Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 15

Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 21

Our snippeting comes to an end with Varan and friends arriving, finally, at Thann'Ta for a fateful meeting...

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Chapter 21.

Varan:

Downbreak this time happened precisely on schedule, with both myself and The Eönwyl in place, rested, and ready.

Thann'ta's sun was slightly more orange than standard, but Thann'ta itself orbited closer to its star by enough to make it a hotter world than most Imperial planets – one that would have violent weather and, if experience was any guide, a lot of thick and deadly jungle over much of the surface.

The close orbit also meant it was deeper in the exclusion zone. This made neither The Eönwyl or myself comfortable, especially as we picked up several Imperial vessels in the area. What do we do if Thann'ta doesn't want us here?

Time to worry about that if it happens, Vick answered. Lower the psionic shielding.

There were other ships – daggerlike, slender, some like clusters of blades, others like single swords. It was my first look at R'Thann design, and it somehow looked exactly as I would have expected it. A species that thinks in terms of claw and warfare would be expected to make ships that reflect that attitude.

The Eönwyl had lowered the psi shielding as directed, but was noticeably more concerned with the fact that three Imperial vessels were already altering course towards us. "Incoming transmissions," I said.

She shrugged, but activated the D-comm. "This is The Eönwyl. Go ahead."

I could feel a faint tickle at the back of my mind – a sense of a psionic communication going on between Vick and someone else that I couldn't make out – as the response came back immediately. "This is Imperial warship Tempest of Dawn. Eönwyl, you are believed to be carrying traitors to the Imperium. Shut down all engines and surrender, or be destroyed."

I couldn't help but laugh slightly. "I thought it was bad before? Tempest of Dawn's a Cyclonic-class."

The Eönwyl looked grim, as well she might; a Cyclonic had more firepower than three of Morno's carrier class, and was probably the single most formidable class of vessels in the Galaxy – outside of the few functioning Atlantaean warships like Niaadea, of course. And the other ships turning towards us weren't small, either, though Tempest of Dawn was the only full-size battleship.

I reached out cautiously, afraid of what I'd sense, but to my surprise I didn't hear any of the distant-screaming voices.

Another voice came over a general carrier, broadcast to us and to the Imperial vessels. "Recognized is Eönwyl. Landing capital directed to. Tolerated not will be interference."

The R'Thann fleet had suddenly shifted direction in a chillingly coordinated fashion, redirecting in triple spearhead formation towards the three Imperial forces. It was clear that the transmission was neither diplomatic nor negotiable; the R'Thann were making it abundantly clear that if the Imperial forces attempted to intercept, the R'Thann would fire. And scanners showed major installations on every single planet and large-scale moon in the system, all raising defenses and energy signatures soaring towards levels I associated with Imperial fortresses.

Whoever was commanding Tempest of Dawn and the rest of the Imperial detachment was no fool; he could see as well as I that in their home system, at least, the R'Thann had enough firepower to wipe them from the sky in about ten seconds flat and suffer almost no losses themselves. And most likely had picket sensors and fast-scout observers to alert them to incoming reinforcements. The entire task force backed away, regrouped, and Converted out while we were still heading in-system.

"Thann'ta control, this is The Eönwyl. Please provide a beacon and any additional instructions or precautions we are to take en route."

A glacier-hard and cold thought-voice replied. Your landing location will be here. We all could see the path and ultimate destination in our minds, and I was astounded by the precision. I knew that if I followed those directions, I would land exactly where they wanted us, to within millimeters, even if I never glanced at a single exterior sensor.

 

Prepare yourselves. Your Testing begins upon landing.

"I suspect it began when we were caught by Kukanaro's blockade," I muttered.

A sense of laughter from Vick. That is certain, yes. Yet that Test was merely to determine if you were worthy to speak with. This Test will determine whether you are worthy to live.

"And yourself as well, yes?" Guvthor rumbled, audible over the intercom.

Undoubtedly. There was no mistaking the predatory glee in that thought.

Thann'Ta grew swiftly before us. It was a larger world than Oro, about the size of my own Korealis, and the five major landmasses were thickly covered with blue-green vegetation in most areas; very small icecaps emphasized that this was a much warmer world than many, probably as warm as Xaltine and as humid, for the landmasses were still dwarfed by the ocean, which also showed blue-green as we approached.

Unlike Thovia, however, the nightside blazed with the lights of cities; the R'Thann may have left much of their world looking wild, as we had glimpsed in many of Vick's tales, but they were a powerful and fully industrial world; the familiar network of earthbound stars and glowing strands like faerie-spinners' webs covered the planet's darkened land and even glowed from beneath the seas.

As we descended, I felt a hint of softer emotion from Vick. Have you been homesick?

The instant response was something sharp and defensive, but almost instantly repressed. When Vick allowed himself to answer, his mental tone was surprisingly soft. Yes. Yes, I suppose I was. We teach ourselves to be independent, to survive and recognize our Testing as our proof of our worth, to become too attached to nothing; yet to finally return to the world where I was hatched, the world which banished me, and to do so in hope that they will accept me again… yes, I am perhaps foolishly emotional, but Thann'ta is beautiful, is it not?

It is, and there is nothing foolish about treasuring the world that is your true home.

The Eönwyl vibrated as it entered atmosphere thick enough to feel, and slowly Thann'ta changed from a sphere to down, a world on which we were landing. Ahead a city, a shining bladed-spire weapon held against the sky, blue-green with the vegetation and tinged with blood on its many edges as the sun was setting.

Hundreds of other vehicles – skyskimmers, larger shuttles, freight vessels – shared the air, following no obvious patterns but evading each other with what seemed supernatural ease. I suddenly realized what I should have thought of ages before. Your people… they're all psionic. So they can sense each other, even know when they're going to turn their vehicles, what their intent is, and thus there is no need of any special traffic direction.

That is correct. Although, he continued in his "lecturing scientist" tone, do not make the mistake of thinking us a … collective entity, or a united group of perfect collaborators. Our minds remain our own at nearly all times, and the "driving mind", as one might call the mode of thought we would maintain while piloting a vessel like this one, only gives others access to your location and driving intentions, nothing else. To read a mind without permission… is a deadly offense.

I got the impression that most real offenses would be deadly on Thann'ta. I glanced over at The Eönwyl, controlling our final approach; she showed little tension on the outside, but I could tell she was nervous – very, very nervous.

The path took us between rows of the sharp-edged buildings, sometimes so close that we could easily see The Eönwyl's reflection travelling in the windows that lined the buildings. Then it opened up, the huge city falling away to either side, replaced by a great open space of alloy-edged landing tarmac – a major land-space port. The Eönwyl brought her ship down precisely at the point indicated in our psionic instructions.

The Eönwyl looked at me and, in a sort of mental way, at Vick. "Now what?"

Now, replied the hullmetal-hard voice that had directed us before, you will proceed to the Towers of the Light and there I shall Test you.

I sensed a jolt from Vick and was able to guess the reason; he had not realized until that moment who he was talking to, and by that last bit he must have finally put it together. I replied, Understood. I then addressed a quick question to Vick. I presume you know where the Towers of the Light are?

Vick's slightly chaotic thoughts solidified swiftly. Yes…. Yes, of course I do! What idiocy! How foolish would I sound had I asked you when on Oro if you knew where the Emperor's palace was?

I laughed, trying to use the humor to keep me relaxed. So it's that obvious? Then… the largest set of buildings? Over there, the three tall blades set together in a triangle?

Yes.

"Go on," The Eönwyl said as I unstrapped. "I'm going to shut her down properly. I'll meet you all in a few minutes."

I nodded and headed down. I knew that following a shipboard routine like that – alone – was a soothing process to a shipowner. I was tense too, but I was finding it a little easier now to just throw myself into these situations. And I wasn't in a position to choose, really, while she was.

I joined Vick and Guvthor as they descended the ramp to the tarmac. "She'll be with us in a moment." I took a moment to look around.

I was instantly startled by what I saw. There were many R'Thann moving back and forth to various ships in the port, often entering doors in the alloy-edging that I now realized was a network of corridors, probably with built-in transport, to shuttle passengers and cargo efficiently from one landing point to another, or to the interior of the city. But the startling point were the R'Thann themselves. While they were in outline very much like Vick, they were – in comparison – huge. Most of them stood tall enough to look me in the eyes, while Vick's eyes were a full sixty centimeters lower than mine. "I hadn't realized…" I trailed off.

… that I was a dwarfed as well as powerless exile? Vick managed to keep too much bitterness from the thought. No reason that you should have. I am the only one of my people who has ever entered your Empire as anything other than an emissary or Ambassador. Not that I expect many of either to be travelling there in future.

No, probably not, I agreed grimly. I suspected that the attempts to negotiate with either the R'Thann or the Ptial were doomed to failure now; the one was an entirely psionic species and the second revered psis as emissaries of the gods. Not much chance the current Empire could live with them in peace.

"Let's go." The Eönwyl walked past me, tucking her ship's key-control into her belt pouch.

Vick led the way; not only did he know where exactly we were going, but he understood how to make one's way through the city efficiently. This turned out to be important because most R'Thann ignored us with a supreme indifference; they would detour around us – mostly, I suspected, because of Guvthor's immense bulk and unusual mental capabilities – but they would not interrupt their activities for us. This included the R'Thann equivalent of hirecars. They would instantly pick up and carry away any other R'Thann that signaled, but would ignore us entirely; they even ignored Vick when he signaled, which he was reluctant to do but did when I insisted he try.

"Never mind, Captain Varan," Guvthor said cheerfully. "None of their cars are large enough for me in any case. Do you really wish to abandon me here?"

"No, of course not," I answered, a bit testily. "But why are they ignoring us, Vick?"

You truly do not understand? Overtones of disappointment. I would have hoped you could deduce it. Because we do not exist here, Captain Sasham Varan. We have not passed our Tests of Adulthood, and you are not even of The People. I am an exile, a nonperson until I regain my rights before one of the Masters, and you must do the same.

I supposed that made sense, given what we'd already learned about the R'Thann. "An… interesting people, but not very comfortable to be around," I said finally, glancing at The Eönwyl.

She smiled thinly. "And I am sure they mean to give exactly that impression."

It took nearly an hour of walking to reach the base of the Towers of the Light. As we walked through the entrance, something else struck me. "Vick… there aren't any guards here."

Yes. And?

"Well… I thought this was the seat of your… local? Planetary? Government, and we're going to see your equivalent of …?"

One of the Masters of the Light; I do not know – yet – which has chosen to see us. But the highest of them would be the equivalent of your Emperor, the lowest, members of your Five Families.

"And there isn't a single guard?" We were inside now, heading toward what I presumed was an elevator. Nothing seemed to be stopping us, and none of the R'Thann in the building's sharp-ceilinged lobby even seemed particularly interested in us. "You'd never get near His Majesty without a dozen guards around him and going through I'm not sure how many layers of security." The elevator doors closed and I sensed the lifters send us shooting up at dizzying speed.

That, Vick's mindvoice said with a very patronizing tone, is because your rulers are not of the People.

Inside, I thought to myself that it's true that all of us think of our species as "The People", and all the others are "Other People" (or in the more xenophobic species, "Intelligent Enemies/Vermin", and for the Ghek'Nan, "Food"). But there were… backtones, echoes, implications behind Vick's thought of "The People", subconscious elements which carried much more force. It was not merely the thought of "we're the real people and the rest of you are… well, not quite as real people as us"; it was more… powerful, deeper. More dangerous.

"What exactly do you mean by 'The People', Vick?" The Eönwyl asked, just before I would have done so.

The People of Creation's Light, answered the crystal-hard mindvoice that had spoken to us before, as the elevator doors slid open.

Standing a few dozen meters away was an R'Thann, draped with elegantly-worked fabric which had to be some sort of symbolic or ceremonial robe. The room in which we stood occupied, I realized, the entire top of the central tower of the three Towers of the Light, a single room fifty meters across, a hundred and fifty meters long, and seventy meters high at the peak. But despite dramatic and normally eye-catching sculptures, hangings, a high crescent-shaped group of chairs, the only thing that drew the eye was the R'Thann himself. He was little if any taller than the average R'Thann but somehow seemed to tower above us all.

We are the Testers of the Universe, and those Tested in the ever-ascending journey to reach the heights of the Creator, as It commands us. We do Creation's work, that one day we all shall be as the Creator, and It will no longer be lonely.

