Iástron

by James C. Dunn

  Jon could hardly speak. ‘It’s . . . it’s just . . . look . . .’

  She pulled herself up from the cold metal floor and gasped as she stared out of the porthole at a city in smoke. Black, towering buildings were visible through thick columns of suffocating smog. Fire and battle and . . .

  ‘This isn’t Mars.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not.’

  ‘How could this have happened?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t . . . I was so sure.’

  ‘How long should it have taken to reach the Martian Colony?’ she whispered, not wishing to frighten her sister. She took hold of his hand as he stood beside her.

  ‘Depending on how urgent the cargo was . . . gosh, I don’t know . . . one, two days, max.’

  ‘Well it’s definitely been longer than that!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Then where are we?’

  ‘Judging from the length of our journey . . . hell, I don’t know . . . I think, maybe . . . we could be on one of the outer worlds of the Third or Fourth System for all I know.’

  ‘Yes, but which one?’

  ‘We’re on Rotavar,’ whispered a cold voice behind them.

  The two spun.

  Dark eyes gazed at them from the shadows. The figure stood still. A blade rested in his hand and he held a terrified Gílana up against him. The barbed blade cut into her neck.

  ‘Let her go!’ Anna said.

  Jon spun on the spot as another figure emerged from the shadows behind. He knocked the two apart and kicked Jon hard in the stomach.

  ‘Pultzer,’ snapped the man, stepping out of the gloom and holding a blaster aimed at them. ‘Stand still, children.’

  ‘Gordian,’ Anna breathed through gritted teeth, watching the scar stretch across his face.

  ‘This is the colony known as Rotavar,’ he repeated. ‘First colony of the Fourth System. And, ironically, the first to fall. It appears my people have had more success here than I did on Titan. Samos will be next, and Enustine after that.’

  ‘Titan isn’t destroyed?’ A fragment of hope filled her exhausted mind.

  The Crilshan stepped forwards again, pointing the blaster at Jon’s forehead. Now she could see him in the light he looked just like the Crilshans she had seen and heard about, but never in person. He was sallow and sinister, and grinned wickedly, stretching the scar he bore across his cheek and lips further round his lean face. The other Crilshan smirked too, and took hold of Gílana, holding his own blade up to her sister’s exposed throat. It was shaped much like a coilbolt, except it was longer, and by the looks of it meant for hand-to-hand combat, displaying smaller spikes all along the twisted edges.

  ‘You must be young Anna Berenguer,’ Gordian said. ‘At last. A pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘Drop dead.’

  Gordian laughed. ‘Now do as I say and your sister will be fine. You’re going to come with me, and we’re all going to walk on down to the command centre.’

  ‘And then what?’ Jon asked angrily.

  ‘Then I’m going destroy this vessel and the city it resides in, and leave the crew out there with the snivelling populace of this dead rock.’ He nodded to the large Crilshan who, as though reading Gordian’s mind, released Gílana and walked over to Jon, took out another, smaller blade, and plunged it deep into Jon’s chest.

  Anna screamed. A heavy hand struck a blow across her face. Dazed, she could see Gílana helplessly struggling and Jon collapse on the deck beside her, clutching his bleeding wound.

  ‘Come,’ snarled Gordian, taking her by the hair and pulling her along the ground.

  It wasn’t happening. It was all part of her nightmare. She was about to wake and it would be over.

  But as the two cursed men dragged the girls away, the faint sound of a voice calling her name as she fought, tears streamed down her face and Anna knew it was all real. She couldn’t breathe at the thought of Jon’s agony and, collapsed in the Crilshan’s arms, they dragged her away, unmoving and lifeless.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  WHEN THE BLACK barrages of Crilshar first descended into the seventeen cities of Rotavar, none would have imagined that life and freedom were options still left to the people. But small bands had gathered, the militia mobilised quickly, and guerrilla-style fighting taken over. The Rotavarians knew their own land much more than the invaders, who had overconfidently sent their blockading force away to nearby Enusti planetary systems, believing the invasion an unmitigated success. Edgar Mokrikov was gone, but the Rotavarian government survived, in part, as did a portion of the Defence Force.

