before Lucius’s eyes could process what they saw, it was too late. He only felt something strike him in the temple and he was on the floor, his vision only a blur. Red lights flashed at the corner of his eyes, but he couldn’t realize what sort of lights they were. His ears picked up the sound of beam weapons discharging, though not as clear as it should be. It sounded more like he was hearing them in slow motion.
He blinked, and he rolled on his back hoping his eye would clear up. But there was only a bright light from the overhead. And it turned brighter until it was all he could see.
Lucius was now a little boy again, frail and vulnerable. He was climbing down a wooden stairway in his house. He knew it was his house, but he didn’t know how he knew that. He was going down on his toes, trying not to be heard for some reason. The stairs didn’t comply with him, they creaked now and then. His hand passed over the wall for balance, and he accidentally tilted a painting that almost fell. His breath caught in his mouth – if it fell they would hear him. Lucius stopped and groped for the painting to keep it from falling even though he realized it wasn’t going to fall after all. He stared at it while he got his breath back – something he found difficult to do lately. The painting was a portrait of a man with thick black mustache and a long narrow nose. His hair was slicked to the side, throwing a slight shadow over his brown eyes. Black ancient clothing covered his chest and shoulders. Lucius knew that man, he was certain, but he couldn’t give the man a name. Then he heard voices – they were arguing again. Lucius kept climbing down until there were no more stairs left.
He tiptoed through a dark hallway, following the voices. They were becoming clearer to a point he could understand them well. Lucius stopped at the door and he pushed it slightly so he could peer inside. And there they were: the man from the portrait, wearing white clothing that went all the way to his knees, and a woman that always melted Lucius’s heart whenever he would see her. She wore the same white clothing as the man, but her face was what struck him the most – Lucius looked just like her. He had the same full lips, her tiny nose, even the eyes black as the night … he called her Mom.
“We have to do something, Alana,” said the man with the mustache. “His time is running out.”
“We don’t know that,” she said calmly, but Lucius knew she was worried, he knew that face, the frown and the curled lips – it always tore his heart.
“Denial isn’t going to cure him, our project will.”
Alana crossed her arms. “It was an accident, not his illness.”
The man exhaled. He made few nervous steps inside the room, back and forth. It was a big room. There was a fireplace in the background that gave a dim light and filled the room with a familiar cracking sound that Lucas always liked; it made him sleepy when his lungs and heart were failing. The man stopped and scratched his chin, his gigantic shadow danced on the floor. “You know he didn’t fall
by accident,” he said.
“It was a swing, Jon, kids fall from swings all the time.”
“What about BioTech? We can take him there. Maybe they could help him, remove the bad genes…”
Alana turned her back on him. Something glistened on her face. Tears. “They can’t help him, I … I already called.” Jon came closer to her, his hands cupped her shoulders. Alana turned and he wrapped his arms around her.
He whispered, “I will cure him. I promise. I promise.”
Lucius felt tears going down his eyes. He brushed them away with the back of his hand. Suddenly he started feeling strange. It was his heart, or his lungs, he couldn’t tell. His feet gave up, he was losing it. He collapsed and hit his head badly. He could taste blood in his mouth, it smells like old metal, Lucius reckoned. Then he heard rushing footsteps.
“Lucas!” Jon cried. “Lucas!” Lucius felt Jon’s hands on his shoulders. They shook him, almost violently. It hurts, he wanted to say, stop it, but he couldn’t. Something was wrong with him. “Call the medics!” Jon shook him again. “Stay with me, Lucas! Stay with me!” Lucius blinked, the shape of his father blurred beyond any recognition. “Lucas!” he shouted, but he sounded far away. “Lucas…!”
“…Lucius!” The shaking again. He hated it. “Lucius, wake up!”
Lucius gasped, realizing he was dreaming not a moment ago.
What was happening to him? He never endured such weakness. Even the body he had now was way better than the one in his dream.
“Ah, he’s finally awake,” Lucius heard someone say.
He snapped his eyes open, the blur slowly clearing away. It was a head in front of him, watching him. Doctor Modius? he wanted to say. But this man’s face sharpened up and it was clearly not Modius. This man was as ugly as Pluto’s guard dog, his face one of pure cybernetics. One eye was larger than the other and redder, like a splotch of Bion liquid. His nose was completely gone, his teeth were a mess – only few of them remained. But he had a blue cape on his back – a captain. “Welcome back, princess,” he said. “You were screaming like a little girl.”
“Where am I?” Lucius managed to ask. He then looked down at his arm. It was tied to the seat he was sitting on.
The captain gave a hideous smile. “You can always guess.”
Lucius craned his neck and looked around to assess his situation. A command dashboard lay behind him, four other seats sprouted in front of him, and three bodies lay on the floor behind the seats. Lucius’s eyes zoomed on the closest soldier to read his name tag. Pontius. He counted six men behind his gruesome captor, all in different positions around the bridge.
The captain turned and asked someone behind, “What do we do with him?”
The other man sat in the command seat. His body was built from Imperial steel coated with silver. He was tall and strong, a commander of noble birth there was no doubt about it. He turned his head to the side and said something in the language from Lucius’s dream, but now Lucius couldn’t understand a word. He tried to translate but the words just ran away. Then another voice came from the shadows of the bridge. Lucius looked above the man. The lights were either intentionally turned off or they were damaged. Then the commander translated the words to the ugly captain. “He must not be harmed,” he said.
“Pity,” said the ugly. “I was planning to take his head as trophy – the almighty Lucius Cornelius Venator, now sitting pathetically before me.” The man gave Lucius his fist. Lucius’s head hit the back of the seat and bounced back. His head hurt as bad as the sound it gave – a heavy clonk.
How did they know who I am? he wondered despite the pain. He rolled his head back and
Silent Rising Page 15
