Episode 31: See, and Know, and Consider
Dyre entered the maze of secret passages linking Gairen's quarters with the rest of Gatlantis. He hadn't used these hidden halls since just after Gairen took his position as high priest, and he never thought he'd have occasion to use them again.
After his last conversation with Gairen, Dyre was dreading this meeting, but with no other way to contact the priest without being discovered, he had no choice.
He counted his steps, just as Gairen had taught him years ago. Not far into his journey, his boot crunched a dried luminia flower, and the spicy-sharp scent filled the passage. Gairen had taken one of the blooms when he'd left Dyre's quarters last week. He wouldn't have dropped it idly.
Dyre raised pace, careful to keep his footsteps quiet so as not to alert those in the suites he passed. When he reached the correct section of wall, he removed the plating and stepped into Gairen's chambers. The priest sat near the room's large desk.
Gairen's skin was several shades too light, and sweat dotted his forehead. "Terius." He struggled to his feet and leaned on his staff as he hurried to meet Dyre. "Would that I could have delivered this news sooner, but the Warbringer decrees the death of one Masterson Talan—a man in service to Desslok of Gamilon." Gairen was breathing hard from even this short of a walk. Whatever afflicted him had left him weak. "You said—they were to arrive—two days ago. We must act before they—"
"The Gamilons… are gone. They left Gatlantis the night before last—after the gala. Desslok and his ship and crew have departed, with Zordar's approval, to reengage the Original ship. Recalling them again will not be possible."
Gairen's skin faded even further, moving from ash green to off-white. "This is catastrophic." His ominous whisper underpinned the statement with dread, and anger twisted his expression. "I trusted you to do as I asked, and this is the result!" he hissed. "We must not allow them to go free. The fate of all Gatlantis weighs in the balance." He held his face in his hands.
Dyre brought Gairen a chair, and the priest sank into it, blind eyes blank with fear.
"If we cannot cage Desslok and kill Talan, our lives will end…" Gairen muttered. "I must pray the Warbringer's mercy."
"Certainly two men alone cannot harm Gatlantis." Dyre said, trying to calm Gairen.
The priest's sightless eyes went wide, and his horror turned so tangible and terrifying Dyre wanted to find a dark corner and stay there. A presence covered the white décor, turning it a disconcerting shade of red.
Gairen shook as he spoke.
"Death and destruction,
Blood and despair.
All of Gatlantis,
Their fate mourn in prayer.
Cowards and heroes
All fade to dust.
We are forsaken.
We, the unjust."
Gairen's trance broke, and the room faded from crimson to white, but the priest maintained a haunted expression. "The prophecy—the prophecy will come to pass," he wailed.
Dyre grabbed Gairen by the shoulders, partly to keep him from alerting the sentries outside and partly to prevent him from falling out of his chair. "What is going on?"
Gairen's wails turned to distressed weeping. "Nine days ago, the Warbringer instructed me to kill Masterson Talan, but since that time I have suffered an illness I cannot explain. Once I tried to leave my chambers to contact you, but I did not even make it into this room before collapsing. I have been abed since—until this morning. I pray the Warbringer's mercy upon me for my weakness."
Dyre let go of Gairen as the implications of what this meant rolled through him. "Had I known of this, I might have had opportunity to take the Gamilon's life before he departed Gatlantis. Princess Invidia told me little of Desslok's escape, but Masterson Talan was one of two key perpetrators."
"This must be what the Warbringer wished to prevent." Gairen's despair deepened as tears crusted his face. "To have Desslok of Gamilon free is perilous enough, but with this Talan at his side…" Gairen shuddered. "I fear what is to come." Gairen grasped Dyre's arm. "And Sabera continues to ignore my warnings about the Diviner and the ship that accompanies her. She must not be allowed to disturb the Diviner's world. It will be like waking a nest of serpents, Terius. She must not do it. Please, do not let her." Gairen's grip on Dyre's arm tightened. "I… am afraid… to die."
It was the most honest thing Gairen had ever said.
Dyre embraced Gairen. "You will not die. I will see to it."
The priest stiffened at Dyre's touch, but when the moment of shock passed, Gairen returned the embrace.
"The princess has desired Sabera's removal for some while," Dyre said. "It is time I fully allied with her. There is little I can do about the Gamilons, but perhaps I can prevent our Prime Minister from killing us all."