Vick dropped low to the ground and vibrated his crest in a chiming rhythm. Not having Vick's crest or – quite – the ability to bend and balance like that without a tail, I gave the R'Thann a formal Six-And-One. Guvthor merely nodded.

"I –"

You are well known to me, Captain Sasham Varan, born of Korealis the cold, the frozen; and you, Guvthor of Guvthor, spy and agent of Thovia; and you, Eönwyl, born in darkness eternal. The exile who would return I of course know well, for I made the decision that permitted him that journey."

"And you are…?"

No longer do I have a name, the R'Thann said, regarding us with a terrible calm. I am the Master of the Final Light, the Weapon and the Wielder, the Hunter of Hunters, Death of Fear, Arbiter of Creation's Word.

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 21 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 20

Varan's gamble is a painful one...

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Chapter 20.

Varan:

Morno came straight in, as I'd expected; his style was to hammer fast and hard, typical of the Ternam Ralyeh, and his technique was a unique combination of jai-ye and zairaka. Taelin used a lot of the latter – Lukh was an expert in it – but jai-ye was almost exclusive to the Dragon Strikers; it meant "wing-claw" and was a style focused on swift, multi-level punching and kicking, a highly aggressive combat style meant to maim and kill.

But I was in Mind Center, the calm that lies at the core of every mind if only the thinker can realize it, can see the nexus of self from which every thought emanates, through which every feeling passes, into which all fears must travel and be absorbed and transformed into peace. I saw Morno through the Water Vision, and the flow of motion was as clear as the inevitability of a waterfall.

A very fast waterfall, and I moved aside only barely in time, though still with a controlled and exact motion. I let the Vision guide me as I observed. I had to understand his patterns and his capabilities, and that meant surviving long enough to figure out his weaknesses.

The crowd was roaring now, mostly encouragement for their commander, but I thought I heard a tremendous deep bass roar that could only have come from one throat, in a language I didn't speak but knew had to be for me. I dodged and parried quick, stabbing punches and hammering kicks, turning them with as little effort as I could manage. That hurt still, and I realized that Morno was even stronger and faster than he'd been the last time we met. He hadn't spent the last few years just commanding; he was in top form, longevity treatments keeping his reflexes at their peak while experience made him better at using those reflexes.

"You're better than you were, Varan," Morno conceded, pausing in his attack, regaining his energy, circling and observing me in his own way. "You even got that Tor gaze down right. But the old 'Eternal Stare' isn't scaring me."

"It's not meant to scare anyone," I said quietly, almost impossible for him to hear over the noise from the crowd as we circled. "That's only a distraction from what it actually does."

"And just what does it do, then?" he asked with a faint, sarcastic smile.

"See."

My kick took him straight in the chest, right through the gap between his blocking arms that showed up just as he shifted blocking patterns. But even as I drew my foot back, one hand clamped on my ankle, and he used the momentum of my kick along with his own strength to drag me down and try to throw me. Instead I bent, flipped around my own leg to relieve the pressure of the throw, and twisted from his grip in midair, coming down on both hands to deliver a backwards blindkick that I felt slam into a blocking arm with enough force to knock it back into Morno's chest. I used the reaction from the impact to do a roll-and-twist, skidding to a halt just barely inside the heptagram, coming up facing Morno as he rolled to his feet on the opposite side.

This is definitely not the old Morno, I thought reluctantly. He's more controlled, smarter, and tougher. We were circling each other again, the roar of the crowd now almost deafening as it echoed from the armored walls of the bay, and his movements were textbook-perfect zairaka, flowing calm rippling motions meant to baffle the eye and mislead the attacker, while his face showed pure-crystal concentration. This isn't the same man who lost his temper when two stupid cadets in training brawled through his dinner, who got such a ratchet-lock on the offense that he followed me for two weeks so he could catch me away from Helkoth.

Another flurry of blows and blocks, both of us getting stung, neither getting anything decisive. I looked around briefly at the crowd around us, taking in the whole scene in Mind Center, perceiving the patterns and expressions and movements and sounds as a single gestalt of actuality. I couldn't actually grasp it all in my mind at once, not the way one has to comprehend and grasp the entirety of one's hand in Hand Center, but I could gain an impression of the overall nature of the setting and what I saw there … hurt, in a way. These people were not cheering against me – not entirely. They were genuinely cheering their commander, worried for his safety against a desperate and dangerous renegade. I knew that kind of esprit de corps doesn't form around a bully and a vengeful, self-involved tzil like the man that almost beat me to unconsciousness.

The distraction almost cost me the duel; my focus on Mind Center wavered, and I didn't realize that Morno was more than alert enough to see the shift in expression. He was there before I could react, catching my instinctive block, spinning me around, hammering an elbow down – almost onto my neck, my own movement barely sufficient to shift it into a crushing blow to my upper shoulder that numbed my right arm almost instantly. He continued the whirlwind attack as I tried to tumble, a spin-stomp and drop that almost caught me dead-on. I had no choice but to tumble farther, expelling pain and distractions, trying to regain the Center before he finished me – or I put myself out of the 'gram.

I stopped suddenly and did a spinning handstand low-sweep kick that I'd taken from an exhibition dancer I met once, and the unexpected move took Morno's legs out from under him even as my still half-numb arm screamed protest. He rolled, of course, but that gave me just enough time to rise to my feet and finish the meditative run at the speed of thought: Fast Center, pausing, a single breath of calm; White Vision, emptiness, within a winter storm; Heart Center, pulsing, life's unending beat; Red Vision, crimson, constant flow of living heat; Hand Center, reaching, strength of thinking skill; Clear Vision, outward, skies so dark and still; Deep Center, focusing, rising from within; Wind Vision, swiftness, tempest's howling din; High Center, waiting, viewing from on high; Water Vision, rushing flow, the ocean's living eye; and Mind Center, holding, truth within your thoughts.

We faced each other again, and within the watching fortress of the Mind Center I felt a flare of anger and selfish disappointment. Why can't I have a victory here that I won't regret? I now knew – just by the chagrined half-smile on his face, the expression of a fighter who's realized that his opponent is fully his equal – that Commodore Veshdar Morno wasn't someone I wanted beaten, he was someone I wanted on my side. But for the sake of the Empire itself, I had to beat him – and probably destroy his career in the bargain. Or one day he, or his closest friends and relatives, would be a screaming mindvoice behind a human shell, or worse.

"Morno," I said.

He watched me as I began a slow, swaying advance, the movement of waves and wind. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

He blinked, as I knew he would, and in that moment I leapt up and over, kicking for the back of his head. He dodged, but I'd thrown him off, and my backflip off the landing put me precisely in position to block his escape.

He didn't bother trying to continue evasion, took a shot to the side of his head that I thought would drop him and just shook it off as though he'd been struck with a snowball, slammed a backfist into my face and tried to get an armlock when I punched back. Arms and hands turned and grasped, released and returned, as both of us sought some advantage. A knee detonated agony through my gut but I fought off the nausea and reflexive buckling, flung myself backward with a sha-yaida twining grip on his elbow that forced him with me; he used the momentum to twist around, spin us, land with stunning impact atop me, driving the air from my lungs in a shrieking gasp that brought me teetering to the brink of consciousness, red haze threatening to erase all visions.

But I held the Center, barely held it, and through – past the red mist, beyond my own range of sight I could still see, the twin hammerblow coming to finish me, and the open strike that it permitted. My arms felt like frozen blocks but the Red Vision shattered coldness, the Hand Center showed them reaching, curling, hardening, and both of my hands drove up with lighting speed into his solar plexus. Morno grunted in agony and I jack-knifed, reversing our postions, even as he tried to do the same; we tumbled faster across the deck and suddenly I sprawled flat and kicked upward; Morno flew off of me with a stunned curse as he realized, a split-second too late, that I was at the very edge of the heptagram. He crashed down less than half a meter from the line and lay still for a moment.

"Hurrakast! It is done," Killaren'tian called out.

The crew of Kukanaro surged forward, and I came back on guard, feeling the pain of bruises, strains, maybe worse trying to keep me down, but I had to ignore them all; Morno could always change his mind – or just pretend to be injured enough so he couldn't stop it, and in the latter case he might even manage to get away with it and not have Killaren'tian dare break off relations.

But even as a ring of guards leveled weapons at me – and I saw a similar mob surrounding the raised platform where Guvthor, Sooovickalassa, and The Eönwyl stood – Veshdar Morno got to his feet, shaking off the people trying to help him. "What in Atlantaea's Name are you all DOING?" he bellowed, but I could barely make it out in the uproar; only those nearest him reacted.

But then Morno touched his collar and activated the entire shipwide address system.

"WHAT IN ATLANTAEA'S NAME ARE YOU ALL DOING?!"

The sound temporarily deafened everyone in Kukanaro's landing bay; it shook the deck, vibrated the landing craft spaced around the walls, practically jarred my teeth loose from my jaw. Everything came to a sudden halt.

"Is there a single one of you that wants to tell me I am not still in command of my own Demon-damned ship? Anyone?" This was merely almost deafening, and still there was no movement anywhere in the bay. Morno waited for several seconds before continuing. Not a sound except the breathing of several thousand people, waiting, disturbed that tense pause.

"Now that we have that little issue settled, I am not going to explain the situation again. If you're on my ship, you are not stupid, and I by the EMPEROR had better not have to explain anything to any of you twice. Most of you get the hell back to your posts, now. Harag, take your second and third Sevens and get The Eönwyl's ship in position for launch. First Seven stay here with me."

I could see Harag was almost purple from restraining his – admittedly perfectly understandable – sentiments. But he said nothing, merely saluted and then turned to roar out orders to his men. Morno turned to the Black Sergeant of the first Sevensquad. "Sergeant, you keep those dampers synchronized and on our … guests until they depart. Coordinate with Inclusions so that their ship stays blanketed."

I glanced at him. "You think I'm going to try something now?"

He actually cracked a smile. "No, I don't. But I'm making sinking sure that there isn't anyone, anywhere, who can claim you ever had a chance to do a Towers-damned thing to me or any of my men. That way even an inquiry board can't claim I was mind-twisted into doing any part of this."

I nodded. "I'd do the same. It's the right move. Good luck, Veshdar."

"You'll need a lot more than that." He gave me a meaningful look. It wasn't a friendly look… but it was a warning glance, with respect in it, that I'd never expected from him. And I think – maybe – he saw something similar in my own eyes.

I turned to Killaren'tian and gave her a circle-and-bow as low as I could. "The Lady's grace was upon me, and your courtesy has saved me. Now I ask that you do the same for the man who has risked his command and honor for us."

"Kullurri venn'shi. It shall be done. The Commodore fought well and with great honor."

The sound of a pair of running feet reached me and I turned to see The Eönwyl sprinting towards me. For a moment I thought she was going to embrace me, and I found myself stepping forward in a way that confused me; but she abruptly stopped only a meter away and grasped my hands. "That… was well-done," she said, but her face was surprisingly flushed for such a short run, and it sounded like she wanted to say more. "Are … you all right?"

"I'm fine." I realized I was still holding her hands; they were strong and warm and I didn't immediately let go, until Vick and Guvthor reached us.

"Well-fought, well fought indeed!" Guvthor gave me what was probably meant to be a congratulatory pat and nearly smashed me to the deck, grinning with a predatory glee that made him look for a moment more savage than Vick had yet managed. The huge Thovian looked to Morno. "And you as well. An excellent duel, and my sympathies as to the difficulties this will place you in."

I could see The Eönwyl being brought into launch position even as Morno answered. "Fewer difficulties than you're going to be having. Get aboard your ship and go, before any more of my crew have second thoughts. If they do things right they might be able to avoid accusations of mutiny and maybe even end up with a commendation. I'm just lucky most of them are used to me."

"Not luck. I know a good commander when I see one," I said, not without some effort. "You were right, Morno. I was an intolerably insufferable tzil."

He grimaced. "Yeah, you were. But… well, we Strikers get taught how much better we are than you Navy weaklings. Maybe they shouldn't do that so much. Now get out!"

I gave another quick circle to Killaren'tian, who called out a blessing in Ptial as we reached The Eönwyl.

Our equipment was brought to us by Red Sergeant Harag himself – who still looked almost ready to explode. I decided that it was wise to confine myself to a grave "thank you" and say nothing else. The Eönwyl triggered her ship's loading ramp even as she got the control rig back and was heading for it while still putting everything else back on. I followed closely, with Guvthor and Vick right behind.

