by Ben Hale
Enix opened a compartment filled with an assortment of clothes. He selected a cloak for Reklin and a change of pants. Only females covered their torso, so he didn’t need a shirt. Enix also selected a new set of boots, then motioned for him to change.
As Reklin finished putting on his cloak, he realized the clasp was bright blue, the same color as Ero’s eyes. Dakorians contracted to a House typically wore a clasp on their cloaks signifying their affiliation. He was being dressed for his current status.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
He didn’t really expect an answer, but to his surprise, Enix gave one. “Mylttium.”
Reklin fastened the clasp, his mind buzzing. Mylttium had billions of residents, and even more visitors. As one of the principal commerce planets owned by the Empire, it also doubled as a governmental outpost. There was a Ranger Corps base, the Imperial Archives—which held House records—as well as an Office of Glint Management and Condemnation.
“Dragorn,” Reklin guessed. “We’re going to see the Head of the House of Bright’Lor.”
Enix issued a low laugh. “You are far more clever than the standard dakorian, you know that?”
“It’s the only possibility,” he said. “I doubt Skorn put evidence of the augment world in the Imperial Archives, and House Bright’Lor has no other connection to Mylttium.”
Enix shrugged as he selected a cloak for himself. “You and Gellow will be dakorians under contract to House Bright’Lor, and I will be one of the newer outcast krey that Skorn has picked up to work on the augment world. Dragorn has heard your name, and your hornless status, so you add legitimacy to my claim.”
“Which is?”
“That Ero and Skorn assigned me to report to Dragorn, as a precaution in case Malikin is tracking his beamcast use or trying to follow Ero and Skorn in person.”
It was a smart ploy. If Skorn really had sent an emissary, it would keep Malikin guessing, and although he would probably just try to follow anyone that visited Dragorn, Enix could claim that dozens would be hired to visit Condemnation in order to stretch and distract Malikin. There was just one problem.
“Dragorn is paranoid,” Reklin said. “You won’t be able to convince him.”
“Trust me,” Enix said with a look that showed far too much confidence for Reklin’s liking. “I’ll manipulate the conversation so Dragorn admits valuable information.”
“Even if you can, he will assume you already know the location of Lumineia,” Reklin said. “He won’t reveal it.”
Enix merely chuckled and pulled a weapon out of the back of the room. Reklin recognized it immediately as the sunderblade his father had given him when he joined the military, obviously taken from the Nova when he’d been initially captured. It was marked by its polished hilt, curved crossguard, and the blade, which he’d broken during his duel with Quel, Malikin’s Bloodwall.
“You’ll need this,” Enix said.
Reklin accepted it with an upraised eyebrow. “You’re giving me a weapon?”
“Would it be believable if you showed up without one?”
Reklin couldn’t argue with that. He almost shivered with pleasure when he put the harness around his shoulders and clamped the broken blade on the magnet between his shoulder blades. The comfortable weight settled easily on his spine, and he smiled.
“I know you are manipulating me, but I’m still grateful to have the weapon.”
“It’s just business,” Enix replied. “Turn on us, and Mora will be dead before you can even reach her cell.”
“I believe you.”
Enix donned a pair of boots that were new but cheap, likely to be bought by an outcast soldier that recently came into a new contract. In fact, most of his clothes appeared new. The last thing he collected were a pair of long, silver needles. Reklin recognized them as eye modifiers, the type that would alter the chemistry in the eyes of a krey for a short period of time. It still meant he had to shove a needle into his eye, and the mere prospect made Reklin shudder.
“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish about eyes,” Enix laughed. “You’re a soldier with a decorated career of bloodshed. And poking a needle into my eyes bothers you?”
“Eyes are eyes,” Reklin said.
Enix found that very amusing, and the two departed the storage compartment and made their way to the Gate Chamber. There they were met by Gellow, who was dressed similarly to Reklin, including the blue clasp at his shoulder.
“How does it feel to have your horns owned?” Gellow sneered. “Oh, sorry, I forgot you have no horns at all.”
