Iástron

by James C. Dunn

  He looked up at her keenly.

  ‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Why?’

  She strode to the other end of the room. ‘Because I don’t know. If there’s anyone that does, it’s Commander Lesper and Professor Kramer.’

  ‘Kramer?’

  ‘He’s our head scientist here.’

  ‘Doesn’t anyone have an idea?’ he asked, following her across to a large machine and placing his shirt back on.

  Ketrass initiated the contraption and it pulsated and shook into power. ‘Well there’s plenty of conjecture,’ she said. ‘There must be something down there, or else they wouldn’t have kept us out here so long.’

  Justus frowned. She wished she hadn’t used the word kept. He’d find that out for himself soon enough. ‘What’s stopping you finding out what’s down there?’ he asked.

  Ketrass heaved a long sigh and a smirk spread slowly across her austere features. Could it be there was actually more to him than thrill seeking and money grabbing?

  She doubted it.

  ‘What’s stopping us?’ she repeated, pouting thoughtfully. ‘I’ll show you. But first, stick your hand in there.’ She motioned to the machine humming hungrily before them. A small hole, large enough for him to put a hand through, invited those curious, or perhaps foolish enough to lean a limb inside. He seemed to consider it carefully, for all of seven seconds.

  ‘Left arm, wrist upright,’ she said as he leaned in. A moment later he was staring at her in utter horror. ‘Oh, I should have mentioned. It might hurt a little.’

  ‘Better late than never,’ he said, once again through gritted teeth. As soon as the two clamps were released Justus yanked his arm from the device and surveyed the damage. ‘A tattoo?’ he asked her. ‘And there was me thinking you were slowly slicing off my hand—my favourite hand, may I add?!’

  ‘Of course it is,’ she said. ‘Poor baby.’

  ‘Wasn’t there something you were going to show me?’

  ‘If you’re not in too much pain.’

  The Captain gestured with his tattooed wrist, upon which was now emblazoned the dark Circle within a Triangle. ‘Lead on.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  JUSTUS BREATHED OUT. His lungful of air floating in the space before him. It was mighty cold, and his uniform offered much less warmth than he would have liked. Once again he followed Ketrass down long, dark corridors. She strode ahead quickly while he occupied himself with his PCD-comm as they descended various sets of ladders. Lower and lower. And then Ketrass simply stopped. Another elevator opened up before them, and again they descended into the dark depths of the asteroid.

  Moments later they were at the bottom, and ahead, along a dark corridor, stood a heavy metal hatch with a hard iron frame.

  ‘This is the entrance,’ she told him.

  ‘The entrance to what?’

  She opened a long cupboard to their left and picked out a dark yellow bodysuit. Handing him one, she took her own from a row of ten and climbed quickly inside. Justus stepped into his and placed one of the nearby helmets over his head. Top-heavy and incredibly uncomfortable, it immediately sent his balance into turmoil. ‘Top of the range, ‘ey?’ he said.

  Ketrass looked at him—or at least he thought she did. He could just about see out of his helmet’s screen, and the inside wasn’t lit, so he definitely couldn’t see into hers. A piercing whine entered his helmet, followed by his guide’s calming voice.

  ‘You hear me?’

  ‘Ouch, yeah,’ he said. ‘Not so loud, gobby!’

  A jarring thud connected with his helmet as Ketrass’ fist cracked the side. He smiled, then proceeded to follow her through the large hatch and into a small room; from there the hatch behind them closed and she opened the second hatch on the other side.

  As she did, she paused without turning, and said, ‘I hate this bit.’

  Justus would have asked why, but when she opened the last hatch and they stepped through the doorway it became well and truly clear. As though the temperature inside his suit had just plummeted, he suddenly felt terrible. Sick to his stomach, he underwent a flashing recollection of how he had felt that day on Rotavar . . . the day of the invasion . . . the day he’d lost Kaara. He felt dizzy, sad, angry, and numb, as though he could concentrate on nothing else.

