The Weapons of War

by Dan Schiro

  “Kangor proves it’s possible, at least.” Anxiety furrowed her delicate features. “I need to know that Typhus is dead, Orion. I’ll never be able to sleep without knowing for certain.”

  “He’d been drawing magic from his own blood, and that makes you very weak,” said Orion, remembering Crag’s stern admonishments. “He was on death’s door when Kangor got his claws into him, so I think you can relax.”

  “So, he’s dead?” she asked hopefully. “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty sure.” Orion shot a smirk over his shoulder. “And if he’s not, I’ll just have to kill him again.”

  A few moments passed in silence. “It’s not true,” Dalaxa said softly. “Everything Typhus said about me giving him my weapon designs — it’s not true.”

  Orion shrugged without looking up from the control dash. “Didn’t believe it for a second.”

  “Really?” she said, her voice breaking. “You… really believed in me that much?”

  “You’re one of the good guys, Dalaxa.” Orion offered a dry chuckle. “You’re just going to have to deal with it.”

  “I’m not, I’m really not.” She deflated with a weary sigh. “Orion, a good guy would have never made those weapons of war in the first place.”

  “Would you stop?” Orion flipped on the autopilot and swiveled to face her crash couch. “Here’s how I see it. The Union used you, used your mind like Typhus did. You thought you were protecting the Union with the things you made, but they saw you as a resource, not a person.” Raising a single finger, her gave her a pointed look. “Don’t forget that someone in the government sold you out and arranged for your kidnapping.”

  “But who?” She wrung her hands. “Why? Wouldn’t there be an easier way for a corrupt politician to make a profit?”

  “I’ve got a theory about that.” Orion swiveled back to the control dash. “It probably has something to do with a shadowy guild of assassins that has been manipulating galactic events for thousands of years.”

  “How,” Dalaxa clucked, “can you even begin to joke about all of this?”

  Orion sat back, his body stiff in the med-tech suit. “Because I have to.”

  As they approached Echohax Tower, Orion saw the ancient monolith had not escaped unscathed. The long spire supporting the science station at the very top had snapped off, stabbing violently into the street like a spear hurled by a god. Smoke billowed out of holes where flaming chunks had smashed through the structure, but still the great tower stood.

  “Of course,” Orion muttered when he heard an unhappy bleat from the saucer’s control dash. “The building’s in lockdown, so there’s no getting into my private hangar.”

  He piloted the squad saucer down to the street and hovered in front of the steps to the tower’s magnificently arched entrance. As they hopped down from the saucer’s ramp, the scent of ash stained the breeze blowing through the Hub’s empty streets. The only sounds were the distant pulse bolts and bomb blasts of an ongoing ground war against the scattering manowars. Orion saw dead bodies strewn across the steps, some blasted with pulse bolts, others hacked to death and still others simply twisted and broken.

  “You should take the saucer,” Orion said in a low voice as he turned back to Dalaxa. “Find an aid camp, wherever the displaced are congregating.” He shot a nod up the steps. “There could be more manowars in there, and you’re in no shape for that.”

  Dalaxa turned a scathing glare on his bulky beige med-tech suit. “And you are?”

  Orion sighed, and soon they were climbing the cracked steps together. His muscles ached by the time he got his first peek into the Grand Plaza. Battle marked the pillars and walls with black burns, and mangled bodies lay among the smashed food carts and hung out of blasted shop windows. The Grand Plaza was deserted and quiet, dim but for the shafts of light from the high windows.

  Orion decided to take a chance. “Hello?” he called, his voice echoing through the atrium. “Anyone?”

  A familiar bark rang out, and a huge black beast bounded through the broken window of one of the shops lining the plaza. “Bully!” Orion cried.

  The genetically engineered Cane Corso leaped at his master with his ears up and his stubby tail gyrating, knocking Orion onto a shattered pile that used to be a datacube kiosk. The dog licked his face, his sandpaper tongue painful against Orion’s frostbitten cheeks. Orion slapped at the beast’s drool-dripping jowls, babbling happy nonsense while sudden tears streamed down his face.