"Hurrying – why? Mind change you believe Morno will?" Vick asked tersely.

"No, he won't," I answered, quickening my pace as The Eönwyl started jogging up the ramp. "And he'll probably keep Kukanaro under control."

"Ahh," Guvthor said in the tone of someone who has suddenly discovered a windwailer outside his door. "His agreement does not extend to the other vessels in his force."

"Right," I nodded, and ran to catch up with The Eönwyl, only Tor discipline keeping me moving; the pain would catch me, and soon. "And any fighters out on patrol probably were deliberately NOT informed – so they won't be in on it either."

As I entered the corridor to the control room I saw Vick sprinting towards engineering; Guvthor, unable to enter the rest of the ship, went to strap himself down.

The Eönwyl was already in her seat when I entered, and I felt the ship quiver. "Hold on, will you?"

"That," she said tensely as I threw myself into my seat and started locking down the restraints, "isn't my doing. They're opening the bay without waiting for us. Probably hoping that we won't be ready before we drop out into line of fire."

The screen showed the bay was already close to a quarter open; when it reached a little more than half, The Eönwyl would plummet down through the generated gravity field until it was far from the hull of Kukanaro.

I snapped the last anchor shut as the doors neared one-third. "Strapped in! Give me full sensor feed."

The Eönwyl dropped into the void, scant moments after we'd entered her; but her eponymous captain was already acting, kicking DD-engines to full acceleration – and nearly blowing our own field generators. "Torline's Swords, we're still in their DD field! You can't –"

"We need the speed."

She was right; the Marjaav was already on an intercept course and the blockade generator ship was trying to maneuver ahead of us to prevent a successful Conversion.

But now that we were out of Kukanaro, my psionics were back in full strength, shoving the pain aside, locking down a cracked collarbone, shoring up torn and bruised muscles and starting their healing. Energy flooded back into me and I focused on the job at hand. "Picking up seven… no, nine fighters. They're on a spreading pattern, Eye formation, opening about point four with optimum spread vector." Three in a triangle on top, three on the bottom, one on each side and one – the "pupil" of the eye – up the dead center, with the pattern open like a mouth to catch us.

Red lights faded as we swiftly left Kukanaro's vicinity. "Can you balance us?"

"What's your TC conversion speed, realspace measure?"

She looked at me for a moment. "Military grade – point zero four five."

"Then we won't get to a point where you need me to balance. Head straight for the Marjaav."

She saw what I meant. "Sasham… you had better be very good at this. Transferring Conversion control to your console."

The Eönwyl spun, drove directly towards the most heavily armed adversary, the Marjaav patrol vessel named Ghandenar. I was watching the D-scanners. Kukanaro's dimensional interference extended outwards for thousands of kilometers; Ghandenar's, almost as far. The blockade ship… in normal space it would have a monstrous reach.

But no ship wants to have fields interact, so the Marjaav would avoid getting too near Kukanaro. Just far enough to prevent interference. Which meant that there would be a narrow, narrow band between them where…

It was rushing at us with fearful speed, and I saw two skip-missiles launched even as I keyed in the activation timing. Alarms screamed through The Eönwyl as the two missiles – full size capital ship penetrators, enough to blow straight through even The Eönwyl's defenses – streaked towards us.

But The Eönwyl didn't slow her ship, or change her course. She remained deadly still at her post, watching the vectors counting down.

A glint on the viewscreen! The missiles were visible! We didn't have –

And the blaze of Conversion enfolded us with a screaming jolt.

For a moment, we both remained frozen, staring at the screen, which showed the final image; a gray circle filling nearly half the screen, a dead-on cross-section of an Imperial skip-missile which at standard magnification must have been no more than fifty kilometers away.

We had made the jump… with perhaps one-thousandth of a second to spare.

 

The post Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 20 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 19

Let's check in and see how The Eonwyl is doing...

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Chapter 19:

The Eönwyl

The Eönwyl found herself picking at her food, something very much unlike her. Even in very tight spots, she never had trouble eating; after all, if you had to act quickly, it was good to have your tanks full.

But her mind kept insisting on going back to worrying about what was happening to her …

Her friends.

She'd used the word casually, but The Eönwyl didn't really have friends. She couldn't afford them. Not with her family still enslaved on a world that seemed to consume reason and hope just by its very existence. She could help people when opportunity permitted. She could even take missions like this one, based on the potential to save the people she'd sworn to rescue.

But she shouldn't be thinking of them as friends, as people that were in and of themselves valuable to her. A trader had to consider the profit and loss, especially when the trader had something precious of her own to protect.

But the thought was still there, showing no sign whatsoever of leaving. The massive and dangerously intelligent Guvthor, Vick with his words sometimes sharper than his R'Thann fangs yet fiercely determined to drag them to victory despite their obvious inferiority to his "true People", thinking of them in danger because she'd been just a few seconds too slow (too slow… how?, a part of her asked with silky dangerous tones, ones that echoed a past she had almost walled away. There was nothing to sense, nothing to know; why regret that the impossible waited ten seconds longer?)… thinking of them in danger struck her heart with pain far greater than she felt with strangers in peril, even ones like Tyll and Jandy, the couple she'd saved from Contract back on Meletta.

But even with Guvthor and Sooovickalassa she could, with effort, convince herself that it was merely a matter of how vital a cause they were united in, how crucial all four of them were now to a mission that she had never imagined before that same day…

The day ex-Captain Sasham Varan risked his life to pay a debt she hadn't realized still weighed upon him; a debt which in truth she had actually almost forgotten, risked his life to save her own.

And that name was the one that truly distracted her, kept herself from tasting the rations set before her, kept her casting glances towards the bulkhead as though she could somehow see through it to where the one-time Imperial officer must be sitting. She wasn't worrying about the success of their mission or the completion of her contract. She was worried about him, about what this Morno might be doing to him now, and the fact that no one had come to speak with her in the hours she'd been locked up made it worse.

As she thought that – for about the hundredth time – a figure appeared at the doorway, a broad quadrupedal semi-reptilian form with an upright torso and a pair of very nonhuman arms below a wide, flat head with large bulging eyes. The Tcherabat stared at her a moment, then keyed the door off. She could tell without actually seeing it, just by the way the large alien stood, hand on its sidearm, that there were others on each side. No chance to make a break for it here. "Follow me, please," the creature – whose name, she could now make out as she approached, was Green Lieutenant Thisst Lassa – said in a deep, buzzing voice.

She stepped out, hands on her head as required, seeing the other two guards as she'd expected. "Where are you taking me now? Interrogation?"

Lieutenant Thisst didn't answer directly. "Continue ahead of me in that same pose. Please do not draw either too far ahead or approach me too closely. Do you understand?"

Well, they're not supposed to answer questions in general. "Yes, I understand."

To her surprise, they quickly led her back through the same corridors she'd come through originally – to the main landing bay in the carrier. That surprise was, however, completely overshadowed by seeing Guvthor and Vick also entering the landing bay, by different doors, and being led towards what seemed to be… A spectator platform?

She felt a sudden, startlingly sharp ice-cold pain of fear in her heart. What would the Empire want them to witness in such a public venue? An… execution.

The three mounted the steps to the platform, their guards following and stopping at the edge, allowing all three of the prisoners to move forward. There are… a lot of spectators. No wonder they weren't being put in direct restraints; it seemed that most of the crew – several thousand people! – were gathered around whatever was at the center. She glanced at her two companions; as usual, Guvthor wore a deceptively tranquil smile, as though he already knew the answers to the questions; to her surprise, Sooovickalassa's crest was high and he was stepping with confidence and pride, something contradictory to what she had seen in him last.

Finally she came to the edge, where she could see into the center of the hundred-meter wide cleared area the crowd was surrounding. Even her own ship had been moved aside to make the very center of the landing bay clear for…

For what?

A seven-pointed star was laid out in that space, with one figure at each of the points – four of them human crewmen of the Kukanaro, the other three all Ptial. In the heptagram at the center of the star were two other figures: Commodore Veshdar Morno, and… Sasham Varan.

For a moment – just a moment – she couldn't grasp what she was seeing; it made no sense. The commander of an Imperial Ternam Ralyeh Carrier had no reason whatsoever to risk himself in a combat with a prisoner. It was crazy. And even if he did, Sasham Varan had no reason to believe that winning such a combat would get him released. That kind of thing was for imageplays, not real life.

But now one of the Ptial – the one that had talked to Varan when they were first captured, Killaren'tian, was speaking:

"An unforgivable insult has been directed to a warrior of Ptial by the commander of this vessel. To prove the truth of his insults before the Lady, or to pay the price in blood for his words, Commodore Veshdar Morno will meet Captain Sasham Varan in honor combat, as decreed by the Lady and as honored by Atlantaea and now by the Reborn Empire."

"Varan's not a Ptial! He's a psi and a criminal!" There were many similar shouts around the perimeter. "Commodore, get out of there and –"

"Shut UP!" Morno's annoyance was clear in the brittle tone of his bellowed command. "Do I look like some kind of yellik idiot? Do any of you think I don't know what I'm doing here? Eh? Any of you want to tell me that I'm so Towers-damned stupid that I'd get into a dueling ring with a renegade like Varan if I didn't have some reason?"

That quieted the crowd for a moment.

"My top priority on this mission was not to screw up our diplomatic situation with Ptial. You all know that – and that it's not just my career riding on this one. Well, Varan was given Ptial citizenship by their leader after the Uralian Conflict."

In the stunned silence, a steamkettle whistle of laughter erupted from Vick, followed by a rumble of amusement from Guvthor; The Eönwyl kept her reaction to a grin.

"I'm not going into details, but the long and short is, I have to do this."

"And if you lose," Killaren'tian said, "you must release Captain Varan and his allies."

Morno's jaw clenched so tightly that The Eönwyl could see the muscles standing out even from that distance. "Understood. And if Varan loses, he is required to fully cooperate with our investigation. As are his allies. Yes?"

"Yes."

I don't remember agreeing to follow any Ptialian rules, she thought, and the bared fangs of Sooovickalassa indicated that he was thinking something similar. Guvthor was simply observing, a placid expression on his face.

"As can be seen," Killaren'tian continued, gesturing at three semi-portable platforms with familiar equipment aboard, "We have made a great concession in the rules; three psionic inhibition generators will prevent any opportunity by Captain Varan to use his psionic abilities during the duel. On Ptial, this would be considered a grave breach of protocol, as the Powers of the Lady are never to be restrained." Her smile was a snarl. "One foolish enough to challenge one blessed by Her must be willing to face Her power.

"But for the sake of your own laws and beliefs, this we have permitted. Thus it shall be a pure duel of warrior skill." She turned to face the two men. "Commodore Morno, are you prepared?"

"I am." Morno's voice was calmer. He had clearly taken the time to clear anything but the immediacy of the fight from his mind.

"Will you abide by the terms of this duel as we have stated them?"

"I will." He managed a very wry smile. "For the sake of my career, I don't have much choice. Though if I lose, I'm not sure of my career either."

"Captain Varan, are you prepared?"

"I am." Varan brought his arms up, parallel and slanted slightly, and opened his eyes.

"Will you abide by the terms of this duel as we have stated them?"

"I will."

She raised her hands. "Then let the Lady and the Universe be witness to the truth of claw and fang." Her arms slashed down. "Begin!"

 

The post Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 19 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 18

Varan had a plan...

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Chapter 18

Varan:

"All right, Varan." It had taken him just another half-hour to finish up whatever business he had elsewhere; Morno settled himself into a chair just outside of the doorway. "We're recording now, though I'm sure you don't need that warning."

"No, I rather expected you were recording long before you got here."

Morno's eyes narrowed. "Actually, no. Without a Monitor to order me otherwise, I'm sticking with full military procedure, and that means that even suspected psis like you aren't spied upon without warning. Which means not until now. We will of course be recording you continuously from now on."

My surprise showed – I actually meant it to, this time. He looked sour. "That's one of the things I always hated about you, Varan. It wasn't just that time you and that idiot Canta trampled my lunch into my face because you couldn't keep your juvenile quarrel in your sandbox. It was watching everything you did and seeing that assumption you understood everything that happened, everything that everyone did. I kicked you and your friends around and so I was obviously some kind of traitor to the holy Imperial cause, a conscienceless bully unworthy to be a Guardsman Striker. Right?"