Gairen pulled away, and he raised blind eyes to Dyre. "You are… a good friend, Terius. I often wish things could have been… different." He searched for his walking stick and found it, leaning against the desk. He grasped the staff in both hands and rose shakily. "But the past cannot be altered, so I must trust we are not too late to change the future."
"Sabera is a fool to think the Diviner won't act. I would prefer a less daring approach to stopping our Prime Minister, but the time for subtlety is past." Dyre removed his gloves, drew the ceremonial knife mounted on his shoulder, and tested the blade with one finger. Blood ran from his finely sliced skin. "We will save ourselves, Gairen. Though we shed rivers of blood to do it."
Invidia left her couch with great effort. Last night had been far less than pleasant. The grutian weed's lingering effects had left her nauseous, even after her personal physician administered the first dose of an antidote early this morning. The man might be prone to drinking himself witless, but his medical advice never disappointed.
She downed a full glass of the cloudy liquid containing the last bit of her curative. The smell alone could have cleared half of Gatlantis, but she finished every drop. Her physician had promised it would ease most of her symptoms, and recovery would be miserable but quick. Another hour, and she'd be free of the irritant.
The moment her physician told her she'd ingested grutian weed, she'd known Sabera was responsible. The plant was hard to find aboard Gatlantis, and few had heard of it, but that was why she paid her physician so well. Last night, he'd earned his exorbitant allotment of credits.
This was just one more humiliation Sabera would pay for.
Invidia set her empty glass beside the wine decanter, waiting atop a low table. She reached for the decanter on instinct, only to remember her physician's cautions against imbibing during her recovery. As much as she hated to skip the opportunity for a good drink, she left the decanter undisturbed.
If nothing else had earned Sabera a knife across her throat, the past two days of one degrading incident after another had. The gala, Desslok's escape, last night's dinner, the grutian weed.
Her father would be cross with her for killing his favorite mistress, but he'd recover. Perhaps this show of ambition was what her father needed to finally consider Invidia the undisputed inheritor of Gatlantis' throne.
But wresting power was a secondary goal for now. Taking the throne would consume more time than she could spare. They needed to survive, and survival dictated avoiding conflict with the Diviner.
Though Sabera had Zordar's leave to police Invidia's public persona, she wasn't omniscient. If Invidia pretended to still be ill, she could leverage Sabera's ignorance to make the Prime Minister's demise at her hand appear to be an accident. If circumstances were different, Invidia would have dispensed with secrecy, but the war council was too divided when it came to the Diviner. Better to do away with Sabera quietly and reveal the truth later, once the council was united behind Invidia and Zordar.
Invidia crossed the room with unsteady steps, each one a little stronger. She circled the room three times and visited the refresher twice as the last of the nausea dissipated.
A call from Dyre.
She considered not taking it, but if she let Sabera's efforts to sideline her dictate her actions, she'd already lost. And Invidia refused to bow to Sabera again.
"General Dyre." Invidia faked a pleasant expression, but the general's tight brow and narrowed eyes made her frown.
"We should speak." Whatever Dyre had to say was too important to risk conveying over a personal communication channel. They would need to meet somewhere more secure.
Dyre grasped the hilt of his shoulder-mounted dagger—the signal their sim-room was compromised.
"I'll make arrangements." Setting up a new sim-room and activating security protocols would take the better part of an hour.
As the general ended the call, Invidia noted a fierceness in his eyes that had not been there before.
By the time Invidia readied the new sim-room, her nausea was gone.
She stepped into the augmented-reality landscape in her Silver Queen guise just as Dyre—wearing the skin and garb of his Vargas avatar—appeared steps away. Beside the general stood a young man with violet skin and wild, dark hair. His pale gray eyes were unsettling. He wore a red and black robe and kept one hand on Dyre's arm.
The twilight forest Invidia had chosen for this sim-room hid them from any more potential intruders, but it also made keeping track of one another more challenging, especially with the avatars' cloaking functions activated. If any of them stood still for more than a few seconds, their forms would fade from view even though they were still connected to the sim-room. She hated to use the feature, but if someone had gotten into their previous meeting place, there was no guarantee they wouldn't also find a way into this one.