Reklin actually laughed. He’d almost forgotten about his hornless status. “That would have meant something if I actually cared. But do you have any idea how much easier it is to cut my hair?”
Gellow scowled, while Enix grinned. The three of them entered the Gate Chamber, which had a window overlooking the approaching planet. Reklin had assumed Visika would keep her distance from the inner planets, but it seemed the woman wanted to be close by while Enix did his work.
They Gated to the surface of the planet, arriving at a terminus outside the main trafficked areas. From there they used a local Gate to reach Condemnation. Reklin exited and lifted his gaze to the towering structure.
He’d been to the building twice, and had disliked both instances. It was undeniably beautiful, with a pyramidal shape and reverse gravity beneath the waterfalls in the entranceway. Voices of the Empire wore regal cloaks, while the Condemned wore white. But it was all a façade for the constant corruption.
Krey bribed judges to vote in their favor, others spent glint so they didn’t languish in the cells buried a thousand levels below the surface. Now that Reklin had perfect memory, he could recall overhearing a High Voice smugly claim that the Emperor earned more from Condemnation than he did renting space at the capital of Valana.
Still, he appreciated the attempt at justice. Tribunals were shaped based on the crime, with more Voices being assigned for higher crimes. They were supposed to be impartial, and when the krey had no glint to bribe, they actually did their jobs rather well. Krey that committed crimes were punished or sanctioned, and those who were caught murdering were put in an escape pod and dropped into a sun. Now that Reklin understood the cancer that was the Empire, he knew Condemnation was deceit done in the name of justice.
Enix turned away from the front entrance of the great pyramid and went up the side street towards a squat structure shaped like a diamond. The bright red lines going up the walls marked it as the Ranger office.
Enix approached the main entrance and bypassed the line of krey waiting to meet with an officer. The arched entrance led to a main room that extended into Condemnation, with a glass-walled view of the giant main room where the Condemned mingled with officers and judges.
Inside the office, the ceiling was vaulted but plain. The Empire spent most of its budget on officers, ships, and weapons, and like most offices, the decorations were stark except for the hundreds of holos on the walls showing criminals wanted by the Empire. Reklin noticed at least six that showed Visika. The officers were a mix of dakorian soldiers and krey. Rangers always worked in pairs, one for the fights, one for the investigations. Reklin had a cousin who’d joined the Corps several decades ago, and she actually enjoyed her work. It was one of the few occupations outside of the military where a dakorian got the chance to hit a krey without consequence.
Behind a long counter, hundreds of officers stood in holo spheres, documenting vid evidence, compiling data, or sifting through glintwell records. At the front counter, Rangers moved freely, walking through a holo that turned green when they passed. Enix activated his holo as he passed through a holographic barrier. Both turned green, and the Ranger behind, a krey in a black uniform, jumped to his feet.
“Third Rank Delson,” he said, “what do you need?”
Enix looked every bit the role of a high-ranked, undercover officer, right down to the insignia on his shoulder. “Rank Fourteen Shevin,” Enix said haughti
ly, “I need a private room, and Dragorn Bright’Lor summoned.”
Shevin gave a sharp nod and left. Reklin leaned over and lowered his voice. “Are you really an officer?”
“For today,” Enix replied.
Reklin had no idea how Enix had falsified such a high-level code on his personal holoview. Rangers used a different cortex crystal than the rest of the population, with crystalline substrates that were impossible to replicate. Or so Reklin had thought.
Shevin returned and guided their group down a hall to a long series of rooms. He pointed to one, and the three of them filed inside. It was a standard interrogation room, with just four gray walls and a pair of vid recorders on opposite sides of the room. There were no chairs or furniture of any kind.
“Dragorn has been summoned,” Shevin said. “You should know that he is less than pleased.”
“I don’t really care.”
Enix’s persona of an arrogant officer was flawless, and Reklin had to turn away to hide his smile. So confident was Enix that the krey had hardly noticed Reklin and Gellow, except to note Reklin’s hornless status. But since rank threes usually operated undercover, it probably made sense that he would have a disgraced krey as his muscle.