He was right enough, and the accusation – with its accurate reflection of my simplistically arrogant younger self – stung even though I'd expected it. "And I should have thought any different when you followed me so that you could catch me – or Canta – alone and finish the job that Helkoth ordered you away from?"

A tiny bit of crimson showed in his tanned cheeks. "Well –"

"Not that it mattered since in the end Jearsen sank you like the towers."

"That …" With a visible effort he stopped himself. "Nice try, distracting me into talking about material that no longer matters, or letting me distract myself. I'm here to interrogate you."

I looked around. "No drugs or beatings?"

Now he gave the nasty grin I associated with him. "I prefer to give everyone the chance to tell the truth and any interesting additional facts without special aids. I'm monitoring all your vitals by remote, and as you know that's a Towers-damned good way of making sure you're telling the truth."

In general, he was right. Someone trained in Tor as far as I was, though, could probably fool such a setup pretty well. However, I didn't intend to lie. Telling him the truth might get him in for a world of hurt, or might get him mind-wiped by Shagrath or one of his friends, but would be potentially much more useful – and certainly a lot more amusing – than trying to spin out some imageplay fantasy for him. "So ask away, then."

"Why were you going to Thann'ta?"

"Looking for allies to assist me in a revolution against the Empire – or rather, the corrupt people controlling the Empire currently."

He coughed slightly in startlement. "Towers, you don't hesitate to go for treason in the opening sentence."

"Why should I? I'm already convicted as far as most people are concerned."

"Where were you before… no, let me guess. You visited Thovia first. It's not far off, comparatively speaking, and you had a Thovian on board."

"I see I was wrong in thinking you were a stupid Guardsman."

"You were wrong about a lot of things, Varan. So… you left Meletta and … hm. You went straight here, by the time differential. Well, straight to Thovia. And didn't spend all that much time there."

"Right."

He was definitely looking puzzled now. "I… see. And that means that The Eönwyl was the one that destroyed Lalam, and destroyed half the spaceport. Treason for her, too, plus a few hundred counts of murder. Unless you were controlling her."

"A couple hundred? A Marjaav doesn't have that big a complement. And let's not exaggerate the ground damage." We'd wrecked maybe four landing bays when The Eönwyl blew her way out of there.

"All right, maybe a quarter of the spaceport, and you were damned lucky that only a couple hundred people were killed!"

Sinking Hells. Shagrath had decided to make sure things always looked worse. I didn't need to ask to see the pictures. Obviously they'd fit. "We didn't do that. As far as I knew, the only people we killed were the ones shooting at us on Lalam."

"Do you expect me to…" he looked nonplussed at the air in front of him, where his visor was obviously projecting the data from the vitals monitor. "… hm. Well, sociopathy does generally allow liars to lie with conviction. I suppose you're going to tell me you didn't kill Frankel, either." Morno had known Frankel, though not that well; on the other hand, he hadn't had a quarrel with Frankel.

"No, I killed him, all right. But not quite like you've seen in the reports."

He stood up and slammed a hand against the doorframe. "Don't try that stupid a lie on me, Varan! I've watched that sequence in the original!"

I shrugged. "You think it's the original. I know it isn't, because I was there."

"You're a psionic and insane. By definition. But you sound pretty rational. Can't you understand that insanity has to have distorted your perceptions? Think, Varan! We all know psi eats your brain away, but you have to know that there is no way to fake the records off a military vessel, not that well."

I saw a slight movement just at the edge of my line of sight. Yes, she's still there watching. Probably having a hard time keeping from saying something with him slandering the holy powers. The Ptial had the opposite attitude from the Empire; those with psi powers were considered Blessed of the Lady.

"I thought the same thing, until after I beat Frankel – or whatever was wearing his face – and escaped to the other side of the Galaxy. Then found that the records had been changed and the witnesses all believed the new version."

I could see him eye the telltales again. He cursed in what I presumed was his native language and almost spat on the floor. "Either the sensors are useless or you believe that … mess of 'wailer breakfasts." He still looked slightly uncertain. "But … Falling Towers, you self-satisfied Mada renegade, I can't believe you'd be trying a lie that ridiculous even with a psi-burned brain."

His eyes narrowed and he almost made a step forward; a lot of people looking at virtual screens do that. "Funny… no sign of degeneration."

"Stop there if you don't want to end up in worse trouble than me, Veshdar." I almost never had used his first name – not at first, certainly, and in the couple of times we'd met since I'd used it once, and not in a friendly way.

He almost laughed; I couldn't blame him. "Worse? Exactly how could it be worse than the trouble you're in now, Sasham?"

"You could be in my fix without any psi."

I watched his expression shift several times as he stared at me, and I had to revise my old opinion. Veshdar Morno was in no way stupid. I could tell he'd taken my statements and followed them to the logical conclusion, if they were true. Finally he straightened. "Well, it's clear I'm not getting any sense out of you. Looks like my best course is to just keep you sealed away until I can get a new Monitor; one of the other patrolling vessels will probably be able to spare one for the interrogation, anyway."

"I demand a Trial by Seven."

He snorted. "Nice try, but you know better than that. Once you were declared psi, you were stricken off the Family records, and you're not Mada. Hell, technically you're not even Imperial any more."

Ha! He dealt me the Emperor! I could have had to bring up the point myself, but this made it smoother. "Not Imperial?"

"Didn't you read any of the later decrees? Signed by your old friends, the Mel'Tasnes? Psionics aren't considered people, officially, so how can something that isn't a person be a citizen?" He turned and started down the corridor.

"In that case, you'll have to let me go."

He stopped in mid-stride. "What?"

"Since the Empire has clearly renounced any claim to my loyalty, I hereby accept the citizenship and identity given me by the Hyarale of Ptial, and as a citizen of Ptial I am not subject to Imperial law."

He shook his head. "Whatever you're talking about, it doesn't matter. There is absolutely no way you're leaving this ship."

"Then," Kilarren'tian said, with cold iron in her voice, "there is absolutely no way that I and my warriors can continue to serve aboard a ship so dishonorable."

I didn't bother to restrain my own grin at Morno's sudden shocked stare; he had forgotten the Ptial was even there. "Warrior-Seeker, please be reasonable; I don't even have any evidence of this so-called citizenship that he claims –"

"I am sister-daughter first – cousin – to the Hyarale," she said even more coldly, and I saw the tail beginning the sharp, tight lashing that presaged a challenge. "More than once has she spoken of this man, and her offer to him after the Uralian Conflict. I am your evidence, Commodore."

As I'd already seen, Morno was not stupid. "I apologize most profusely and completely; I have most satisfactory evidence to hand. Still, this man is a wanted criminal by my people. Surely you would not wish to imperil the slowly-growing relations between our peoples by sheltering such a man, even if he can claim such citizenship?" I also saw his one hand – out of sight of Kilarren'tian – signaling battle-code to the observers. He was warning them to be prepared in case the Ptial went renegade.

Kilarren'tian considered. "You are correct that the Hyarale would not wish me to be as rash as you say." Morno began to relax, but she continued, with a smile of bared fangs. "But to your people, you say, there is in fact no person here, and thus how can there be a criminal? Criminals are citizens who commit offense."

"If you accept him as a citizen," Morno said in a more brittle tone, clearly becoming very un-amused with the way the discussion was going, "then you force us to recognize him as a person – and then he's a criminal. I'm asking you to avoid that entire problem."

"There is always the obvious solution; what you would call trial by combat."

"Forget it," I said as Morno was searching for an appropriate reply. "He'd never go for it. The last time we crossed paths he ended up kissing the deck."

"What? You tzil, that wasn't your doing, that was another Guardsman that did it – that pyonga Jearsen." The word Morno used was one I'd heard him use before, a particularly insulting one that came from a culture that put women in a very inferior position.

"What did you just call her?"

"Pyonga, Varan, and don't pretend you can't hear. I wouldn't mind having a rematch with her, when she didn't have the drop on me, but you? Pah! Don't make me laugh."

"She'd have used your face to scrub the deck again, Morno, but as she's dead she can't prove that, or shove your words back down your throat."

That rocked him back a bit. "Oh."

"We were going to be pledged."

"Captain Varan," Kilarren'tian broke in. "Is that true?"

"What? That I was going to be pledged – life-bonded – to Diorre Jearsen? Yes." Inwardly I said a prayer to the Six and the One. This could do it.

"Had you …" she searched for the proper term, knowing that Imperial attitudes were different than Ptialian. "… been intimate as pair-bonded would be?"

"If you mean, did we engage in sexual relations, yes." I managed to say this without looking too embarrassed at the intimacy of the question.

She looked at Morno, who was trying to figure out where this line of questioning was going. "And he has insulted her and implied you are a coward or a weakling?"

"The word he used is very insulting, yes."

She nodded swiftly. "Then you have issued a challenge of blood to Captain Varan," she said to Morno.

"I've what?"

"As far as Ptial are concerned, the intent to form a pair-bond is sealed the moment the couple are joined in body. So you have insulted his lifemate – when she is beyond the ability to defend her honor – and you have implied that one of the heroes of the Uralian Conflict is either weak or a coward. You must be ready to meet him in challenge, to prove such outrageous statements justified. Or …" she noticed Morno shaking his head, "… or you can refuse to give him this opportunity, and prove yourself an unworthy coward."

Morno suddenly stared at me. "You incredible bastard." He realized I'd trapped him – and, more, that he didn't dare refuse. Twenty-one Ptial – at least, and possibly several times that many – were onboard his ship, and all of them might mutiny in a diplomatic incident that might cost the Empire a lot – and would almost certainly cost a certain Veshdar Morno his career.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll beat the truth out of him in two hours, with yourself as a witness."

"And if you lose, you will let him and his allies go free."

He growled something under his breath, but nodded his head. "Agreed. But you aren't going to win, Varan. I beat you into the deck last time, and Jearsen isn't around to save you."

He turned and stalked off. I smiled my thanks at Kilarren'tian." I thank you, Sharr-Tilya. You have shown me a path where none lay before."

"If you can clear the path yourself. He is a formidable fighter."

"Yes." I couldn't argue that. "But so am I. And I have the true advantage."

She cocked her head. "And what advantage is that?"

"Simple," I said, and sat down on the floor in preparation for meditation. "I can't afford to lose."

 

The post Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 18 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 17

Varan had just gotten a really rude shock...

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Chapter 17

Varan:

"What?"

The inane question was out before I could restrain it, and Commodore Morno let his grin widen a bit. "Apparently your friend is an exile, not welcome on Thann'ta. They told us that you would be coming, that you would pass through this system, and even gave us a good general arc – one small enough that I could place scout pickets along the line with a good chance of picking you up, if you were in fact coming when and where they said. The timing was short enough that at worst I'd only be a little embarrassed if I found nothing."

Sinking hell. We'd known Vick had been exiled, but he thought he'd at least have a chance to prove himself.

Vick gave a steam-vent whistle and rattled his crest, added a few more choppy shrieks that were R'Thann words, probably curses, then settled into a watchful silence, his crest down, his colors noticeably muted.

Morno didn't laugh at him – his quarrel with me was a long-standing personal one, and he was, after all, a Guardsman, and he'd gotten this far by knowing some diplomacy. "Don't feel too bad about it. I think they figured there was some diplomatic leverage to be gained from it. The Empire's been watching them pretty closely, you know – that's why Kukanaro's this far out." He glanced over to Harag. "Everything set?"

"Field's been stable ever since it was established, sir," the Sergeant replied promptly. "Crimson-Inclusions is confident he can transition it to cover the target block whenever you give the word. The portable generators can manage a double-strength field for the transition period."

"Very good, Sergeant. I'll get out of your way while you make the transfer." He nodded to me. "Captain Varan, we'll be talking later."

"I'll bet we will," I muttered.

"This isn't about long-delayed revenge, Varan," Morno said calmly. "I won't say it isn't a great pleasure to have finally caught up with you when you've hit bottom, but Imperial Intelligence and the Monitors have a lot of questions. Since I'm waiting for a replacement Monitor and we don't have an ImpInt on board, I'm the only one with clearance to do the interrogation."

Waiting for a replacement Monitor. I had to fight to keep the sheer relief from flooding my face with a completely inappropriate grin. I'd been most worried that Morno would have one of the screaming-voiced monsters working for him – or in him. "Well… I guess I've got something to look forward to."

He laughed and walked off. "Carry on, Sergeant."