Dyre-Vargas led his guest past Invidia, toward a cave embedded in the hillside behind them. Overshadowing limbs rustled as wind swept through the treetops.
Invidia followed the men into the cave. If it had been dark outside, it was inky black in here, and though the darkness was simulated, it was no less disorienting. She activated a palm-sized light, illuminating Dyre-Vargas' face as well as the newcomer's.
"Who are you?" she challenged the stranger an instant before his and Dyre's avatars activated their cloaks. If the man had appeared on his own instead of in Dyre's company, she'd have already dispatched him.
"Orius." The stranger's deep voice echoed inside the cave. "I see all the Warbringer decrees, my Silver Queen." The man reappeared briefly as he bowed to her, though he never let go of Dyre's arm.
Gairen?
"You brought the priest here?" Invidia hissed at Dyre. "What in the universe possessed you to—"
"He wishes to aid us in… dispensing the Prime Minister," Dyre-Vargas said as he reappeared long enough to speak. "We all see the value in not allowing Gatlantis to assault the Diviner's world. That, coupled with the Warbringer's displeasure as of late, is motivation enough."
"All right," Invidia said. "But who breeched the previous… Sabera!" She sneered the name. "She found a way through my security measures."
Dyre's curt nod said he knew more than he was telling, but this wasn't the time to pry information from him. She'd interrogate him properly when their lives were no longer in imminent danger.
General Dyre was first to speak this time. "We strike tonight. Unless your illness prevents you, my queen."
Invidia glowered. "I am well—no thanks to Sabera. But she doesn't know that, and if either of you informs anyone I have recovered, I will have your heads and hearts mounted on my wall."
"Yes, my queen," both men said.
Sabera shifted just enough to make her avatar reappear for a few seconds. "Now tell me, what did you have in mind for tonight?"
Twelve hours after Desslok left Morta's cell, he returned as promised. He waved brig personnel out of the area before entering Morta's cell. This time, Masterson waited outside with everyone else, though it had taken a sharp rebuke to make Talan stay.
Morta lounged on his bunk, attempting to appear unmoved by Desslok's return, but the sudden dart of his wild eyes and the occasional twitch of his fingers said Morta was anxious.
Desslok's shadow fell across the Cometine, obscuring the overhead light and leaving a halo around Desslok that kept Morta from seeing him clearly.
Both Morta's eyes had swelled almost shut, and bruises littered his face. Blood crusted his lip and nose from the beating Desslok gave him when he'd last visited.
Desslok had since changed gloves, and the black synthfiber gripped his hands perfectly while hiding the mark on his left hand. Though Zordar, Invidia, and a handful of Gatlantean physicians knew of the mark, none had been brazen enough to mention it—that, or they considered it insignificant. But he'd learned long ago there was more to the oddly colored patch of skin than he knew, so he kept it hidden when possible. *
"Your answer," Desslok said.
Morta snorted—a symptom of his broken nose and perhaps a desire to goad Desslok. "The Gamilon thinks he's clever, pummeling information from me with his fists." Morta swung out of his bunk and stood. "But he's no different from the interrogators aboard Gatlantis."
Desslok's distaste for Cometines was no secret, and he'd only worked with Zordar out of obligation. "Is that a refusal to speak? If so, I've no misgivings about motivating you further." He shoved Morta against the cell wall, drew his weapon, and jammed the barrel under Morta's chin. The bruise from where he'd shoved the Cometine's own weapon into the underside of Morta's jaw hadn't yet healed. "Shall we tempt fate a second time?"
Morta muttered a curse paired with a slur reserved for those he especially despised. "I'm sure, with your vast knowledge, you're aware all Cometine vessels except small craft contain remotely triggered explosives. But they're only meant to be used as a last resort, or to prevent Cometine technology from being exploited by our enemies. Since your vessel was crafted aboard Gatlantis, all Cometine security measures were included in its design."
"This is not a Cometine ship," Desslok said before releasing Morta. "Zordar had no right to commission it as such."
Morta chuckled and sagged onto his bunk. "You are the center of your own universe, aren't you?" He snorted. "You believe he thought so much of you. To him, you were just another pawn. Prince Zordar had little to do with the construction of this ship. The work was distributed to a dozen engineers who had no knowledge of who the ship was for, and I guarantee none cared it was made for you. Though I'll admit I was surprised to find standard security features included aboard this ship, but when I made my report to Princess Invidia, you can imagine she was pleased."
