Iástron

by James C. Dunn

  Over and above the sound of barrage-vessels descending towards them, another trembling drone set his heart racing. Initially he thought the Crilshan attack had begun, and he held his breath, but as hundreds of rockets launched from the city in which he now stood, Antal Justus realised time was shorter than he’d anticipated.

  He burst up the hill and took hold of the young girl. He dragged her back inside the grand house as she protested at being denied a view of the astonishing spectacle taking place outside. But upon entering the trembling entrance hall, he couldn’t miss the metal bar which hurtled into his field of vision—

  Smash!

  * * *

  Adra Dimal sat at the helm of the Crimson Flux and looked down at the burning city below. She then turned her attention to the missiles being launched from Manera at the fearsome barrages above.

  Kaara Mira sat beside, her young face alive with fear and apprehension. ‘We have approaching darts, Dimal!’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, I can see that,’ Dimal shot back. ‘Releasing counter darts—now!’ She flicked her long, coiled hair away and swiftly turned the Flux upward facing, using the resulting weight shift to force the ship down with speed.

  ‘One, two, three . . . missed!’ she said. ‘One, two, three . . . missed again. Ha!’

  ‘He’ll be okay won’t he?’ Kaara asked.

  ‘Who? Justus?’

  Kaara nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘One, two, thr—’ An ear-splitting roar ensued and they were thrown about in their seats. ‘Shit!’ Dimal said. ‘That was close.’

  ‘Adra?’

  ‘Oh . . . err yeah—yeah he’ll be fine.’

  She dodged another several missiles and, manoeuvring around the attack not meant for them, Adra Dimal shirked the bold Maneran counter-strike.

  ‘Get a move on, Antal!’ Kaara cried. ‘We’ve got no time!’

  * * *

  Justus swooned. Dazed and clutching the black granite mantelpiece, he gripped his temples. ‘Once again,’ he said, ‘thank you for that, Lord Veryan!’

  ‘What is it you want?’ asked a sturdily-built man, still pointing the gold tip of his staff in the Captain’s direction. His red-haired wife and daughter cowered behind him.

  Justus stood tall and stepped forward. ‘My name is Captain Antal Justus of the Crimson Flux! I’m here to save you.’

  The lord lowered the staff. ‘You heard our distress signal?’

  ‘I did. Now we—’

  Lord Veryan dropped the metal staff. ‘You came! Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ And he rushed over to grasp Justus in an unyielding clinch. ‘Akhhh, we didn’t think you’d come!’

  Justus pushed him away. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘there isn’t time. We have a matter of minutes to get to the highest point in the house so my ship can pick us up. The battle outside has started! Run! NOW!’

  At once they began to ascend the shaking stairs, Veryan’s wife and daughter in front as Lord Veryan and Justus followed behind. ‘You’re the captain of a ship?’ he said. ‘You don’t look old enough! You’re just a boy!’

  In actual fact Justus was twenty-six. But now wasn’t the time to argue the point. ‘Just keep your mouth shut and do as I say, all right?!’ he shouted, urging them to run faster.

  ‘Did he just tell me—’

  ‘Oh daddy, do as he says and be quiet!’ his daughter told him, and she glanced back. Justus smirked and she returned a smile, before turning to run up a hefty flight of stairs.

  ‘We’re on our way, Kaara!’ he called to his ship.

  * * *

  ‘Understood, Cap’n!’ Kaara responded whilst being thrown about the cockpit as yet another volley of rockets was launched from the planet below. ‘Watch out!’

  ‘I’m doing my best, darling,’ Dimal said, with gritted teeth and a feigned smile. They avoided another half dozen missiles. ‘Oops.’

  Kaara spun. ‘Oops? Why oops?’

  ‘Crilshans are returning fire!’ Dimal said, turning to face her navigator with an expression of pure dread. ‘We’re out of time . . .’

  * * *

  ‘This way!’ cried young Aíron Veryan, now leading her parents and Justus towards the house’s tallest tower. ‘Quickly!’

  They ascended a great staircase as a horrifying crack split the steps in two. Justus pulled Aíron aside as they were cut off from her parents. They stood petrified on one landing, while the captain and young girl wavered on the other.