Red Sergeant Harag's team wasted no time. Vick and I were both herded down corridors flanked both fore and aft with semi-portable psi dampers; for a few moments in the landing bay I was in an quadruple damper field and even my regular thoughts seemed sluggish. Once in the hallways the pressure lightened, if you could call it that, to a mere double damper. Progress was slow because the semis didn't synch automatically – in fact, it took a delicacy of touch to manage it even with large and well-calibrated installations. Still, the techs they had riding the things were good – which wasn't a good sign. Morno had picked the right people and given them the chance to do their jobs.

I guess he can't be exactly the same arrogant bully I remember from twenty years back. A guy like that would be still down here giving loud directions and gloating.

I had a brief attack of panic as I realized one reason a man could have changed… would be not to be that man at all. But I fought the fear down. If anything would give those things trouble it'd be a double-strength psi-screen. The ones hiding in the Empire have to be pulling some interesting tricks to stay hidden, or at least they're pretty crippled a lot of the time. Morno's too comfortable to be one of those things. At least… I hope so.

And I had to admit that I wasn't the same guy I'd been all those years ago, either.

The cell slid shut and locked with a faint click. I felt the psi damper field waver for just a moment and then steady. Their engineer, almost certainly a Myrandaa by its name, was as good as its word. The cell was like most other Naval detention facilities: simple gray cube with appropriate sanitary facilities in one corner, a cot-bed that folded out from the wall, a small chair and desk locked to the floor, and that was basically it. The door was a deceptively delicate looking framework of metal and crystal; it looked like one good kick could shatter it, but I doubted even Guvthor could break that door with all the time in the world to work on it.

Naturally, none of us were sharing cells. If I shouted they would possibly be able to hear me – if Morno had locked my friends in relatively nearby cells – but chances were they weren't. Sound dampers in the walls would let me talk to the guards or any visitors, but would prevent any chit-chat back and forth. I was on my own now – and so were the rest.

Kilarren'tian was standing just outside the cell. She turned her head as I called, and gave one of those savage smiles I remembered so well from two separate little wars. "You are in a bad position. How does a warrior – for I can see you are a warrior, even if only a man – who once spoke to the Hyarale herself then become one so hunted and harried?"

"No talking to the prisoners!" The speaker was a Sergeant, but not Harag; he had the strange pointed ears and cadaverous build (and light skin) of an Iulti native, one of the hundreds of "human but not human" offshoots that had come from fallen Atlantaean colonies.

"Kyrr-a!" The growl was a Ptialian curse I knew well, a dismissal with contempt. "We are not constrained by your rules, Sergeant. Your Empire gives us this opportunity to look at your ways, while we give you the benefit of our presence and assistance. We are under the command only of the Hyarale and the Lady Herself."

"You can't –"

"She can, unfortunately." That was Harag. "Please. Warrior-Seeker Kilarren'tian, can you understand why we prefer you not speak with a prisoner?"

She looked at him through narrow, slitted eyes. Her features were coated with a fine, golden fur but aside from that were beautiful, almost human aside from the fangs that showed when she snarled. The similarities were enough to drive comparative biologists to blows, especially as her people maintained with absolute conviction that they had no relation to us whatsoever. "I could choose to understand it in a manner which would give great offense to my people. But I will instead choose to not understand it and continue to speak with this man."

Harag was a man who knew a losing battle when he saw it. He rolled his eyes and with a muttered, "Sink it!", turned away. "Come on, the rest of you. Warrior-Seeker, I leave the prisoner in your care and your responsibility."

Her smile might – possibly – have been a touch smug; her voice had no trace of that, however, and she simply gave a Six-and-One. "Understood, Red Sergeant. I will make sure another is here to guard him when I must leave."

"Now," she said, "answer my question, if you would."

"Long story, Sharr-Tilya." I used the Ptialian form of her title, which did translate roughly to "Warrior-Seeker" but had somewhat more mystical significance. "The short of it is that I am accused of being a Tsrulla gone mad."

"A human psionic! Yes, I have heard that your people go insane when the power is granted. This is because you have not the favor of the Lady."

Yes, I suppose that would be the obvious explanation to you. The Ptial divided into two main groups, warriors and priests – with the priests the dominant class by far, even though there were far more warriors. From my personal point of view, the Priestesses of Narleya, the goddess they called the Lady, were just warriors with additional religious training. Anyone who made the mistake of tangling with a Ptial Priestess thinking she was less capable than her warriors would not live long enough to appreciate the irony of his error.

It occurred to me that their explanation was not disproven by my example. Which might be to my advantage. "Well, that would certainly explain why I am not, in fact, insane."

Her eyes narrowed. "So you claim to actually be Tsrulla? It is not some foolish error of theirs, perhaps confusing the R'Thann's powers with your own?"

"Oh, I'm a psi, all right. These shields are, from the Imperial point of view, very much needed. If they weren't up, I could do all sorts of things." Thinking back to my practice sessions with Shagrath and the slow increase in my strength since, I thought I might be able to pull off something even in this field… but I wouldn't want to try it if I didn't have to. "So you are actually independent forces within an Imperial vessel? How did Hyarale Selenriale manage to pull THAT off?"

She started to answer, then stopped, as I'd suspected she would. She studied me more closely. "For your sake I would hope that the Hyarale did in fact give you her name, for only a select few may use it."

I managed, I think, a quite credible shriek-hiss of offense-verging-on-challenge, even though it stung my throat; she went on guard reflexively. "Sharr-Tilya Kilarren'tian, I am Sasham Varan, named Ka Rerrowerria, The Stubbornly Unbending, by Hyarale Selenriale in her own chambers, after my return from Uralia itself. If you doubt me in this then only tooth and claw may satisfy me."

She stared at me for a long moment, judging my gaze and stance with deadly precision. Then she abruptly dropped into a low submissive posture. "I have no doubts and apologize for any words which have given offense."

"They are forgotten; no such words were ever spoken. We are friends."

She was immediately up, with a smile-snarl and a very different expression – an appraising expression which I remembered all too well from my last trip to Ptial. "Then as a friend I ask you, Sasham Varan, if it is true that indeed she gave you that name because you refused another offer in those very chambers?"

I could not possibly have restrained the flood of crimson to my cheeks, and she laughed with delight. "It is true! For know that my cousin the Hyarale has spoken of Ka Rerrowerria more than once."

A cousin of the ruler of Ptial. That explained why she was leading this detachment – that and her undoubted competence in combat. "So Selenriale still considers me Ptial by deed and honor, despite that … disagreement?" It was a safe question; if she didn't she would almost certainly never mention my name.

"Enough so that she regrets you are not available."

That just might be my key. If I could arrange it… "I ask of you one important favor, though it may seem of little importance now."

"A hero of the Uralian War can ask any favor."

Hero? I fought like everyone else, and didn't run when it got ugly. That's hardly hero material. Still, whatever she believes… "When the Commodore comes to speak with me… make sure you stay nearby. In earshot, at least."

The grin was a hunter's. "You plan something. Good. The thought that one who was favored by the Hyarale would simply let himself be captured was an… unpleasant thought, especially to the one who would be forced to bring that thought to her."

"Yes, I plan something. But I won't say any more, so you aren't directly involved."

"Hrrr. Then I shall speak no more, though many are the questions I have." We exchanged the embrace-the-world gesture (through the barrier, of course) and she swayed off, with another glance somewhere between seduction and challenge. Or maybe the two were the same; with the Ptial and their culture, it was hard to tell the difference.

Now I just have to figure out how to get Morno to do the right thing… and then I just have to keep from getting killed.

 

The post Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 17 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 16

They'd been yanked out of FTL drive and captured...

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Chapter 16.

Varan:

I stared out the viewport as The Eönwyl was brought down to a cleared landing area in the central bay of the Kukanaro. I realized that they must be taking the fighters which had deployed to intercept us into the other landing bays – and it'd be getting very tight. Their flight deck boss would be severely annoyed.

With all nonessential power cut off, we could appreciate the delicacy of the maneuvering by the unseen tractor wrangler. There was barely a jar as The Eönwyl was set down, and for a moment the only movement in that two hundred meter expanse of gray, white, black, and gold was the closing of the bay doors.

As soon as they closed, the lights flickered slightly and a damper field slammed down on my psionics like an avalanche of wet sand; my last fading impression was of another of Vick's psychic curses. It's a double screen. Someone's taking no chances, and they're diverting a lot of power to do it – not to mention they've got to have a top-notch DD engineer to keep the fields synergized instead of interfering.

And the crew was drilled well. No sooner had the psi damper field stabilized than three Seven-squads – almost a hundred and fifty Guardsmen – sprinted out, semi-portable shields and heavy weapons at the fore. They locked down at about thirty meters, enough of them to maintain a full field of fire from any direction. I knew the shield generators would be tuned and synched with their main weapons, too; no taking them out with crossfire from each other.

I did notice that about one-seventh of the squads seemed to be in slightly different armor that triggered a feeling of familiarity, but I was more concerned about what was coming to bother trying to sort it out.

"Eönwyl," the voice this time being a level tenor, "This is Red Sergeant Harag, in charge of the units now surrounding your vessel. On my signal – and not before – you will lower your ramp. After that ramp is completely lowered, and not before, all persons on board your vessel will exit it, one at a time, starting with yourself and the others proceeding out when, and only when, I so instruct them to. As each of you exits, you will walk – and only walk – to the bottom of the ramp, with your hands on your head, and then continue a slow walk until instructed to stop. At that point you will drop to your knees and my men will secure you. Any resistance will be met with deadly force. Is this understood?"

"Understood, Sergeant." The Eönwyl's voice was just as level, and her face was expressionless. I still had no idea exactly what had happened with her – how she had somehow anticipated our being forced out, or what had caused her to surrender so easily, when I would have expected much more of a fight.

"Then lower your ramp in three… two… one… Now."

The Eönwyl tapped the controls to lower the ramp, stood, and began to walk towards the rear of her vessel. I reached out and touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Her expression flickered and she raised her hand, gripped my fingers for a moment. "I accepted the risk when I took you on board, Sasham. And we're not dead yet." She let go and continued walking. "But… thank you."

We reached the cargo bay where the other two were waiting, and I stopped. The Eönwyl kept going, a slow, methodical walk, putting her hands atop her head as she started down the ramp.

With all other power shut down, there were no operating screens, so all we could see was her spectacular head of hair disappear from sight as she continued walking. Then Sergeant Harag's voice called "Halt!". There was the sound of several people running forward and metallic-plastic sounds of bindings being fastened. After a moment of silence, the Sergeant spoke again. "Next person – walk down, slowly, hands on your head."

I glanced at the others, laced my fingers together atop my head, and walked down.

The wall of soldiers and weapons facing me would have been intimidating, but it was the massive pressure crippling my mind that held most of my attention. It was almost funny, in a way; I'd been terrified of even getting these powers, and certainly fearful of what they'd do to me; I'd never imagined I'd become so used to them that they'd feel a real part of me… but they had, and this leaden pressure was like being blindfolded and deafened at the same time.

"Halt!"

I stopped and knelt as instructed, and a small detachment of Guards jogged towards me. One of them was in that familiar –

Even as they grabbed my arms and forced them into shackles, I felt my jaw drop. "Narleya r'arren kintarr, Ptiala," I managed, while other hands removed my vya-shadu and my sidearm.

The Ptialian Warrior looked at me, startled, but paused in her work to make the great circular gesture that looked like the embrace of a world. "May the Lady smile upon you as well, man of Empire," she said in Imperial Standard. "Though this is an inauspicious beginning to our friendship."

A second group was bringing up a semi-portable platform like those which supported the shields ringing The Eönwyl – but this one was clearly meant for me to sit on. I could guess what that was for. Rather than dwell on the fact that they were going to have me sit on yet another psi-damper, I chuckled – a rather forced sound, but better than nothing. "The Hyarale once told me… let me get this right… Hurerre glimill arrada ti' garren ruru, friendships of adversity are those of eternity."

"She is wise indeed." The green slit-pupilled eyes regarded me with curiosity and a grim humor, and her furry tail lashed in amusement. "But eternity also waits on the other side of death, so the saying is not without its darker meanings."

"Enough talk, Kilarren'tian." The Sergeant's voice was annoyed, and I could now see him – a big man, almost as big as my old teacher Helkoth. "We're here to capture him and his allies, not have a social call!"