  ‘Get out your torch,’ she said, reaching for hers. ‘The one in your side pouch.’ If Ketrass had felt the same, she certainly didn’t show it. They stumbled down a black-rock cave, torches in hand, until they reached a ladder. They descended, emerging through a larger section of the cave. There she stopped, breathed in, and patted the black-rock wall. ‘Touch it,’ she said.

  ‘Err, I’ll pass.’

  ‘No, really.’

  ‘I get that.’

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘I’m good!’

  ‘Fine,’ she mumbled. ‘These tunnels are almost palaeolithic in purport. I’ve been down here many times, and on each visit part of me half expects to stumble upon cave drawings of some sort.’

  ‘Cave drawings? As in . . . cavemen?’

  ‘Oh, look at me,’ she said with a titter. ‘I’m being silly now.’

  Justus snorted. Had she just giggled . . . like a girl?

  They continued on and Ketrass explained her fascination with the tunnels. As a xenopetrologist it was her job to investigate the alien rock and materials down there. Her mother had done the same before her death. They’d travelled to numerous new worlds together, and her mother had taught her the trade. She never mentioned her father. Explains a few things, Justus thought. All in all, her career sounded fascinating.

  ‘Touch the rock,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Scared?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  She led them on. They had only been moving for a minute or so when—

  ‘GILAXIAD!’

  ‘What?’ Justus stepped forwards and took Ketrass’ arm, spinning her round. ‘What did you just say?’

  She shrugged him off. ‘I didn’t say anything!’

  ‘Yeah, you did. You said—’

  ‘GILAXIAD!’

  He spun, shining the torch down the way they’d come. Nobody was there.

  ‘GILAXIAD!’

  He twisted the other way. That portion of the cave was empty too, so far as he could see.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘You can’t hear that?’

  ‘GILAXIAD!’

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘GILAXIAD!’ It echoed like a banshee, bawling along the passage. Justus recognised the voice; it was the same voice from his nightmare. But how?

  He walked down the cave tunnel.

  ‘Wait!’ Ketrass said.

  ‘I can’t—there’s someone down there!’

  ‘GILAXIAD!’

  He took a few steps, and then without warning the light went out. Ketrass’ torch still worked, and she pointed the beam in his direction. Justus drummed his torch on the palm of his hand. Nothing.

  ‘It’s dead,’ he told her.

  ‘No, it’s not. Come back this way.’

  ‘Gilaxiad!’ the voice called, faint yet chilling.

  He walked towards Ketrass. He still felt sad, scared, angry—unnaturally so. After a few steps the torch flickered and then came back on of its own accord.

  ‘How?’ he asked.

  ‘Nobody knows,’ she said. ‘Some kind of interference.’

  Justus stepped back. The light went out. Forwards again. It came back on.

  ‘Gilaxiad . . .’

  To his surprise, Ketrass took his hand. ‘Don’t worry. It happens with all our equipment. Navigation kit just seizes up. Life-suits and breathing tanks work, but all other life down here is sapped so quickly they don’t last very long.’

  He twisted back to look down the tunnel.

  ‘Captain?’

  His heart thudded.

  ‘Captain? Justus?’

  Justus tur
ned back. He wished he could see her face. He felt so exposed, unable to hear anything but Ketrass’ voice, incapable of seeing much else. ‘You don’t have a clue what’s down here?’ he asked.

  ‘There have been numerous expeditions,’ she explained. ‘Do you feel odd right now?’

  ‘Odd’s not the word.’

  ‘You feel angry . . . sad?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Numb?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘It gets worse the further down you go. It’s nothing more than an endless maze of rock-strewn tunnels. The people here have a name for it. Lesper’s idea of a joke. They call it the Black Labyrinth.’

  ‘The Black . . . Labyrinth?’ He shivered. ‘Very . . . funny.’

  She gestured into the darkness. ‘Imagine going down there. No light. No way of knowing where you’re going, which way to get back, or what’s down there.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to,’ he said, looking around, grateful that the echoing voice had stopped.

  Ketrass’ deep breaths filled his helmet. ‘So you’ll understand why we’re short of volunteers?’

  Justus snatched a few deep breaths himself. He hoped that wasn’t the reason they’d brought him to the station. ‘This is why everyone’s still here . . . why they’re keeping you in this place?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Until we know what’s down here no one’s leaving Erebus. Not even you, Captain.’