  ‘Go!’ Veryan told his daughter. ‘Go! Get my child away from here!’

  ‘No, daddy!’

  ‘Is there another way?’ Justus called.

  ‘Aye! It’s longer but we can make it. Go!’

  —Cap’n! Kaara’s voice came through his glove-comm. Crilshans are on the offensive. You have less than two minutes.

  ‘Then come for us immediately! We’re on our way!’

  At once they were thrown from their feet as the floor shook. The two scrambled up and Justus dragged Aíron back and along cracking corridors, the stone beneath them shaking uncontrollably, causing furniture, displays, and portraits to fall from their places and crash into pieces upon the fracturing floor. Justus carried Aíron up a collapsing stairway, forced to dodge the metal and stone falling from the walls and ceiling.

  ‘I can’t—I can’t!’ Aíron cried. ‘Not without them!’

  ‘Nonsense!’ He dragged her to the top of the steps. ‘Come on! We’re nearly there. We won’t leave them!’

  He looked out of the window and gazed across the open courtyard to the tower on the other side. Above the far end of the court hovered an old and battered, darkening red shuttle-ship—the Crimson Flux. Its ultimatt engines sent powerful currents of air towards them.

  Aíron pulled herself up from the floor and bounded across the terrace. Justus charged after her. The tall trees in the yard shook chaotically. One toppled over. Justus threw himself on top of Aíron, knocking them both out of its path.

  ‘Antal!’ called a voice, and he looked up to see Kaara running along the yard towards him. He picked himself and Aíron up and the three scurried underneath the craft.

  ‘The Veryans here yet?’

  ‘No, Captain. Not yet. Come on.’

  But as Kaara reached up for the haulage cable and harness hanging from the Flux, a sound was heard that tore through Justus’ heart. Complete and utter silence.

  A darkening wraith passed over them; the dense mass of shadow moved into position.

  ‘No!’ he said. ‘We should have had more time!’

  ‘Well we don’t,’ Kaara said, and she began strapping the cable around Aíron, who whimpered and cried aloud.

  Justus watched as bright beams of white light fell from the colossal Crilshan barrages, landing with deafening roars among the cities on all sides. He gazed in horror as the horizon faded blood red, and inhabited cities subsided, the resulting clouds of smoke rising far above in lofty miasmas. He could feel the heat from the blasts and, too late, it dawned on him: nobody on the moon would survive.

  Without warning, he felt arms reach around his waist and a clip fastened about his middle as Kaara strapped him into the harness with Aíron.

  ‘Whoa, wait!’ he yelled. ‘You go first!’

  Kaara said nothing, and smiled weakly as he and Aíron were raised from the ground. The shaking beneath them grew and the towers nearby fell in on themselves. Cracks flew up and along the courtyard, splitting the Noble House in two. Kaara collapsed to the ground.

  ‘Nooo!’ he screamed. ‘GET UP!’

  She managed to get to her feet as the building fell under the force of white hot blasts. The ground Kaara was stood on disintegrated beneath her. But Justus had already unclipped the strap around his middle and, having attached the cable around his belt to the harness, fallen several metres. He reached for her hand, managed to find a loose grip on her sleeve. Gritting his teeth he held on to her with one hand, clinging to the cable with his other.

  Up above, Aíron Veryan screame
d, dangling without support as surges of boiling hot air hit them from the nearby impacts. They threw her into the craft’s underside.

  Justus continued to scream, ‘Hold on! Hold on!’

  The Crimson Flux retreated from the building and took to the air as the harness and connected cable were winched up into the open rear port of the ship.

  ‘Nearly there!’ he continued to call, straining to cling onto her with tears falling down his face.

  But it was no use. And Justus knew it. They were almost inside when another heat pulse drove into the rear side of the ship. They lurched askew. All were sent soaring into the hull of the Flux. He managed to hold on to the harness but wasn’t strong enough to maintain the clutch he had on Kaara.