Kilarren'tian – whose name told me she was actually born to one of the Priest clans, presumably offered for the Arren warrior clan – let out a soft, rumbling purr-growl. "He spoke in the manner of a proper warrior, I responded. Recall that our people are here to observe as well as assist."

"Apologies." Sergeant Harag did manage to inject a small amount of real contriteness in his voice; this told me that Kilarren'tian wasn't under Imperial command. A nice thought but I wasn't sure if there would be any way to use it. She certainly wasn't here to help overthrow the Empire. "Now could you please finish locking him down to the secure chair? There's other people we need to process."

"As you wish, Red Sergeant." The Ptialian Warrior did as she was told, and did it efficiently, holding my arms in position as the catches locked – and just avoiding digging razor-sharp claws into my arms as she did so. I could now see the Eönwyl, standing off to one side in restraints considerably less massive than mine.

I could not, however, quite prevent a grin at the thought of "massive", and on cue the immense form of Guvthor appeared, towering so high that he could barely fit under the tail of The Eönwyl with his great hands properly held on his head; there was a slight but perceptible movement around the perimeter, some of startlement, some of people probably almost at the point of firing.

Whether all his men were aware of just what they were trying to catch, it was clear that Harag was fully informed; the squad that came and secured Guvthor were carrying restraints quite adequate for the occasion. It did require two Guardsmen to remove the Thovian's axe. "Gently, gently," Guvthor admonished them as they accidentally scraped one edge on the floor. "The Makthu Hok Guvthor has been passed down through our family line for generations. It is a weapon of honor and a symbol of power indeed, and you mistreat it at your peril."

I realized Guvthor was playing to the perception of his people as, ultimately, primitives. Can't hurt if you can get these people to underestimate you. I doubt it'll work, though.

Vick was last, and once more the restraints were clearly designed with him in mind. "Curiosity still there is," he said, finally, as all of us were now lined up in our shackles, with none of the Guardsmen within twenty meters of us. "Precise intercept you were capable of how? Position our known how was?"

"My report," said the voice I'd recognized the moment it first spoke over the comm, "will state that we deduced it from your presence, R'Thann."

The ranks had parted nearby, and Commodore Veshdar Morno stood there, a rather unprofessional grin showing that he was enjoying our reunion already. "Although that isn't precisely true. You know, I really have to thank you, Sasham."

"Me?"

"Capturing the most wanted enemy of the Empire? There's stiff competition for promotions even now, but I have a strong suspicion, my old friend, that catching you will give me a pretty decisive edge. Admiral sounds like a fine rank, don't you think?"

I decided not to answer; I couldn't turn this into a verbal firefight, not when he had all the advantages. Ptialians… that might give me an edge. But I've got to figure it out right. "So what do you mean by your report not being precisely true?" I said finally.

"Our presence here can be justified by the fact that you had an R'Thann on board; we can argue that we guessed you'd come through this nameless little system on your way to Thann'ta, and it will look like a stroke of genius – with no little luck – on my part." His brown hair was still just a little longer than the usual Guardsman, his eyes just as sharp gray-blue, and his shoulders looked a little broader than they'd been twenty years ago on Wyllas. "But really, we have to thank your people, Doctor."

Vick stared at him, eyes narrowing, crest flaring upward.

"The R'thann told us you were coming."

The post Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 16 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 15

They're on their way to Thann'ta and another meeting...

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Section Two: Minds of Light and Darkness

 

Chapter 15

The Eönwyl:

She realized she was halfway up the corridor, sprinting for all she was worth, before Sasham's confused "Eönwyl?" caught up with her. We were just… talking! A part of her was wondering what the dark-rock hells was wrong with her, but the other was screaming urgency, move, now!

She skidded to a halt, dropping into her seat and hitting the alarm, seeing the streaming luminescence of conversion space still in the monitors, all indicators green, as they had been for the last twenty hours. More than halfway to Thann'ta now, in Conversion, nothing to worry about!

But her hands were already reaching out for the controls as Sasham ran in after her. His military discipline had taken over; he asked no questions, just yanked on his restraints and brought up the tactical displays.

Even as her fingers touched The Eönwyl's controls her instincts told her it was too late, and her beloved vessel seemed to run into a wall, a shuddering shriek echoing through her. Downbreak? But I never triggered it!

Her hands danced across the controls, activating full defenses, as the starfield rematerialized and Sasham gave vent to a sudden curse of disbelief. "Distortion Blockade!"

"Talk to me, Sasham!" She saw other ships – three of them – on her scanners, but she was trying to find a vector and had no time to figure out what she was looking at.

"Distortion Blockade – if you generate a powerful enough DD field in the gravity vector, you basically make a TC drive think it's about to run into the T-space project of a star and she shuts down." Disbelief was still strong in the former Navy man's voice. "But it's not very wide coverage. You have to know the general vector and course of the target to have a prayer of catching them that way, or picket sensors all over and a really fast response group. And even that doesn't work all the time. There's a lot of that set up around Oro and some other major systems – and around places like Zchorada, of course – but here?"

A cloud of dimensional fuzz showed around the largest, suddenly resolved itself into a dozen, two dozen smaller shapes.

"What are we up against?" she demanded, putting all the thrust she could into evading the oncoming swarm.

"Trying to get a reading through their countermeasures… Oh, Emperor's Name, it's a Ternam Ralyeh Carrier."

"The Dragon Strikers?" This was bad. The Ternam Ralyeh or "Dragon Strikers" were the elite of the Guardsmen, some of the best special forces in the Galaxy. "And a Carrier? What about the other two?"

"The bigger one's the blockade generator, nothing to worry about from him; he's got enough screen but no offense. The other's a picket ship, might even be a Marjaav. The fighters are the real problem. I don't know how fast The Eönwyl is but I don't think you can outrun them."

"They're transmitting." She thought for a moment, decided there was no point in refusing to talk. "This is The Eönwyl. Identify yourselves immediately."

"This is Imperial Carrier Kukanaro," a hard tenor voice replied instantly from the speakers, and she heard "Torline's Swords!" from behind her. "Commodore Veshdar Morno, commanding. Eönwyl, you are suspected of harboring fugitives from Imperial justice and as such you are required to cease all maneuvering or combative actions immediately and prepare for boarding and examination. Any continued resistance on your part will be met with deadly force. Do you understand?"

She estimated vectors and chances. We have to get clear of the range of that blockade generator, and we have to do it faster than the fighters can catch us. A quick glance at Varan, who was still cursing below his breath, confirmed her fears. They're coming faster than I would have expected. Nonstandard maneuver pattern, too, and one suited for dealing with something like The Eönwyl. That many fighters I can't possibly take down, even with Sasham's help.

Almost, she decided to go for it anyway. Being captured by the Empire would seem to be a completely fatal choice as it was, so why not go down fighting?

But the same part of her that had sent her in a dead run before she even realized she was nervous was already having her sit back, cutting off the drives and shields even as Sasham stared at her in disbelief. "Understood, Kukanaro," she said. "The Eönwyl, standing by."

"We will be taking you on board. Make no movements without specific advisory," Commodore Morno instructed tersely. "Shut down all power except communications and environmental immediately upon tractor contact and wait for additional instructions following landing within our quarantine bay. Any deviation from these instructions or unexpected actions will result in the immediate destruction of your vessel."

"Understood, Kukanaro," she responded, and then shut down the comm.

Varan was still staring at her. "Eönwyl…"

"I know, Sasham… but I'm not ready to kill myself in a blaze of glory. Unless we're dead we still have a chance."

"Until Shagrath gets here, maybe," Varan ceded grudgingly.

"You reacted to the name… and the voice, I think. You know this man?"

"Unfortunately yes, unless another Veshdar Morno's a ranking officer in the Strikers. Which isn't impossible, but Veshdar's a pretty rare name, and so's Morno. And if it is the same guy, we're in even worse trouble than it looks." Even as he said this, the displays showed that it was too late to have second thoughts; the fighters now nearly englobed The Eönwyl.

Vick's frantic mental inquiries finally registered. Speak! By the First Light, if you do not respond I shall rip the answers from your –

Blockaded and captured.

Varan's short but accurate summary silenced the R'Thann for a moment. Over the internal speakers there was an audible deep oath from Guvthor. "So we are to give no resistance, then?"

"We'll see. But right now isn't the time. We need to find some opportunity to escape. If they don't realize just how strong Sasham is, psionically, or ignore Vick's capabilities, maybe that will be soon." She stared with narrowed eyes at the approaching ship, feeling a quiver as the tractor took over. "And I think we really need to find out just how they caught us."

Because, she thought to herself, there's no way they could have.

But they did.

"Just as there's no way you could have known they were about to do it," Varan said softly, and she realized that she had been thinking so intensely it must have registered even with his passive psionic capabilities, "and yet you did. You were up here in the pilot's seat before they even switched the generator on."

"I… I know."

"How?"

But for that, she had no answer. And she wasn't sure whether that scared her more than the bright-yawning bay that was closing, swallowing her ship, and locking her inside.

 

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Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 14

Varan and company had learned much from the Thovians...

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Chapter 14.

Varan:

I took a deep breath, realizing that we were once more moving forward to the unknown. "Thanks to you, Hargan, Boduras, Chondu – and all the rest of the Thov Hok Shu. All of your people, really, even the ones who don't know what's going on."

Hargan and the others bowed to us, and I was touched to see that they were quite seriously giving to me and the rest of our little crew the Six-And-One – even though to them that was hardly an important symbol. "And to you we return thanks, Sasham Varan," Hargan said. "I ask you, however, if you truly understand: on what course are we all now bound?"

I looked down, then up, but didn't really see what I was looking at; I knew the answer, I'd even mentioned it before, but I also knew that this was really the first time that I had to face it as a fact, as something which really was going to happen and that I, personally, was going to be responsible for. Finally I closed my eyes, then opened them again to look straight into Hargan's own. "I… we, and now with Thovia as our first true ally… we're going to have to … to move against the Empire."

Even those words evade the truth. Vick's mindvoice was not quite as cold as usual; that tiny courtesy, a consideration from a species I knew was perhaps even more dangerous than I had believed before, in some way made it harder, simply because his support made me believe that it was really going to happen. Guvthor said nothing, and neither did The Eönwyl, though I could see sympathy in those pure-blue eyes.

"Sinking hell." I knew they were right. I had to commit in words, in honest, straightforward words. "I am going to have to lead a revolt in, or a direct war against, the Empire." The words were like melted lead, heavy and hot and poisonous. "Shagrath's too close to the top and this has been going on too long. Even if Taelin and Lukhas have a clue what's going on… Shagrath's almost certainly taken at least some of the Five Families' learning the truth into account. He's got to have control over the Emperor. The Empire isn't going to stop, it's going to get worse, and I'll have to raise every force I can find to weaken it, to hold it back, at least until we can figure out something that can actually stop Shagrath – and until we know what he and his allies are, we can't be sure how that can be done.

"So… So we all have to prepare for war. Prepare for it now because the Empire will be bringing it to us all soon. And no matter how much I hate the idea, they're using me as a bogeyman –and I'm going to be the best rallying point for the Empire's enemies, if we can play it right."

Hargan Hok Hargan nodded. "That is indeed the truth of our course. It is war, now. But, we firmly believe, it is also a just war, at last, against the enemy that Thovia has sensed and feared since the Fall of Atlantaea. Many innocents will die, Sasham Varan, and I hope you know we feel this as keenly as do you. But uncounted more have died before, and will die, if we do not stop them. So do not let your feelings for your people stop you or divert you from this course."

"I won't. The only way to possibly save any of them is to finish this."

"The Thov Hok Shu hears you, and through you the World hears you, and Daramanda's Wisdom blesses you. We pledge ourselves to your cause, to your war, for it is also our war, and the war for those of the whole Galaxy who fell before this same enemy."

I was suddenly filled with a much brighter sense of hope. A few billion was nothing compared to the might of the Empire… but, yet, it was a vastly greater force than anything I had ever commanded, and these were people with secrets even Shagrath did not know – allies whose strength might be – no, had to be – vastly out of proportion to their numbers.

"Now that the formalities are done," the Eönwyl said after a moment, "we need to get moving. If we assume Shagrath had any spies on your world at all, the alarm must have gone up the moment Guvthor's avalanche wiped them out. There won't be very many ships of the Empire out this far, but there will be some, and if any one of them has one of his mind-controlling allies on board, they'll be here soon."