  “I’m alive too, thank you very much,” said a rough voice.

  Orion looked up to see Koreen emerging from the same ruined shop. Jumping to his feet, Orion ran to her and embraced her with a sob of laughter. He hugged the old durok’s sturdy body and rocked her until she slapped at his chest plate.

  “Enough, enough. Get a hold of yourself, boy.” Gently, Koreen took his beat-up face in her rough red hands. “What happened to your poor pink flesh this time?”

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” Orion said, blinking away tears. “What happened here?” he asked as he cast a stiff wave at the plaza.

  Koreen shook her horned head, her yellow eyes tired. “The building was nearly evacuated. We were on our way out with the last of the others when those… blue brutes came storming in. We dragged a fazziano who had been shot to safety, tried to patch his containment suit. Didn’t work, but by the time he had fizzed away, there was no getting out.” Bully flounced up and nuzzled her hand. “So, we hid.”

  Orion exhaled and felt the ropes tied around his heart unwind. “I’m so glad—”

  “I’m not done, you know,” his secretary tsked. “A story like this needs room to breathe, boy. Anyway, the fazziano didn’t make it. We ducked into a supply closet while the Legionnaires had it out with those monsters.” She craned her neck, scanning the wrecked food court and smashed shops. “Don’t think the Legionnaires did too well, but about an hour ago, the brutes just…” She shrugged. “Well, wandered away.”

  Orion seized her shoulder in his thick-fingered grip. “Come with me, let’s see if we can get to the office. It’ll be safe there.”

  Dalaxa greeted Koreen and Bully, and the four of them went to the executive tubes. As a property owner, Orion’s emergency clearance still worked to activate the rapid transport system, so they were on their way. The 107th floor through the 101st floor had taken significant damage from flaming debris, but Orion was pleased to see that the 98th was fully intact, if deserted, when they reached it. As he pushed through the frosted-glass doors to his headquarters, the lobby seemed strangely peaceful, the lights on and the waterfall fixture bubbling softly as if nothing had happened.

  After breaking out Ogga Food tins for Dalaxa and Koreen and upending a bag of dog food on the floor for Bully, Orion secluded himself in his office. From his floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see swathes of devastation across the metropolis. The Hub’s pink glow had come alive as the solar panel floated in overhead, the vast, thin expanse of black glass unseeing, uncaring. With labored movements, Orion unbuckled the heavy med-tech suit and climbed out of it. The bruised, frostbitten body beneath was damp with sweat.

  He eased himself into his desk chair and retrieved his back-up datacube to call Zovaco Ralli. His first two calls returned a “network failure” message, but his third connected and activated the holographic interface. Zovaco appeared with his head wrapped in white gauze, inky spots of trislav blood dotting the crude bandage. The politician looked haggard, with bags under his eyes and his mouth bent in a hard-set frown. After a few blinks, a dumbfounded light came to his three eyes.

  “Orion,” he gasped. “You… you did it. Amazing. Even a master in the Assassins Guild couldn’t have...”

  “Come on, man,” Orion snapped. “You know we don’t say that over an interface, not now, not ever.”

  “Of course, of course.” Zovaco shook his head, refocusing with an angry scowl. �
�Orion, you have served the Union, the greater good with—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Orion waved his hand. “Is Mervyn okay?”

  Zovaco looked confused. “Mer… yes, he’s fine. He’s right here. Why?”

  “Promised I’d ask.” Orion stood and hobbled back to the office door, swinging it open. “Koreen, he’s good,” he shouted into the lobby.

  The old durok launched into a tirade. “You tell him he’s retired! He’s retired from his damned kingmaking, and he and I are going to a tropical planet where—”

  Orion swung the door closed. “Tell him she’s glad,” he said as he walked back to the holographic interface.