  One man fought harder than all others, and Chief Aleksey Vasily sent bands to each city to muster what force could be gathered. They focused on one city at a time and exchanged blows every second of every hour of every day. And so the army fought and marched in this manner. But for Aleksey Vasily the world would have fallen many weeks earlier. The Rotavarians were a strong people; perhaps not in valour and prowess in battle, but in will and resolve they were unmatched.

  And so the mighty vessel, the Stellarstream, descended onto the landing strip in the centre of Kondogopas; and as before there were no drums or trumpets calling out in glorious salutation, but instead a vicious hail of fire from enemy camps in the nearby cities of Thynia and Svitoslav.

  Captain Diego Ferranti marched down the meeting platform, at the head of two dozen Titanese Guard, to be met by the leader of the defence. Black smoke soared high on every horizon. The destruction caused by these invaders made the captain’s blood boil. Hell only knew how the people of the colony felt.

  ‘Since the main force moved out two standard weeks ago,’ Chief Vasily told the newcomers, deep inside one of the city’s bunkers, ‘which left a garrison of around three legions—that’s roughly three thousand enemy combatants—several cities have been reclaimed. The northern regions of Paroslav, Kievan, Kidarov, and Kalkara have been liberated, as have our neighbours to the west: RuRikida and Ritova. The majority to the east and south, nevertheless, remain enemy strongholds.’ He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning on the chart-laden table; his leg was bound up tight after what looked to have been a painful injury.

  Diego Ferranti sat back in his chair on the front row and surveyed the young chief. Very strong for one so young, he thought. The chief’s worn clothes and gaunt, unkempt appearance suggested severe lack of sleep and many weeks of relentless fighting. Not to mention the disfigured nose: a recent break if he knew one to look at.

  Before Vasily could begin speaking again Ferranti stood and strode up to the front of the group. The chief wavered with fatigue in front of boards and projection screens layered with maps and task files. He took his ally’s hand and firmly wrapped both of his around it. ‘You’ve fought so hard these past weeks,’ he said, before turning to the whole room. ‘But you are no longer fighting this fight alone! My only regret is that it took so long for us to reach you. I bring word from General Ruben Berenguer. This force is here to honour the promise he made you. Rotavan!’

  ‘Rotavan!’ the group cheered; Titanese and Rotavarians together.

  * * *

  —Come in, Desert Mule. Come in . . .

  Adra Dimal flicked her comm on quietly. The Rotavarian soldiers sat around her were too busy watching the Titanese captain and their own chief up at the front. ‘Reading you, Flux,’ she said. ‘I’m sat in the briefing room now. Everything okay on the ship?’

  —That’s a yup, Desert Mule.

  ‘Stop calling me Desert Mule! I’m Desert Fox, remember?’

  Raj Timbur giggled to himself over the comm.

  —It was Noah’s idea, he said.

  ‘No names over this frequency.’

  —What’s Noah’s sign then?

  ‘Noah doesn’t have one. Stop saying his name!’

  —I don’t get one? the medic joined in.

  ‘Noah, go away. This is important. If I don’t find out what’s going on, we’ll never get out of this bleedin’ desert!’

/>   —When you coming back? Raj asked. We can’t stand it anymore.

  ‘Give me one more day, okay?’

  —Half a day.

  ‘Fine. I’ll be back before nightfall. Deal?’

  —Okay. Bring some food back with you. Shree’s eaten our rations. We’re starving!

  ‘Right. We’ll talk later. I have to go.’ Dimal turned the comm off, smiled in response to the probing look she was receiving from the woman sat nearby, and crossed her legs.

  The Rotavarians and Titanese burst into applause again at the captain and the chief stood up front. She tried to continue listening in, as she’d been doing for the last few days. She figured it was the only way to discover a way off Rotavar. And so there she sat, disguised in the emerald attire of the Defence Force; with a long, thin coat and heavy green boots, she realised what she’d been missing all these years. Justus would have been proud if he could see her now. Then again, if he could see her, she wouldn’t be sitting there in the first place.

  Another round of applause and salutes. According to the leaders up front, messengers had been sent to the free cities, and plans made for the liberation of the whole colony; the Titanese army had definitely inspired the ambitious goal. They promised that the losses already suffered would be avenged, and together the chief and the captain made ready their strategy.