"True, true," Guvthor said, and began shoving the last of his transport cases up the ramp of The Eönwyl – which had been mysteriously transported to the hidden city and placed in this cargo and launch bay probably at the same time we'd been dragged halfway around the world. "So we must try to go to Thann'ta, have our meeting, not get killed by whatever 'Testing' our friend Sooovickalassa's people might choose to impose upon us, learn what they have to tell, and return here swiftly – hopefully with useful information that will give us a better idea of our next move, and, even more hopefully, with new allies."

THAT will greatly depend on how well you impress the Masters of the Light, Vick said. Which in turn requires that we get there!

I laughed. "Listen to you. You're so nervous and excited you sound like one of our kids waiting for his Empire-day presents on the Eve of Empire."

Vick's mental retort was more a sort of offended psionic splutter of outrage which – unfortunately – just reinforced our impressions.

"But he's right, we'll have to get there," the Eönwyl said, trying to keep the smile off her face. "And I'll have a new cargo to trade."

Boduras shook his head dolefully. "You have chosen a peculiar, not to say almost nonsensical, selection of things for your travels."

I advised her on the conditions of my world, Vick pointed out. What conclusions she has drawn from those conditions are of course her business.

I also wasn't sure exactly what had driven the Eönwyl's selection of cargo – a large amount of select woods being transported to a world which, according to Vick, already had a lot of forest; various metals; quick-frozen meats; hand-forged weaponry in sizes more suited for beings our size – but I reminded myself that she'd been doing this for years and made a lot of money at it, so I had to assume she knew what she was doing.

I began my ascent up the ramp, then paused as a thought struck me. "What about Lieutenant Mansteros and the others?"

"I have thought much about that," Hargan Hok Hargan said slowly. "I believe I shall tell them your story, Captain Sasham Varan."

I winced. Tell Imperials that I'm psionic? "Why?"

"They are in a perfect position to recognize that there is something terribly wrong with the official story," she answered simply. "They have seen your behavior, your actions, have spoken with you, formed an impression of their own which will reflect well upon any other information they gain. And your own government will undoubtedly send them their version of the story. Better, then, that we decide which one they hear first, yes?"

I couldn't argue with that… and thinking about it, if they did come to believe that the official version was wrong, I'd have a few more real Imperial officers and enlisted who would be useful in recruiting from the Empire. If I wanted to save my own country, I was going to need people from that same country to help minimize the damage and convince the rest of the Empire that we were, in fact, saving them rather than damning them. "Yes, I guess you're right. Just… try to keep them safe. If the Empire decides they can't know too much…"

"You have our word."

That was good enough for me; Hargan's prior points about the distance of the core of Empire, and the formidable nature of both the Thovians themselves and the secrets they held, made for an excellent defense.

With one more set of farewells, we boarded The Eönwyl and the ramp closed behind us. Somehow, it felt almost like coming home, and I could see a smile on its owner's face. "Everyone get to your positions. Takeoff in five minutes. After that, our next stop is Thann'ta!"

 

 

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Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 13

Time to look back in on Taelin as he plays a very dangerous game...

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Chapter 13.

Taelin:

He strode cheerfully out of Balan's Crystal, the noise of the casino fading as the doors slid shut. He slid the paychip into his inner pocket and took a deep breath of the night air. Sharp, spice-laden scents came to him, the smell of the Xaltinian jungle far below the Yunai Plateau, scents both above and below those of the city.

"Taelin?"

He whirled at that voice, the voice that was always waiting at the back of his mind, speaking in his heart. "Trey," he said, keeping his voice under control, "what a surprise."

"What's a surprise is seeing you looking so cheerful without some hired company."

Oh, ouch. But that's the way the game has to be played. "Do you really believe I need to hire anyone, Trey? And did you just speak to me so you could insult me?"

She looked down for a moment and sighed. "No… No, of course you don't. And you're right, Taelin, and I'm sorry. Let me start again?"

"Always," he said, his voice low and with an earnestness his casual smile did not match. I can risk that much. The dance has to have both involved.

"You're looking … very good this evening, Taelin. I've heard your fortune has been mostly good – although the last race wasn't quite what you expected."

He laughed lightly and gave her a Six-and-One. "I thank you for your compliment, Treyuusei… and true, but even I can't expect to win every race, just most of them." He gestured formally to his side, and she bobbed an acceptance and the two walked together down the corridor of light formed by the casinos, gaming-houses, arenas, bars, and restaurants on either side.

"Well, you certainly do win most of them. Your flying in the Shikkikan Mazerun was… inspired, even for you."

He opened his mouth to make an observation about how she seemed to be still watching him, closed it, wondered if she was being followed. If she was, the unknown watchers would see that reaction, and the glance he made at her when she was looking elsewhere. And we both continue to play for an audience which may not even be there. "It was an exciting race. I nearly crashed Valabacal on the third turn."

"I wondered about that!"

The two continued farther down, and their hands touched. Absently the fingers intertwined, as though their owners didn't realize what they were doing, even as the conversation continued to other subjects. "Trey, I hope I'm not keeping you from anything important…?"

"Oh, no, no, I was here for the Five-Year Import Review." She made a face. "Mishel had said she'd take this one, but there was word of a new ruin found under her ongoing grant and so here I am."

"Ugh. Sorry to hear about that. I know what a bore the Import Review is."

Now it was Trey's turn, and from the very corner of his eye he could see her go through nearly the identical run of expressions, the mouth opening to say something cutting, the hand starting to pull away, and then the mind changing. Read it well, unknown watchers.

"Bore, but over now." She paused, then asked with elaborate casualness and caution, "So… you aren't busy yourself, now?"

"I wasn't, no." He smiled at her with something approaching the smile he used to wear around her almost all the time, then looked down, his face showing more than a trace of shame as he continued, "After they dropped me to a Lesser Family, I haven't had much to do anyway except… well, you've seen."

She gripped his hand tighter. "Taelin…"

"…Don't." But he said it gently, and still without meeting her gaze.

She didn't let go, and studied his face for a moment, before turning and letting them walk a little farther. "You know, I'm absolutely starving."

Taelin let his body relax slightly, just barely visible if you were watching carefully, as though to say Thank the Towers, we got past that one. "Then let me treat you." He patted his pocket. "I'm far from poor. What would you like?"

She glanced around. "I'd forgotten what a mishmash this is! It looks like we could get almost anything. Dachi Komomyiri, Alagath cuisine – ooh, there's a Zilgoda restaurant! I always loved that sauce and noodle thing, um, dihorasan! I haven't had that in ages." Her face fell slightly. "But you kind of spoiled me on it. I've never found a restaurant that can make it as well as you used to."

Oh, that's well-played! "Used to?" he said with a shocked tone, but with a smile to take the edge off. "I will prove to you that I can still make it just as well, if that's what you want."

"But you'd need to get –"

"Valabacal is already stocked with those ingredients. It's one of my favorite dishes too, after all."

"Well…" she looked hesitant, yet she was still holding his hand tightly.

He took her other hand. "I insist now. If you haven't had dihorasan since… well, you simply must have some while I'm here."

Treyuusei bit her lip, then smiled. "All right, Taelin." They turned down the street, towards the port where Valabacal waited, just visible in the lights from this distance.

They didn't make it to the kitchen.

At least not right away. The airlock scarcely closed behind them when Taelin found Trey's lips on his and his hands twining in her long, silky blue-black hair, surrounded by her scent of dawnflowers and ocean. Her hands were already under his jacket; he dropped it from his shoulders as their feet continued moving, towards the cabin both of them knew well. Her neck and shoulders, softer than I remembered… and the muscle under them, smooth, perfectly defined… Her vest hit the floor with a soft sighing thud – or perhaps the sigh came from its owner, or maybe from him.

There was barely any clothing left to drop by the time the cabin door opened and they fell together on the bed.

***

Taelin looked across the pillow at his golden hair tangled with Treyuusei's night-black, saw her smiling back at him, sweat still shining on her body. "I suppose that's one advantage of all this t'cha-damned maneuvering."

"Reunions can be very enjoyable," Treyuusei agreed, leaning over and kissing him again – then breaking away before the distraction could become complete. "But it's only worth it if we get away with this. Your sensors gave the all-clear too?"

He nodded. "With our clothes being the repeaters we could cover the whole ship. No one's been here since I locked her up. We're secure."

She sighed and looked at him regretfully before standing up. "I guess we'd better get to business before we spend all the time on something less useful."

He allowed himself to enjoy the view as she swayed to the closet and then turned to throw him a delighted smile. "You still have my clothes in here!"

"Neither version of me would get rid of them. The version people think they see now is still trapped in sentiment – the last trace of his past." He got up and chose a new outfit to put on; he really should shower, but that would offer more opportunities for them to distract themselves. More time for that later. "It's looking bad out there."

"Worse than you know. Lukh and Shagrath both signed off on a recommendation for a "survey" of Chak and all the other associated Chakron worlds, but the mandate's clearly to prepare for some kind of isolation or even deportation to controlled worlds. And Taelin… Taelin, the Emperor put his seal on it!"

Taelin closed his eyes. He remembered the Emperor's kindly smile and the stern instructions he gave to any who entered his court, a man of fairness and iron will. "I can't imagine it."

"Neither could Lukh. You should have seen his face… or maybe you shouldn't. There's something terrible going on behind that. We're sure of it. Emperor Galata would never have agreed to this, no matter the provocation. At least, not the Emperor Galata we knew."

"Right. Just as the Nissen Frankel we knew would never have ended up fighting Sasham." They finally arrived in the kitchen and he began setting out the ingredients. "It has to be something associated with the Monitors. What's Lukhas doing?"

"Moving very carefully. If you're right – and Lukh and I think the same thing – then Shagrath's the only possible one at the top of the conspiracy. He was alone with the Emperor several times in the past few months. It's hard to imagine that he could manage to do anything to the Emperor in a few minutes alone… but the whole thing's hard to imagine." She got out the steaming pans. "He's got a plan to hopefully gain more of Shagrath's trust while getting a better idea of what kind of changes Shagrath may have made to the conditioning, but it will take a while – especially since none of us can afford too many risks."

Taelin thought for a moment as he started cutting up the yanmas for the sauce. "Psionics."

Trey nodded. "It could be. But there are so many psi-screened areas in the main compounds, we just can't imagine how a psi, even a powerful one, could operate there for any length of time."

"But it would fit with a lot of what we've been seeing. If so… you'd better keep a very close eye on that supposed increased psi research."

"Don't worry. Lukh's on that already. I'm going to be touring the research facilities myself later."

"What about Sasham?"

"Well, we still don't know where he is now," she admitted. "You've seen all the rumors and newsflashes, but actually there aren't any confirmed sightings since Meletta."

"You've confirmed Meletta? The timing seemed insane."

She nodded. "At least part of the record from Teraikon was real. He and his two friends dove straight into the black hole as it was forming and activated a TT drive. Apparently the catapult effect actually worked; they crossed the entire empire in less time than it takes us to cross a solar system."

"Fallen Towers. That must've been one hell of a ride. Were we able to verify it?"

"Knowing what to look for, yes. The picket stations along that line each recorded a transient in the right sequence, but it was just barely out of the noise. And you know that transients get ignored on any picket station unless they're repeats."

He nodded. The sauce was starting to thicken now. "So Varan went from Teraikon to Meletta in a few hours. Too bad we can't figure out a way to do that regularly."

"Lukhas kept digging for the details with his own people and turned up a few more that worry us," Treyuusei continued. "When they left Meletta, the ship they were on was The Eönwyl."

He was momentarily shocked enough to stop stirring the sauce as it cooked – and almost burned it as a consequence. He spent a furious few seconds stirring and removing the almost-burned layer. "So he arrives at Meletta, sells off the ship he landed on, and leaves with the very same Free Trader who was at Tangia when it all started. The one who sat Vigil with him." He set the pan aside from the heat and started rolling out the pale-green ritta dough. "But … there's just no way that could have been arranged. Not by anyone. He certainly didn't know where he was going – not even by Shagrath's version of the story would that make any sense."

"Coincidence is possible, but Lukhas thinks there's something more that we don't know," she said. "A lot more. But he doesn’t dare push farther in that area, because there's something else very wrong in that whole sequence of events. He's not sure, but what little he's learned… Taelin, Lukh doesn't think Varan or his friends did anything to attract the attention of the authorities."

A cold chill went down his back, and he slowly set the roller down and turned back to Trey. "But…" He closed his eyes, concentrated. "But then… the system forces did try to stop them, right?"