  Zovaco’s static-scratched image nodded. “Orion, I don’t know how the Union can ever repay you, how I can ever repay you.”

  “I’ve got an idea on that,” Orion snorted. “Pay me everything owed under my Union retainer, including all of the ‘achievement bonuses’ and hazard pay for my subcontractors too. Then,” he said, weighing his words carefully, “I want you to give the s’zone the fourth band of the Maker Rings.”

  Zovaco’s mouth hung open for a moment. “You did that?”

  Orion sat again with a weary groan. “Don’t worry about how it got done, and pitch it to Parliament as if it’s your own idea. Under no circumstances do you attach my name to this. Got it?”

  “Understood, and consider it done.” Zovaco narrowed his three eyes. “But a few bonuses and acting on a good suggestion hardly feels sufficient. I’d like to propose that you are awarded the Union’s highest honor, the Medal of—”

  “No,” Orion snapped, cutting him off. “But there is one more thing. You and me… we’re done.”

  “Excuse me?” Zovaco tilted his bandaged head, puzzled. “Done with what?”

  “All of it.” Orion offered a sorry shrug. “My official Union retainer, your under-the-table missions, our partnership to root out our invisible enemies. All of it. Done, canceled, finished.”

  “Why?” he asked softly.

  “You’ve never been honest with me, Zo. Never.” Orion shook his head. “I didn’t know about your past affiliations when I helped you earn a seat at the big table. You knew the Union wiped out the vycart, you knew what Typhus was up to all along, and you hid that until you couldn’t. Same with Thegra’s Sword. And frankly,” Orion added with a shrug, “you aspire to power. And those who aspire to power are the last who should have it.” He chuckled and rubbed his face. “Take a peek at my family tree if you need proof of that.”

  Eyes downcast, Zovaco nodded thoughtfully. “I see you’ve made your decision.”

  “Yep.” Orion offered a melancholy half-smile. “Sad thing is? I’ll miss you, Zo. I like you. But then again, it’s kind of your job to get people to like you, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t blame you, Orion, nor can I deny your charges.” Zovaco met his gaze through the interface. “But I hope you will see — in the way I serve the people of the Union — that everything I do, I do for the greater good. Goodbye, my friend.”

  The image vanished, and for a few minutes, Orion simply sat naked in his darkened office. He gazed out at the fires burning across the Hub, the squares of pink light blinking on and off as the city power grid struggled to survive its injuries. Then he heard a knock at his door.

  “Come in,” he said without bothering to cover his naked body.

  “Care to buy a lady a drink?” Dalaxa asked as she slinked in and closed the door behind her.

  Orion swiveled his chair with a smirk. “As long as you don’t mind a casual dress code.”

  He found the bottle of Rumble Horse whiskey he kept on hand for Mervyn and filled two drams with light-brown liquor. They sat, he on one side of the desk, she on the other, raised their glasses and drank. Orion let the warmth of the fiery booze wash over him and thought it might have done more to heal him than the hours in the med-tech suit. Dalaxa, on the other hand, gagged and coughed on her sip.

  “By the stars,” she choked out, “what is this?”

  “One of my favorites,” Orion said with a twinkling smile.

  “It’s not for me,” she said, coughing as she put the dram on his desk.

  Orion tabled his drink as well and leaned toward her. “Look, I wanted to talk to you, and I guess now is as good a time as any.”

  She nodded. “I wanted to talk to you, too.”

  “Good,” Orion said as he folded his hands. “You’re going to need to do something with your new lease on life, right? I think you would be a perfect fit here at AlphaOmega. Your brain, the muscle of Aurelia and Kangor, one dashingly handsome leader — we’d be unstoppable. I’m sure you could take AD or Kangor’s office, they’re never here anyway.” He cleared his throat and felt himself blush a bit, but he couldn’t tell if that was the whiskey or his nudity or something else. “And as far as you and me, you know, no pressure. We’ll take it slow.”