Shevin left, and Enix wasted no time in hacking the vid recorders. Reklin idly watched his hand movements. Although they were complex, and he used a code that had already been written, just seeing the glowing text was enough for Reklin to remember.
“When he gets here,” Enix said, his attention on the holoview, “I’ll need Reklin to confirm my story. Other than that, I’ll need both of you to remain silent.”
Enix nodded, and then pulled the two eye modifiers from his pocket. Using both hands, he shoved them into his face.
Reklin grimaced and examined the dust on the wall. To his surprise, he found Gellow equally as disturbed. The two shared a grin at their mutual disgust.
“What kind of person puts a needle into his eye?” Reklin shuddered at the prospect.
“Only a krey,” Gellow muttered.
“After a while you get used to it,” Enix said.
The krey grimaced and put the needles back into his pocket. When he opened his eyes again, they were a cool pink. The House of Pell’Nek. Small and fractured, Pell’Nek had little to its name, supporting the narrative that Enix was an outcast that had found refuge in House Bright’Lor. The door swung open and Dragorn was pointed inside. Tall and imposing, the blue-eyed krey entered the room with a sneer on his face.
“I told you,” he said, “there’s nothing more for me to say.”
Enix motioned the door shut with a smile, somehow playing both the Ranger and Dragorn’s ally with a single expression. The dakorian that had brought him shut the door, and Dragorn leaned against the white wall.
“Don’t worry,” Enix said, lowering his voice to just the right volume to inspire trust. “I’m here on behalf of your sons.”
Chapter Twelve
It was the first time Reklin had met Dragorn in person, and he found Ero’s father to be tall and imposing, with sharp, calculating eyes. Even in the mandatory white clothing of the Condemned, he exuded a menacing authority, a sense of being a predator in an inadequate cage.
He stood near the door, his commanding blue eyes sweeping the room and pausing on Enix, Gellow, Reklin, and then Reklin’s horns. There was a touch of recognition, but not trust. He’d survived what would have killed lesser krey, and he wouldn’t just trust Enix outright, even with Reklin’s support.
“Shall we sit?” Enix swept a hand to the floor.
Dragorn warily approached the center of the interrogation room, where sections of the seracrete floor lifted upward and shaped into a seat. Unruffled by the presence of the dakorians, he claimed the chair. Across from him, Enix activated a second chair and sat.
“It’s good to finally meet you,” Enix said, with just the right amount of awe. “Your sons speak often of you.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
The rancor in Dragorn’s voice spoke volumes, and showed a hint of vulnerability. The formerly powerful krey had been languishing in Condemnation for over ten years, while Ero and Skorn roamed free. He would have considered the lack of contact insulting, and was probably still seething. Enix would see it as a weak point.
“Your sons revere your wisdom,” Enix said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “But with the creation of the augments, they must be cautious. Malikin never stops hunting.”
Dragorn glanced at the vid recorders in the room. “For one who claims caution, you speak rather brazenly.”
“Skorn wrote a code that blocked the vid recorders in this room. I lack his talent, but I understand enough of crystalline substrates to admire his skill.”
The self-deprecating comment, infused with a dose of irritation, was exactly what a proud krey would say. And giving credit for the code to Skorn was brilliant. His skill was well known, and further spoke to Enix’s credibility.
Dragorn shifted his attention to Reklin. “You, I know. But last I heard, you were captured by the Burning Ghosts.”
Enix turned to face him, a warning glint in his eye. Reklin shrugged. “If you know who I am, you know my former rank in the military. Do you really expect the Burning Ghosts to keep a Shard team captain?”
“You escaped?” Dragorn asked. “How?”
“I had been kept on an old ship retrofitted as a prison vessel,” Reklin said. “The ship still had its captain’s escape pod.”
It was close enough to the truth that Dragorn would not be able to detect any deception. But Dragorn continued to measure him in a way that made Reklin’s body heat climb several degrees. He hadn’t endured such a look since his first few years in the Imperial military.