"That's confirmed. They lost one ship in direct combat."

By the Emperor's Ancestors. "That means that Shagrath… or someone… got the alert to them practically when it happened."

She was pale. "Which is only possible, as far as we know, by one method."

He swallowed, and the warmth and pleasure of Trey's company seemed suddenly very small and far away. "Fallen Towers, Trey. That would mean … that Shagrath himself is a psionic."

"And it would make everything make a whole hellish amount of sense, wouldn't it?"

"We've got to…" He stopped himself. Lukhas undoubtedly figured this out long before he did. Probably as soon as he got the report. "Lukh's still going to try to play him. Which means he's got to dance from mindshield to mindshield and never ever let Shagrath catch him without it."

"Yes." Trey's face was very grave. "He says he has some other ideas, but they're risky. And he needs more information. He needs to know exactly what happened on Meletta. But he can't investigate it himself."

The cold was still there, but there was also, suddenly, the feeling of hope and of being able to do something. "And the Meletta Ultimate Freestyle starts in three months."

"Not quite your usual race," she agreed, and her smile drove the cold back, far back. "But maybe just the kind of risk that Taelin Ardan might be looking for to replace the responsibilities he used to have."

Taelin cut the dough into the narrow, narrow slices that would be the noodles and dropped them gently into the steamer, then smiled back. "Yes. It just might be."

The game was even more dangerous now. But now, too, he understood what they were playing against. You knew this from the beginning, Sash. And no wonder you couldn't tell us.

     But maybe, soon, we can tell you that we know.

 

The post Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 13 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 12

They'd just found out that Thovia had its own secrets...

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Chapter 12

The Eönwyl:

     It all makes sense now, she thought, trying to adjust her view of the world. All the oddities about these people. They are no more primitive than we are.

Vick exhaled, a long, low hiss that conveyed his surprise as strongly as his thoughtvoice. A mighty weapon hidden in this sheath of night, indeed. But one city, howsoever grand – unless it be a true city of Those Who Went Before, with all their powers and mysteries intact – one city is little enough before the threat we face.

"By itself, yes. But still we have, in some ways, the high ground. Thovia lies far indeed from Varan's Empire, and no matter what suspicions the Prime Monitor, or the Empire itself, may have now or gain later, to mount a true expedition here would be no small undertaking." They were now descending to the street level of that underground city. "The Empire, especially if the situation is as we guess, can ill-afford such adventures at this point."

The Eönwyl had a vague idea of what she meant, but Varan asked, "What do you mean by that? The situation, that is?"

"She means," Guvthor said, stepping out first and then bowing to let the rest pass, "that history gives us a mirror to hold up to what we have learned of your Empire, of Shagrath, and of the events thus far, and what that mirror reflects shows a dark course ahead for the Galaxy, or at least that part of the Galaxy in which we exist."

The streets were filled with Thovians – more on this single long street were visible than had been in the village where the Empire had held its embassy – and these Thovians made no pretense to the primitive. They moved purposefully, respectfully, driving vehicles, walking, talking in the deep, rhythmic rumbling Thovian language, all of them giving the Thov Hok Shu quick gestures – a hand gesture something like a check-mark, down and then high – which were clearly meant as salutes of respect. Something about that is familiar…

Varan seemed to have been thinking along the same lines, because he suddenly nodded. "Ahh! Pardon me, I just realized something I should have guessed all along. This isn't really a city; this is a military base. This is like Silan-Luria. Everyone here's a soldier."

"Well enough said, Sasham Varan," Boduras said in his deep bass. "In truth, all of Thovia thinks of itself as a fortress and a vault. We are, in a very real way, the keepers of time, the memory of the past and the readers of the future, the sentries who stand watch against the coming of hatred and collapse and loss. Daramanda's teachings have been built upon in these many centuries, and we have reconciled sanity with the cycle; our "collapses" do not lead to panic, do not cause death and destruction in the way that would be expected – although an outsider who was not immediately present would believe otherwise, and would still find burned cities and what seemed reverted primitives on this world. But we retain our knowledge, prevent plagues and mitigate drought, reduce disaster and improve the lives of each new cycle in its own way."

"You see our salute," Hargan continued, giving the gesture herself. "This is a reflection of our beliefs and of the final form of Daramanda's faith. We fall that we might rise higher, and each fall shall not descend as low as the last."

The Eönwyl nodded and suddenly laughed as a thought occurred to her.

"Something amuses you, trader?" Hargan asked, with a smile of her own.

"It is suddenly clear to me why Guvthor was so certain I would find premium prices for my cargo here. You have undoubtedly mined out any shanellite or equivalent in your own system millennia ago. At the top of each cycle you probably try to lay in a stock, but … you're near the end of a cycle, aren't you?"

"Or, one might say, the beginning. The Ascent has begun, and given what we have learned… it may – no, I believe, must – accelerate drastically. You have shanellite?" Hargan's tone shifted to one strongly touched with eagerness.

"I do."

She looked at Guvthor. "You seem to have planned well."

The huge Thovian burst into laughter that echoed off the distant cavern walls. "Would that my planning be that deep! She had already acquired such a cargo; I merely assured her that it would find a market."

"Then I compliment your fortune."

"Guvthor." Varan's tone brought them all up short, for it was suddenly cold. "After everything we've learned, it's now obvious how you could be able to trigger a landslide so precisely. But I need answers as to why. They had no ship present. As we know now, they didn't even know about me yet. We could have found out if any of them had a secret agenda without killing the entire group!"

Guvthor and the rest of the Thov Hok Shu turned to face Varan. Instead of Guvthor, it was Hargan who spoke, gesturing the scientist to silence. "After hearing your stories and deliberating on them, the Thov Hok Shu has agreed that Guvthor Hok Guvthor acted correctly; it thus falls to myself as their leader to answer you.

"It is indeed true that no general word of your actions had reached Thovia. However, that was not a concern. As you now understand, such a small force posed no threat whatsoever to our people, even supplied with the powered armor and weapons that such an outpost is expected to have.

"But the events upon Meletta – where you were pursued and nearly captured by these beings that you know only by their mental touch – made it clear that Shagrath's reach is far greater, and far faster, than any ordinary communications could provide. We must assume that the number of these beings is severely limited, else there would be no significant individuals in the Empire who remained themselves. Thus the probability that he would just happen to have some of these creatures present and in positions to intercept you is vanishingly small. No, he had deliberately dispersed a huge number – perhaps his entire force of these creatures – across the Empire to strategic locations where you might be expected to seek assistance or to barter away what possessions you had."

Varan was nodding unwillingly, and she suddenly saw it too. "And because we had Doctor Guvthor with us," the Eönwyl said, "it would make sense that he would send such a representative to Thovia, or even more than one if he's nervous about your people."

"Precisely," Guvthor confirmed cheerfully. "Now, when we did manage to kill one of those beings, it seemed much weaker, perhaps unable to live outside of its host. Thus it seemed to me only prudent to remove the potential for such trouble. Sasham Varan had enough difficulty fighting one before, when it had no idea what it was dealing with and had at least some reason to restrain some of its actions. Here on Thovia neither limit applies."

Varan sighed and began walking again. "And we couldn't know if it was one, or two, or even half a dozen of these things. But it would have to be in the military detachment. So you decided that wiping out the military would be the best choice, so you arranged the avalanche to do exactly that."

The group was now entering a huge columnar building that reminded The Eönwyl strongly – and quite deliberately, she suspected – of one of the great trees outside, with bronze and ebony colored walls highlighted with golden windows at intervals up the kilometer-high structure.

It was exactly the right thing to do, and the fact is that the Thovian showed too much mercy in allowing any of them to live. Yes, the military was the logical place for such beings, but there could have been some hidden in the civilians as well. A wiser course would have been to destroy them all without warning.

"Then I'd rather have less wisdom," Varan said, as she knew he would. "Thank you, Guvthor, for giving at least some of them a chance."

"Always would we prefer mercy," Hargan said, as Guvthor bowed his acknowledgement, "even if it brings us some risk, else we risk much worse: becoming as cruel as those we fear. It is this that has made us wary of your people, R'Thann."

Vick hiss-laughed and rattled his crest. And your mysteries have made us wary of you. How fine it is to see that our wariness has been more than justified!

"This is related to your 'Testing', isn't it?" she asked.

Exactly. We are the Testers and the Tested, and to find new challenges, new Tests laid before us, this is our quest. Ahh, if only I were given such a chance as lies before me; yet I cannot – yet – test these great game-players, for I must first become a Master of the Light, and only my people can grant that title.

"It is our hope you shall have that title soon, Doctor Sooovickalassa," Hargan said; at the same time, the rest of the Thov Hok Shu stopped and bowed. The Eönwyl realized they now stood before a set of doors built for human-height beings.

Indeed? You wish, then, to be Tested by one of the People, the R'Thann?

"Not precisely," she said with a rumbling chuckle that was echoed around the ring of immense fur-covered Thovians. "Though we will not shrink from such a 'Test', if it comes to us one day. No, we hope that because we believe that once we have told you what we can – in the next few days – you must go next to Thann'ta itself. Your people are wise and powerful in the ways of the mind; if any world can tell us what we face, what manner of being these screaming-mindvoices are, it would be Thann'ta, yes?"

Vick drew himself up proudly. The Masters of the Final Light will know, yes, and perhaps will even recognize that dark-seething hatred mind which Varan saw within Shagrath. And you speak wisely again. He turned and gave a deep knee-bending bow to Guvthor. You were correct to argue that we should come here first. With this knowledge, we know much to ask the Masters, and much to use to argue an alliance of claws between us.

"We are pleased to hear this," Chondu said with a quick smile. "Alliances are needed now; your tests of claw and mind will be for later, once this enemy is dealt with."

Varan gestured at the doors. "And this is…?"

"Quarters suited for those of your stature, Sasham Varan. Thalam Hok Shuvan has hosted many over the thousands of years it has stood, and we are well aware how difficult you smaller species find it to deal with properly-sized living quarters." Boduras' grin and wink took the edge from the words. "It has indeed been a long day for us all, and we invite you to rest and relax. In the next few days, we shall give you what information we can, and then you must prepare for departure. Many questions remain unanswered, and time passes, and neither can long be tolerated."

"You're right," Varan said emphatically. Then he grinned back. "On both counts. I can really do with some R&R."

The Eönwyl became aware of the ache in her legs, arms, indeed, her whole body. They had spent the entire day following the Thovians through the great forests and then through thickets, up and down slopes, and while she was used to exercise and stayed in shape, she realized that she – and, she suspected, Varan – had become unused to that kind of effort over that length of time. "I'm with you there," she said as the normal-sized doors opened.

Varan bowed to Hargan. "Then we'll speak again soon." He looked over to Guvthor. "I suppose you'll be staying with them?"

"I still have much to tell them. It has been years since I stood on my home soil, Sasham. But I will not be far away, and – I assure you! – we shall travel together again. This was my assignment, and now," he touched his axe-haft and grinned ferociously at the rest of the Thov Hok Shu, "and now, by the First Tree, I will happily challenge any of you to deny that I should continue! I shall see your story to the end, Sasham Varan."

Varan bowed deeply and gave the Thovian scientist a formal Six-And-One. "I am grateful."

She found herself smiling. She realized that she, too, was grateful that they would still have Guvthor Hok Guvthor with them – especially if they were to travel to Vick's homeworld. However… "Don't forget that we have some bargaining to do."

Boduras chortled. "A trader indeed!"

She grinned back and remembered the Thovian's formal introductions. "The Eönwyl, savant of buying low and selling high," she said with an ironic bow.

Hargan could not repress what sounded like a delighted laugh at the Eönwyl's domain of expertise, a laugh that Guvthor and the other Thovians joined. "A challenging field indeed, Eönwyl, one few of us would assay to match you in, I think. Rest assured, we shall not forget. As you have already guessed, shanellite is most in demand here to maintain our power supplies, and we shall, I am afraid, have vastly greater need of it in the future."

The Eönwyl gave a more formal bow. "Then I look forward to it."

She entered their temporary quarters with a sense of slowly-dawning relief. It has been a long several months of running and fearing what we would find. Maybe … just maybe… things are turning around.

But even as she thought that, her gut knotted. No. We've come so far… but something much worse is coming.

Much worse.

 

The post Demons of the Past: REVOLUTION, Chapter 12 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.