  Dalaxa rose, came around the desk and kissed him, but Orion felt no passion in her lips, only a lovely sadness. “What?” he whispered as she pulled away.

  “Orion, it’s all straight now.” Dalaxa tapped a finger to her smooth temple. “Going back to Thegra’s Sword did something to me, and now the pieces are falling into place. I have a home, and I have a… a life partner, right here on the Maker Rings. I have friends, family, and they’ve been missing me for over a year.”

  Orion’s mouth worked soundlessly for a long moment. “What?”

  “I have to go home, Orion.”

  Orion groped for something to say, his mind reeling. “But… what are you going to do?”

  “Whatever I can for the s’zone.” Dalaxa offered a slight shrug. “If we’re going to build a new place for our people, our best minds will need to work together.”

  Orion nodded, his eyes vacant, unfocused. “I… see you’ve made your decision.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her huge pink eyes searched the floor. “Ultimately, you and me, we—”

  “For the love of the stars, please don’t let me down easy.” He slouched into his bio-mold chair. “Look, stay here tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll make sure you get to your people safely.” He glanced up at her with a solemn expression. “I just want to know you’re safe.”

  “Thank you.” She reached down a hand as if to touch Orion’s face but pulled back. “Thank you for helping me wash at least a little blood out of my ledger.”

  Dalaxa slipped out to the lobby. Again Orion sat alone with his thoughts and the smoldering cityscape. He drank down his dram of whiskey, coughed, and snatched up Dalaxa’s discarded libation. When that too had surged down his throat, Orion sat back and closed his eyes against the view.

  What now, he wondered? Orion would miss the fat government contracts, that much was sure. Zovaco’s payout would get AlphaOmega through the year, but he would have to get back to chasing down private sector jobs soon or their overhead would crush them. On the other hand, he found it hard to imagine charging into danger again when he opened his eyes and surveyed his bruised, frostbitten body. Should he go back to his search for a mother who didn’t want him, who had never wanted him? No. Orion almost drifted into a whiskey-warm sleep, but then he saw something in that strange space between waking and slumber. A flash of a toddler with mismatched eyes jarred Orion awake, and he knew what he had to do.

  He had to go home, too.

  To be continued in

  alphaomega iii: the trials of ascension

  Did you enjoy The Weapons of War? It'd be greatly appreciated if you could rate it on Amazon. My next book, AlphaOmega III: The Trials of Ascension is coming soon! To be the first to know about it be sure to follow @danschirobooks on Facebook or sign up for my newsletter at DanSchiro.com.

  While you're waiting you could check out my other published title, Rogue Destiny!

  acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank all the amazing people
who continue to support and encourage my work, and offer a special thanks to a few people who made special contributions to the second book in the AlphaOmega Series: Owen Richardson, for yet another spectacular cover illustration; Heidi Bristol, for proofreading that leaves typos nowhere to run; Lianne Hedden, for generous feedback from afar that goes above and beyond the call; the members of the Saturday Morning Irregulars (Madolyn Rogers, Dan Maguire, Rick Richards, Ryan Campbell, Scott Birrenkott, Beth Walters and all the others), for honest and invaluable critiques of each chapter; Mom and Dad, for holding on to my comic book collection for all those years; and of course, my wife Michelle for making everything and anything possible.

  about the author

  Dan Schiro is a copywriter who wields his words to sell axes, exercise equipment and everything in between. He earned a BA from the University of Wisconsin-Madison with a double major in English and Philosophy. Dan’s debut science-fiction novel, Rogue Destiny, and AlphaOmega I: This Bloody Game are available on Amazon. Thus far, Dan’s books have earned positive reviews on multiple digital platforms, plus one cherished piece of fan mail and one German Facebook stalker. Dan lives with his wife and daughters in Wisconsin. He would love to tell you more about himself, but speaking in the third person gives him the creeps.

  Be the first to know about the next novel in

  the AlphaOmega Series — follow @danschirobooks

  on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram today.