Envisioning Invidia's smug face was too easy, but more troubling were Morta's words concerning Zordar. Desslok held no delusions that the prince considered him anything more than a means to an end, but until now, there had been no reason to mistrust him. If Zordar hadn't been concerned with the construction of this ship, what else had he overlooked… or chosen to ignore?
Desslok wanted to reward Morta for his obstinance, exact the price owed for the young man's treachery, but the Cometine might yet prove useful, especially if Zordar had made further… oversights. Keeping Morta alive might be inconvenient, but he was one more source of information. A little annoyance was worth that.
As Desslok left Morta's cell, he expected the Cometine to hurl insults or oaths, but Morta sat on his bunk in silence.
Derek met with his officers and other key personnel in the operations room. The only one, understandably absent was Nova.
Trelaina stood between Derek and Sandor, so they could convey her words to those without translators.
Mark listened with rapt attention. Nagakura's face remained grave, and everyone else's expressions mirrored hers to varying degrees as Trelaina told the officers the same information she'd conveyed to Derek—Argo and Earth were in danger, and they had to leave Telezart as soon as possible, preferably within the next forty-eight hours.
"But why so little time?" said Dash. "This whole trip we've been following something half of us, including you, Wildstar, didn't even see. What makes getting home suddenly so urgent?"
"You're all aware of the comet Sandor discovered before we left Earth," Derek said. "We've been tracking it during our journey, and Sandor and I have had our suspicions about it for a while, but because of Trelaina, we're sure now… That comet is the Gatlantean base of operations."
Collective silence gripped the room.
"We've seen the Iscandarian radar unit label ships as Cometine and Gatlantean, but we couldn't grasp the scope of what that meant until now. We have two to three days to complete Argo's repairs. If we wait longer, that comet will catch us, and if we miss our escape window… We won't survive." Derek let everyone take in his words before continuing. "It isn't just us at risk. It's everyone on Earth too."
Trelaina spoke, and Derek relayed her words. "Yes, the comet is on course for Origin. That is why I prayed you would arrive at Telezart in time to learn of its intent."
"Argo's in bad shape." Derek brought up a diagram of the ship on the floor panel to show each area needing repair, along with estimates of how much time each fix would take to implement. They could meet their deadline, but the schedule would be so brutal he wasn't sure they'd be able to take off once essential repairs were complete.
"This is impossible," Dash said. "My team alone has three hundred man-hours of repair work assigned to them, and everyone else's assignments are no better. Some are worse. There's no time to sleep—no meal breaks. We'll be lucky to run to the head." He turned his anger on Trelaina. "Why not just send us a message? Even Starsha of Iscandar had the decency to do that before telling us we had to leave Earth on a suicide mission." He crossed the floor-screen and stopped three feet from Derek and Trelaina.
"Dash, this isn't—"
"No, Wildstar. I want a reason. Starsha withheld information two years ago, and it almost got us killed. Now, another complete stranger guides us here using mystical powers, only to tell us something that could have been a message. We've lost crew because of this woman." He pointed accusingly at Trelaina. "Our ship is grounded, and we might all be dead in under a week. We deserve to know why."
Derek stepped between Dash and Trelaina. "This isn't the time." He was an instant from sending Dash back to the bridge when Trelaina's hand on his shoulder stopped him, and the compassion in her face stemmed Derek's irritation at Dash's outburst.
Trelaina took Derek's place, face to face with Dash.
Sandor offered a spare translator, and Dash grudgingly put it on.
The faint glow around Trelaina seemed to intensify in the dimness of the operations room, lending her an ethereal air even more pronounced than it had been inside the mountain or on the desert trek back to the ship. "Your concern for those you lead is admirable. If you wish to know why you were called here, so far from home, I will tell you."