  He couldn’t bring himself to utter a single word as she fell from his grasp, her terrified face frozen as she plummeted down, consumed by pure white light.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE QUASAR HAD been drifting through a deep, blue ocean for three days. The haunting whines, echoing clicks, and low, sorrowful groans of sea creatures—whales to those who knew their marine biology—resonated in and around the viewing centre where Ruben and Mendoza had for most of the morning been stood.

  Needless to say, the ship was not actually meandering among the ocean depths, but the portal scene, generated with the single purpose of soothing the crew of the Quasar, performed its function well. The enormous pressure space travel had on the minds and bodies of human beings meant that various methods of serenity coaching were practised. For the last three days it had been the Earth’s Atlantic Ocean. Thankfully, it was one of many alternatives.

  ‘If I hear another furkin’ whale I’m going to break something,’ Captain Ernesta Mendoza said to Ruben as they watched the six-strong pod of Blue Whales, enveloped by a substantial school of fish, floating nearby.

  ‘I think the idea is you’re calmer when it’s on,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Not more agitated.’

  She drummed her fingers along the counter to her right. ‘Let’s just say I prefer the more unconventional methods of easing the tension. Give me a good coilbolt duel any day.’

  ‘You know, you can turn it off if you like,’ he said. ‘Even while I’m here it’s still your ship. You’re still its captain.’

  Mendoza sighed. ‘Levan,’ she said to the woman sat nearby.

  ‘Yes, Captain?’

  ‘Kill the whales.’

  ‘Yes, Captain.’

  ‘Give us some rain,’ she said. ‘I always liked rain.’ Several seconds later the placid clatter of pattering rain married the image of a rainstorm on the projection wall. She turned back to the General. ‘So, you were saying?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said so that only she could hear him. ‘The prime minister . . .’

  ‘You think he doesn’t trust you.’

  ‘I got the impression there was something he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the courage to say it. I should have listened better. Maybe he was attempting to give me subtle hints. Maybe we were being listened to. Maybe—’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘your suspicious mind is over active in its old age.’

  ‘Careful,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘The Quasar is yours, but the crew will lock you down below if I tell them to.’

  Mendoza leaned forward with a smirk, and whispered, ‘Just try it, mister.’

  * * *

  The leap, as it was known, was nearing its end. It had taken little less than forty-eight hours to pass between Accentaurib (the Fourth System) and the star Accentauria (the Third), as the light-years in between were traversed at an unimaginable and previously-deemed impossible velocity.

  From there the Quasar had passed into the Second System of Proxima Centauri—home to the Dishan beneath molten Crilshar. Once the engine had been pushed to full capacity and the ultimate leap generated, the journey back to the System of Sol (the First System) had taken three days more.

  And now, as they perceived the Veiled Coalsack and broke through the Kuiper and Oort boundaries of Sol, instantaneous bursts like lightning—sapphire and striking sunlight—saw it materialise into the silent depths of Saturn space.

  The orange haze of Titan received the enormous body of the Quasar. In a greatly protected and well-armed orbiting station set around Saturn’s largest moon, the ship was set in an engineless orbit alongside the largest vessels in the Titanese fleet; and in a shuttle the General, the Captain, and their Guard descended once again to the home world. All was silent, peaceful, and calm as Ruben gazed at the might and beauty of their protector, Saturn, her rings of gas and rock circling in perpetual splendour.

  News of the attack on Rotavar and its moon had reached them as they arrived home. The summary was more than a little disturbing. Such a move by the Dishan family was too self-assured, too aggressive. Ruben needed to speak to his guide without delay; she would be able to shed some light on the situation.

  Passing through the dense clouds of the moon, the shuttle soon came within sight of a large dome, clear and shining, one-hundred buildings inside reaching three-hundred storeys high. There appeared a great valley before them, running on all sides and surrounding the structures in a protective crater. Beyond rose a grouping of glorious mountains which left part of the valley in shadow, as though a glimmering memory of the warmth of natural light. Upon the farther side of the great dome a larger elliptical structure overshadowed it; and through the blood-red haze an enormous dome stood proud at the centre out of which a tall spire rose. Its height could not be guessed by mere sight alone, and countless lights gleamed from within. It was morning.

  ‘The Twelve Cities of Titan,’ he said, squeezing tight the captain’s chair behind which he stood. ‘Welcome home, everyone.’