  From what Dimal gathered the greatest concentration of Crilshan warriors was now in the vast city of Kulikovo, situated to the south, just past the smaller cities of Thynia and Svitoslav. By raiding the two towns the Rotavarians and Titanese believed it was possible to draw out the standing force in Kulikovo and match their might in a pitched battle, ambushing the dark army in a pincer movement from the two captured cities.

  ‘The northern and western forces have been alerted,’ announced Captain Diego Ferranti. ‘The Defence Force, alongside the militia that has so far come forward, has been prepared. At my command the Cherished Star, now situated on the northern outskirts of Kondogopas, has deployed its soldiers and artillery equipment to the southern side of the city. There it will combine with the two-thousand men and women already gathered to fight.’

  Chief Vasily stood and the seated crowd rose too. Dimal, sensing that the room was about to empty, left her seat and made for the exit.

  Captain Ferranti saluted the crowd. ‘Get some sleep. At dawn we strike.’

  Dimal smiled. No, no. At dawn we escape.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  A COLD HAND touched her face. ‘Anna! Wake up! Anna, please!’

  The terrified murmurs of her little sister roused her. She looked up from the cold, metal floor and gazed around, believing at first that she was in the middle of a battle; the sound of men shouting and cheering roared all around.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she asked. ‘Where are we? The viewing bridge?’

  Gílana shook her head. ‘The Command Station, at the centre of the ship. They’re doing something. I don’t know what.’

  Gílana helped her up. Anna found that, like her little sister, her hands and feet had been bound precariously tight. The sound was coming from outside the vessel, the roar of men and women picked up by transmission. As the focal point of the vessel’s running, situated in the core of the ship for the greatest amount of protection, the control centre had no windows or portals; the only way in and out was the secure gate which now lay besieged by the dozen bodies of the piloting crew, now unconscious or—most likely—dead. The two Crilshans were nowhere to be seen.

  ‘We need to get out of these things,’ Anna whispered, aching for their abductors to stay away a little longer.

  ‘Way ahead of you,’ Gílana said, gesturing with her smaller-than-average wrists that she had already fought herself free. She began to disentangle Anna’s restraints when they heard grunts and footfalls approaching.

  ‘Hurry!’ she said as Gordian’s sonorous tone resonated throughout the control room. But it was too late. Anna pushed her sister to the ground and left the unravelled cable around her wrists, falling to the floor and closing her eyes. Just in time. Footsteps entered the room. She chanced a minor glance and saw they were just out of sight, hidden by a large control panel jutting out into the centre of the rounded room.

  Anna removed the cables from her arms and legs and peered around the metal panel. The two Crilshans were facing away, but a third voice could be heard, less gruff and a great deal more drained than the others. Her heart skipped a beat, believing at first that it was Jon. But she was wrong. Jon still lay in the dark bowels of the ship, bleeding slowly to death. She had to get back to him. But how?

  Behind Gordian and the other Crilshan she could make out an elderly man, lying propped up against another panel. He was not bound, but looked barely conscious and considerably bruised and bloodied.

  Gílana breathed heavily at Anna’s side, watching the scene unfold.

  ‘Now,’ Gordian said, ‘I’ll ask again. Tell me the sequence—don’t look at me like that. In fact don’t look at me at all! I know there’s a code. And I know you know it. So tell me—’

  ‘Or else what?’ the old man challenged. ‘What more can you do to me?’

  ‘You have no idea, old man.’

  ‘There is nothing you can do to me now!’

  Gordian laughed loudly. ‘You Titanese! Such an overconfident race. I need access to the ultimatter engine room—’

  ‘For what?’

  Gordian leaned in and tapped the old man across the face. ‘I imagine,’ he said, ‘that you know what would happen if I neutralised the ultimatter radiation contained within the engine of this vessel.’

  The old man’s face flushed an unsettling shade of white. ‘You can’t!’

  ‘An ulti-mass ejection would destroy the entire city and every last one surrounding it.’

  ‘Over my dead body!’

  ‘Preferably not, but I won’t rule it out!’