The uncertainty Trelaina broadcasted in the hangar, when those crewmen accosted her, was gone, replaced by firm purpose. "It is Shaddai, Creator of all things, Who sent the vision Captain Wildstar told me of. Shaddai chose for you to make this journey, not I, and since it is not my place to question the Maker of the universe, instead of spending my days upgrading communications equipment that is older than I am, with no guarantee it would work, I waited for you, praying every day that you would arrive in time. I did send a message, several days ago, in the hope you were near Telezart, but my communications equipment is unable to send messages outside the range of this solar system. Had I sent something to Origin, you would not have received it. It is in the journey, Jordan Dashell, that men are made." Her eyes flickered to Derek. "And many of you have already been bettered by this trial."
Dash's anger still burned. "I don't know who Shaddai is, and I don't care. You should have tried—found a way to send us word. You could have taken a ship to Earth. There must be at least one working ship on this forsaken rock."
"There is not," Trelaina said, never breaking calm. "My home is space worthy, but it is buried beneath the mountain, and I have no means of safely extracting it. The cataclysm a century ago destroyed every other transport. As for Shaddai, He is above all things, and by Him, all things consist."
"Now you sound like Alori," Dash muttered a curse.
Derek stepped in. "Lieutenant Dashell!"
Dash turned on Derek. "This whole misguided excursion has been one disaster after another. How can you stand here and not demand answers too? The Wildstar I knew on the Iscandar trip would be outraged."
He was right. Only two years ago Derek had railed at Captain Avatar when his brother Alex didn't return from the Battle of Pluto. But the need for vindication that once burned through him had quieted, replaced by the desire to understand. "I'm not who I used to be."
This only fanned Dash's anger, now accompanied by poorly hidden betrayal. He pried off the translator and dropped it in Sandor's open palm. "No, Wildstar. You're not."
In Dash's eyes, Derek had failed in his responsibilities as captain and very well might have condemned them all to death. Mark's face mirrored Dash's disillusionment, but he said nothing, even after Dash returned to his place in the circle of officers.
Most eyes fixed on the ship diagram, still displayed on the floor-screen.
The temptation flared to respond in anger. Argo was his home and the crew his family. To imply he hadn't done everything in his power to protect them was the worst barb imaginable. But the last time he'd let his temper supersede his judgment, he'd hurt someone he loved, and he cared too much about everyone gathered to let that happen again.
Derek turned off the floor-screen. As the lights came up, he said, "All of you will receive finalized assignments in a few minutes. You're dismissed."
Everyone filed out. Neither Dash nor Mark made eye contact with him.
Trelaina waited with Captain Wildstar until only the two of them—and Arach—remained in the operations room. She was glad Arach had forewarned her of Jordan Dashell's actions, or she would have been just as surprised as the captain. "You did not expect the outburst."
Captain Wildstar shook his head. "Dash is pretty level-headed. I had no idea he was angry."
"At times, we do not realize the anger rising in ourselves until it is too late." Her hands glowed as she recalled lashing out at the Cometines long ago for taking advantage of Telezart. "It is seldom one single thing that angers us, but many small transgressions added over time. And that is why we must seek Shaddai's face daily so we do not harbor bitterness in our hearts, especially concerning things we cannot control."
The day the Cometines attacked—the day her father died—she'd buried him in the scorched sand, leaving all others to fade slowly to dust as the decades passed. *
"Shaddai sometimes grants us clarity before our anger becomes volatile. But often we ignore that quiet check of spirit and must face the consequences of unwise actions," Trelaina said.
Captain Wildstar stood straight, but conflict clouded his expression. "I can't let Dash go without reprimand. I've already had to punish another of my officers, and a second made a misjudgment that could have costed others their lives. Nothing is going the way it should." He put his back to the wall and sank to the deck, hands clasped between bent knees. His hair fell in his face.
If only she could help him understand everything would be all right. But all she could think to do was what her father had done when she was a child, frightened of her growing abilities.
At Arach's encouraging nod, she kneeled in front of the young captain, brushed wild hair out of his eyes, and tucked it behind one ear. "It is impossible to see clearly when we allow doubt to cloud our vision." She tucked another tuft of hair behind his other ear. "You may doubt yourself, Captain Wildstar, but do not doubt Shaddai."
The captain's look of surprise made her smile. "Yes, I know you claim Him. I knew it when I first saw you. Shaddai's Spirit resonates within all who accept Him. It is like… many instruments all playing the same note. It is difficult not to hear."