  The heavy feeling of despair clung to Justus as they made their way back up to their own quarters. Ketrass undoubtedly felt the same. Her unnaturally pasty complexion, combined with the fact she appeared to be shivering, made that obvious. He had decided to walk her back to her room, worried that she wouldn’t make it, and so they both stumbled through in a dark silence. Passing nobody on the way, Justus merely wanted to return to his own room, curl up in bed, and sleep it off.

  But when they reached Ketrass’ room she turned and looked up at him through sensual, sea-green eyes. Lonely eyes. Yearning eyes. ‘Why did you agree to come here, Captain?’

  ‘Judging from what I’ve just learnt,’ he replied, ‘you don’t even know what here is.’

  ‘Here is a hell and a haven,’ she said. ‘Nobody comes here unless they’re running from something.’

  ‘And what are you running from?’

  She stroked her hand through his dark, freshly cut hair. ‘You talk different,’ she said. ‘Not like everyone else.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘There’s something about you, I don’t know what it is. But this much is clear to me: you shouldn’t have come. It was a mistake.’

  ‘I’ll decide that for myself,’ he said, and he leant forwards, touching his lips to hers. Soft but firm; sensual and altogether lusting. She clutched him by the shirt and pulled him in. He didn’t resist, and drew the door closed behind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE BRASH CLATTER of broken crockery met the blaring profanities launched from Ruben Berenguer’s mouth. He left the shattered plates on the floor and walked from the kitchen, through his apartment, and collapsed onto the couch.

  Lifting his portable data device he gazed down at the newly-delivered report. It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. He switched the digi-page and sent a message to one of his captains: My apartment. Now. General B.

  Ruben knew what he had to do. But there were other matters just as serious as that he had just received. He switched the page again and opened up another file. ‘Erebus, Erebus, Erebus,’ Ruben mumbled to himself as he flicked through the old and confidential reports. ‘Erebus, Erebus—ah, yes!’ He widened the screen with his thumb and forefinger and whizzed through page after digi-page of detailed reports. Most were made several years ago, connected by the subject line designated The Ascending Rumour of the Weapon Erebus.

  Instability within the Four Systems, pirating and bandit groups, weapon proliferation, and illegal narcotics were all challenges faced by Titanese Intelligence Operatives in the forty-third century. Titanese spies were among the best, the very best, but the rumour of the Weapon X was different. Some of Titan’s best moles and agents had been lost in the search for Erebus; and finally, when nothing could be found, the Council had unanimously opted to surrender the investigation.

  He opened another report, dated about eight years earlier, which revealed that a very familiar Lady of Titan had been in charge of the investigation at the time, back when she was on the Council as Intelligence Director. Lady Maxim Pinzón had been very influential in closing the investigation into the Weapon X. He hadn’t known that.

  He stood, stunned. Blood rushed to his face, and he threw the device across the apartment. It landed in the middle of the kitchen, smashing the screen and denting the worktop. His heart beat in his temples. Could he trust no one?

  After lying down for a while, Ruben picked up his weary body and walked across the silent room to the floor-to-ceiling window. The city below blushed with a blood-red glow as he gazed out from his high-positioned home into the darkening night.

  The conditions of night and day meant nothing to the people on Titan, as heat, cold, light, and dark were rarely associated with the artificial sun as on other, non-surrogate worlds. Most failed to appreciate its tremendous importance, as it was the heat and light from the device which kept them all alive. The Surrogate Sun was not an actual sun itself, but rather a series of intense beams emitted from inner arcs within each dome. Without it not a soul would survive.

  In order to function as a world which did have the heat and light from an actual sun—and despite one day on Titan being the equivalent of around sixteen Earth days—time had been organised to imitate the hours, days, weeks, and months used on Earth; and it had been that way since the Twelve Cities were first founded.

  If he looked vigilantly, he thought he could make out a figure, furtively making its way through Central City’s shadowy streets, past Central Tower, and towards the General’s lofty home. The furtive figure soon arrived.