He could see where Ero and Skorn had gotten their intelligence. Both were much smarter than the average krey, but of the two, Skorn had obviously inherited his father’s gift for instilling fear.
“What’s your message?” Dragorn finally asked, turning back to Enix.
Reklin doubted the krey believed Enix, but he couldn’t refuse a message on the chance it was real. Enix’s plan to approach him in this fashion and in this setting was tactically brilliant. It was outside the regular line of communication, so Malikin would not be watching, yet it would still allow for a connection between Dragorn and his sons.
“Malikin has almost captured Ero twice,” Enix said. “And Skorn decided it was best to use an intermediary for future communications.”
“A decision that should be mine to make.”
“True,” Enix said, “but under the current circumstances, he decided he could not wait to speak directly to you.”
“Why?”
“Skorn discovered a tracking code had been inserted into the beamcast of your personal holoview, and the communication crystals of your quarters.”
Reklin was disturbed by Enix’s tactics. Casting doubt on Dragorn’s regular communication would keep Dragorn from demanding time to beamcast Skorn and verify Enix’s claims. When Enix had described Visika’s plan, Reklin had doubted he could manipulate Dragorn into giving the location to Lumineia, but now he was not so confident.
If Visika did get the location of Lumineia, they would arrive and kill every krey on the planet. With far more resources than House Bright’Lor, they could turn billions of slaves into augments before dumping them on the open market. Even if the augments didn’t rebel like Siena, it would sow chaos across the Empire.
But what could Reklin do? He could not risk Mora’s life, and yet he was unwilling to let the Ghosts claim the augment planet. As Enix used Malikin to instill fear, he struggled to come up with an idea to warn Dragorn without alerting Enix.
“Tell me of Lumineia,” Dragorn said. “How is Siena?”
Reklin was lucky Dragorn was not looking at him, because he was startled. Dragorn was not the type to know the names of his slaves. Yet Siena was different from the other augments, so maybe he knew her name because he saw her value.
&n
bsp; “We are still cataloguing her augments,” Enix said. “She is by far the most impressive of all the augments we have created.”
“There have been no other supreme augments?”
“Not yet,” Enix said. “But Skorn believes it’s only a matter of time until we find a slave with the right genetic matrix.”
Dragorn gave a tiny nod. “And of the four cargo ships we have stolen, we still have less than a hundred thousand slaves.”
Gellow stiffened. The motion was too subtle for Dragorn to notice. It was a test. Enix had said there were three stolen shipments of slaves in the last six months, but had there been a fourth that was unknown to the Burning Ghosts?
“We’ve stolen three shipments since I joined House Bright’Lor,” Enix said. “And I must say, using slaves to steal slaves is brilliant. No one expects a slave to have the power of an augment.”
Reklin mentally cursed Enix’s skill. If he didn’t act soon, Enix might very well pull the truth from Dragorn. He dismissed a variety of ideas, each more desperate than the last. Dragorn and Enix continued to verbally spar, and although there was no clear victor, Reklin sensed a gradually increasing measure of trust in Dragorn.
“Skorn is a true heir,” Dragorn said, “and using an intermediary is an excellent tactic. That said, he didn’t send you to report on what I already know.”
“That’s true,” Enix said, his eyes flicking to the door. “Skorn wants to set a trap for Malikin, and he needs a location. Since he, Ero, and Skorn are the only ones that know the exact location of Lumineia, he asked that you find a suitable location for the ambush.”
“Because I’m the one with time?” Dragorn asked with a sneer.
“That’s not for me to say,” Enix hedged. “I’m just the messenger.”
Again, Reklin was uneasy with the way Dragorn seemed to be falling for Enix’s offer. Choosing a place of ambush would, out of necessity, be in the same quadrant as Lumineia. If Dragorn did do as Enix requested, and transported messages back to a supposed Skorn and Ero, it was only a matter of time until Dragorn let slip a vital piece of information.