The look of wonder on Captain Wildstar's face made him appear far younger than he was, but it also seemed to erase much of his crippling doubt. "I hope I can hear that resonance as clearly as you one day."
Trelaina rose and stepped back as the captain regained his feet. "Shaddai grant you clarity of ear, sight, and thought, Captain Wildstar."
Arach now stood less than three feet from both Trelaina and the captain. "Go with him to see to the repairs."
"May… I join you in overseeing this endeavor?" Trelaina said.
"I'd appreciate the company." Captain Wildstar headed for the door. "And any help you can give is welcome."
She followed him into the corridor. "I will do what I can."
Starsha sat in a reading chair near the south wall of the palace archive. Afternoon sunlight spilled over her, dispelling the room's lonely chill. Ancient texts surrounded her, preserved within stasis fields, or displayed beneath crystal cases so air couldn't corrupt their pages. Many of these tomes were older than the palace—hailing from when people first arrived on Iscandar a millennium and a half ago.
She was a girl last time she'd visited this room—before a virus wiped out the population of Iscandar. As the years passed, she'd relied on the maintenance droids to maintain this place, since returning here brought too many memories. But she'd braved coming here today because she needed answers about the being she'd found beneath the palace.
Her preliminary search for information on the Mazone returned few results, and she'd already perused several texts, but was no closer to learning what she needed to know.
The next file she opened was handwritten, digitized long ago. Old pages were yellowed and frayed, and the text was in a bizarre language. Instead of individual characters or sectioned script, the content was one continuous line of flowing swirls and hooks. Thankfully, someone had translated it, and a cryptic note preceded the body of the text:
This volume is but one of thousands transcribed by the Archivist Guild during the journey of the Mnasonim. This account was penned in the language of The Living, a sect of the Mazone, whose origins I cannot speak to, and do not dare investigate.
All who read what is written in these pages, beware, lest you fall to its enchantments.
Enari Guillo, First Recordkeeper of the Iskanderi Commonwealth
An image of Enari accompanied the note. His wide, dark eyes were filled with secrets, and his deep brown skin and beard stood in stark contrast with the pale skin covering one arm. The marking, paired with slightly deformed fingers on one hand, said he'd suffered a burn. A belted tunic and pants covered his slight frame, and he held a small plant in his good hand. Roots trailed through Enari's fingers and spilled over the edges of his palm, and though Starsha didn't recognize the plant's species, the shape of its leaves reminded her of Adrianna.
Sketches peppered the book's unending scrawl, and one depicted the mark of the Living—the group mentioned in the translator's note. Two soulless eyes, ringed by delicate leaves, stared from the page, like two voids ready to capture all who looked into their depths.
Starsha skimmed the rest of the book, but the only references to the Mazone were veiled in riddles and shades of meaning she couldn't untangle.
She adjusted search parameters to focus on the Living, and after eliminating thousands of unrelated results, she found a journal, transcribed by Iscandar's second king. Each entry grew increasingly erratic. Prose turned metered in sections, and by the time she reached the middle of the journal, there were patches of text all over the pages, and each section seemed unrelated to the others.
Little wonder they'd called him King Arbah the Mad.
She skimmed the rest of the book and found each entry less ordered than the last. The final few were handwritten instead of typed or dictated, and the man's script canted so far left it almost lay on its side. The last entry was a page filled with letters that slipped out of each horizontal line and cascaded down the page in something resembling a waterfall. Not one word was legible.
Starsha gave up reading the journal and relied on the computer's auto-search function to find King Arbah's references to the Living. Most were nonsensical, but the last one was in the entry before Arbah started writing by hand. Each phrase was scattered across the page, but beneath the chaos, there was a rhythm to the words.
Crystals. Crystals. So many crystals. The Living shards. They glow. They spark.
Crystals. Crystals. So many crystals. They shriek. They scream. They scald.
Crystals.
Crystals are growing. So slow. So empty. So dark.
Crystals. Coming up from the darkness. Coming to claim us.
Crystals. Beware! The Living are here. The Living… will take us all.
Starsha quickly closed the file. The silence filling the archive seemed a thousand times more dangerous than before. Perhaps history was right, and Arbah had lost his mind. But what if he hadn't?