  The shuttle descended into the first of the Twelve Cities: that which acted as the harbour dome and the great entrance of Titan. And leading up the road their ground vehicle quickly flew; Ruben took deep breaths and felt the cool, wonderful peace of the cities. The red mists glimpsed high up through the crystal-like domes felt more like a gentle blanket protecting the populace from sight of their enemies, rather than a veiled cage. They carried on northward, through to the central dome, the buildings becoming grander and rising higher than before. Coming at last to the tallest tower of Titan, out of which the spire ascended into interminable red mists, and to a vast, light marbled courtyard, he found a delegation had gathered to meet them.

  ‘Furka,’ Mendoza swore. ‘That’s got to be the entire council out there.’

  Ruben nodded. Some four dozen finely dressed men and women, clad in gowns of white, purple, and gold, waited on the marble forecourt, aside a rounded streaming fountain. He stepped out of the vehicle and was at once surrounded by the bustling group of followers and admirers, all keen to hear news of his diplomatic campaigns, no doubt. Mendoza and four members of the Guard climbed out behind, though nobody rushed to them.

  Cries and cheers rang out. It was only as Ruben breathed in deeply and felt the light spray of the nearby fountain that he realised how exhausted he really was. At sixty years old, by Titanese law, he should have retired to a more static position within the military, not be off travelling the Systems. Then again, he knew that was most probably the reason he was able to keep going; stopping would only age him further.

  The General stepped forward and received a slight nod from their leader, Lady Maxim Pinzón, and then what appeared surprisingly to be a fraction of a smile; the hood of her long, purple cloak covered her head and she held her hands clasped in front of her womb.

  ‘Our general, welcome home!’ called one of the council-women. ‘Come give us word of the outer worlds. News has seldom arrived in as many days as you’ve been gone.’

  He smiled weakly. ‘I’ll quite happily tell you all what you want—’

  ‘How go the lines of defence?’ asked one.

  ‘All in good time,’ he said.

  ‘What does the Enusti Emperor have to say?’

  ‘Time, lord, time.’ He looked
to Lady Pinzón, who smirked derisively.

  ‘And the New Dishan Alliance?’

  ‘I have so much to tell you,’ he said, raising his palms, ‘concerning our colonial friends. I promise to do so, but first I must rest.’

  Some of the assembly protested, others understood, and more appeared purely insulted. But he swore they would receive the news they wanted. ‘A meeting will be called,’ he said, ‘and I will speak to all our people very soon. A time of unity is upon us; a harmony that I hope will begin here, with our mother Titan.’

  Ruben made his way through the crowd towards the fountain. There his nieces awaited him. Gílana, age sixteen, was the younger of the two. She hastened forwards and embraced him tightly, while Anna waited, though she hugged him closer. She did not need to tell him how much she had missed him; her racing heart beat up against him as he held her, and he knew. He was home.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LADY MAXIM PINZÓN held her breath until she was blue in the face. ‘Give it to me in one,’ she said as General Berenguer closed the door behind him. She breathed out lengthily and repeated her command, inserting an emphasised ‘General’ at the end. She knew she was blunt, to the point. She had to be. There was not the time for lukewarm deliberating when the Alignment was in a state of chaos. Spinning on the spot, Maxim positioned herself on her favourite point and looked out of her office’s full length window.

  Titan’s central council building was known as the Command Dome, due to its own likeness to a dome. High up within the Command Dome is where the two veterans now stood, overlooking the vast city below. Maxim’s office was spacious and finely furnished a dark burgundy; and though she could have sworn she had told her aide to have the room cleaned thoroughly, she could still smell the conspicuous scent of tobacco.

  ‘It’s not good,’ Ruben replied.

  The Lady of Titan lifted her purple head-covering and walked to the window. Her rosy curls were pulled around her head to form a tight ball at the back, which stretched the skin of her face painfully taut. Tall and trim, she emerged a particle higher than the weary general. ‘Tell me.’

  He ambled over to the Lady’s side, staring out of the enormous window which made up the entire wall. ‘I assume you’ve been briefed on the invasion of Rotavar and the utter destruction of Manera.’