  ‘Are we alone?’ Captain Diego Ferranti asked as he entered the apartment and removed his hood.

  ‘The girls are in their rooms,’ Ruben replied.

  ‘I don’t think I was followed.’

  ‘If you were, there is nothing we can do now. Say nothing now and follow me.’ He walked across the room and opened another, concealed door, disguised as a bookcase, to reveal a small corridor. He led the young captain down and through to a reinforced door at the end.

  ‘General Ruben Berenguer Azar de la Peña,’ he spoke into the voice recorder, and the metal slab shifted.

  Inside was a sealed room, adjacent to the other, and it was laid out with enough equipment to organise and deploy a small battalion of the Guard. Nigh impregnable, the soundproofed space stopped any listening devices dead in their tracks, and tracked signals and movement throughout all of Titan.

  ‘I’ll bet this has come in handy,’ the captain said with a slumped jaw.

  The General smiled. ‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’

  Ferranti sat upon a stool at the central table and Ruben faced him across the workstation lined with various weapons and sections of military hardware. The captain placed his hands in his pockets in an obvious attempt to resist the urge to handle anything.

  ‘So,’ Ferranti said, ‘I gathered from the hour of your message that something’s going on. What was so urgent you had me come across two cities?’

  ‘Apologies for the hour, Captain.’

  ‘That’s . . . fine, sir.’

  ‘I had you come here tonight, Captain, because you are one of the very few soldiers I can trust completely.’ Ferranti nodded, but remained silent. ‘You have proven this to me time and time again, in battle and otherwise.’ He smiled. ‘And yesterday, in the Council.’

  ‘Ah . . . well . . . I’m sorry about . . . that, General,’ he said, blushing, ‘but I do feel strongly when it comes to your leadership. I couldn’t let him question you—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I understand, and it’s that ki
nd of loyalty I need right now. You see, Mauldeth and Pinzón are working together.’ Ruben stood and strode the length of the room. ‘They’re keeping things from the rest of us. And they think I don’t know, but I keep my ears sharp. Pinzón, to use her exact words, seems to think me “an interfering demagogue”.’

  Ferranti scoffed. ‘So they’re screwing. Is that it?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. As far as we’re concerned, Mauldeth’s going to get his way with every last damn policy. As well as abandoning all aid projects currently in motion, they’re planning on recalling the entire Titanese fleet from duties throughout the Systems. With none of our soldiers out there we’ll have an invasion much like Rotavar every other week.’

  ‘What are you thinking, General?’

  ‘I’m thinking we go over and above the Council itself. We both know the outcome won’t be good for those involved, but the prospect of a Titan controlled by Crilshar is something I won’t entertain in a thousand years.’

  ‘Nor will I,’ Ferranti said, stoutly.

  Ruben placed his hands behind his back. ‘How do you feel about taking the Stellarstream on one last aid mission?’

  ‘I assume you mean Rotavar?’ Ferranti smiled.

  The General sat back down slowly. ‘Do you trust me, Captain?’

  ‘With my life, sir.’

  ‘Good. Because I wholly suspect the Dishan have acquired agents inside Titan. The explosion in the dock was meant to cause such a reaction as there has been in the Council, and it has made them blind to the fact that ensuring Rotavar is free is of upmost importance. We need their backing in order to gain the other Alignment worlds’ trust. And so we must liberate them without delay.’

  ‘Sir,’ Ferranti said, shifting in his seat, ‘when you speak of agents, is it to General Mauldeth that you refer?’

  Ruben thought for a moment. ‘I don’t think it’s safe to assume anyone is trustworthy at the moment, except for those within our inner circle. So, what do you say?’

  Ferranti grinned. ‘When do I leave?’

  ‘I’ve already considered this.’ He activated the table and a projection emerged from the centre into the air between them, offering a map of Accentaurib. At its centre, closest to the system’s sun, drifted Rotavar. Nearby were the planets Samos and Enustine. ‘With the dock now completed,’ he said, ‘I imagine we could have your ship prepped and off within the next forty-eight hours. You may, I’m afraid, have to miss the eight-hundred year celebrations this week.’