  ‘If I don’t let you in there, there’s nothing you can do.’

  Gordian laughed. ‘I thought you’d say that, which is why I brought some . . . inspiration for you.’

  He spun, his black gaze aimed in the sisters’ direction. Anna gasped. His eyes sent a piercing chill, and drawing his blade from his side he swiftly sprang in their direction. But as Anna turned to move her sister out of the way she realised that Gílana was already keying something into the command console behind which they had hidden.

  ‘Help!’ Gílana screamed into the receiver. ‘If you’re there, help us!’

  Gordian charged forwards.

  ‘Return to the vessel! Return to the v—’

  A heavy boot collided forcefully with Gílana’s mid-section and she fell to the floor, winded and gasping for breath. Anna dropped to her side, arms around her, as Gordian stood above them, blade in hand and rage in his eyes.

  * * *

  A thousand soldiers swept through Thynia, city of Rotavar. The sand-filled streets were black with ash and bloodied crimson. Debris lay strewn across the road, while heavy smoke poured from every third building.

  ‘The strangest sight,’ Diego Ferranti mumbled as he crept through, clutching the back of his neck in perplexed thought. ‘The strangest sight.’ He holstered his coilbolt and lifted his comm device in an attempt once more to contact the Stellarstream. He could not get through.

  ‘Captain!’ A beautiful, dark-skinned woman weaved her way through the well-spaced march of alert and resolute Guard.

  ‘What is it, Lieutenant?’

  ‘Word from the Cherished Star, sir,’ she said, adjusting her belt.

  ‘Take your time, Avila,’ he said. ‘What word?’

  ‘It’s the legions. They’ve abandoned the eastern cities too!’

  Ferranti looked up at the smoke rising all around them. His Guard had stopped when he did, and subsequently spaced out, searching nearby huts and buildings. But there was nothing. No one. No hint except for the devastation that it had been Crilshans in their place mere hours earlier.

  ‘Where have
they gone, Captain?’

  ‘What do you think, Avila?’

  ‘I think we’re in for a surprise.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ he said, checking his comm once again for a signal from his vessel. Still nothing. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’

  Avila joined him and they continued through the streets for several more minutes when at last the sound of a hovercraft drew near, and over the surrounding buildings appeared a smoking shuttle. It settled uneasily and Chief Aleksey Vasily stepped out. Surrounded by his own soldiers he hobbled forward and cried aloud, ‘They’ve gone, Captain!’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘All gone. We found no sign of them in Svitoslav; not in bunker or open structure. Only the prisoners they left behind.’

  ‘And they are in good condition?’ Ferranti asked.

  ‘A little worse for wear,’ Vasily replied. ‘But they’ll be fine.’

  ‘Something’s not right,’ Avila said. ‘Red Eyes never leave prisoners alive.’

  ‘Again, Lieutenant, I think you’re right—’

  The ground at once shook beneath their feet. They all turned, half-expecting an aerial assault, but instead they witnessed, many miles in the distance, several enormous enemy barrages climb over the horizon. Bright sunlight reflected from their dark hulls a blinding attack, but no harm came to the foes of Crilshar, and the Defence Force and the Guard cheered and cried in unbridled triumph. The spiked sterns of the mammoth vessels were presented—a sure sign that they were in the midst of retreating.

  Cheers and cries roared out. But the Captain and the Chief waited some while longer before celebrating; the threat from orbit was just as great, if not more so, than that on the ground. And even when colony scans confirmed that the invading force had abandoned Rotavarian space, neither of the two leaders seemed able to congratulate the other.

  Ferranti knew all too well that the armies of Crilshar never retreated. In hundreds of scenarios and clashes the armies of the Dark Race had never once turned tail and run; they would sooner kill themselves than leave a war unwaged. The Chief must have recognised this as well because he too looked as doubtful and worried as his Titanese counterpart. Whatever their reason for retreat, this change in tactic made Ferranti rightly unnerved.

  Upon re-entering Kondogopas, however, his worry was driven from his mind. ‘Quiet! Quiet!’ Ferranti shouted at his men and he raised his comm device higher, attempting to make out the screaming voice. ‘Oh, no.’