The crystal-bound being she'd found below the vault gave no indication whether there were others like it here on Iscandar. But it hadn't said it was alone either. Then there was Adrianna's mysterious death. The Jeshurunian had been perfectly well not two hours before. But there was no reason Starsha's discovery of the Mazone should influence Adrianna's wellbeing. At least… no reason she knew about.
The longer she remained in the silent archives, the more she wished for strangers' voices, children laughing, footsteps, and loud conversations. She'd been accustomed to being alone before the refugees came, but now the thought of standing in an empty room chilled her hands and made her want to check around every corner before turning it.
If there was truth in Arbah's journal, she had only begun to learn the significance of what she'd discovered today.
As she hurried from the archive, she whispered a prayer for courage.
Derek walked the length of the ship three times, seeing to repair teams. The stims he'd gotten from Dr. Sane were still in his pocket, and he'd been tempted to take them twice since the meeting ended, but both times he reached for the pills, a little burst of energy made him reconsider. They had a long week ahead of them, and he couldn't leave his crew without a captain by burning himself out before they'd made progress.
Derek, followed by Trelaina, stepped onto the outer deck. Of the bow-facing main guns, one was a mangled mess, and two more had minor damage.
Work lights illuminated the entire deck, masking the stars and casting harsh shadows across everyone's faces. A chill breeze swept beads of sweat from Derek's neck and forehead.
Ten members of the combat team swarmed the slagged turret. They were almost halfway through cutting through the base of the destroyed emplacement, but it would take at least another fifteen minutes to finish the job. Removal and replacement would cost another four to six hours, depending on the availability of equipment. They could do it faster, but that would mean compromising crew safety, and Derek refused to order that.
The man heading the repair crew approached. "We're going as fast as we can, Captain. Disconnecting the ship's systems took longer than expected—with the main power system restricted and all. We'll be lucky to finish these three turrets before 1200, and by the time we're done, my people will be ready to drop."
"You have family back on Earth?" Derek said.
"Two little girls and my brother."
"Hang on for them."
The man nodded. "I can do that." He checked progress with an over-shoulder glance. "Better get back to it."
When the supervisor had rejoined his team, Trelaina said, "They all have loved ones they would die for, Captain Wildstar. But they need not perish here, in this wasteland." The three rings she wore caught starlight. "I believe… I can help them." She approached the nearly detached turret. Men and women parted as if nudged aside by an invisible escort.
Trelaina laid a palm against the destroyed gun. A crane held the damaged metal in place, and though the gun was almost completely free of its base, it didn't move when Trelaina touched it.
Light sped up Trelaina's arm and flooded over her as gasps of disbelief rippled through the repair team. Ruined metal folded into place, re-forming each portion of the turret until the destroyed gun appeared brand new. Not even dirt smudges marred it.
Back inside the mountain, Trelaina had crushed machines three times Derek's height. She'd parted a lake, formed steps out of water. But none of that prepared him to witness this. In less than five minutes, she'd saved them hours.
The repair team leader checked the re-formed gun, but his eyes flickered to Trelaina every few seconds until he'd completed his inspection. "She's sound, Captain." Undisguised awe filled his voice, and he took a few steps away from Trelaina.
"Do not be afraid," Trelaina said.
The repair crew didn't understand her, so Derek translated for them. A few seemed more at ease, but all maintained their distance from her as she returned to Derek.
"How'd you do that?" Derek kept his voice to a whisper as they stepped back inside Argo.
Trelaina displayed her three rings, one band on every finger except the littlest one. "Long ago, my father made me these. Until recently, two were lost, but they were returned before your arrival. Now I understand why Shaddai brought them back to me." She adjusted all three bands so their stones were properly aligned. "My father told me these would help harness my gift—guide its power. I did not know until this moment when he meant." Her unsteady smile betrayed relief.
"You didn't know that would work."
She shook her head. "But I prayed it would."
"Could you do it again?"
Trelaina twisted one ring until the inset gem had migrated around her finger twice. "If Shaddai wills it."
Derek's comm notified him of an incoming message from Sandor.
Recurring power failure in the lower decks. We've traced the source of the problem to the brig. Could use any help you can spare to watch Deun's cell.
None of the repair crews could leave their posts. But he could help them.
Be there in ten, Derek sent back. "My XO's found another problem."
"I will come with you."
The prospect of Deun getting loose while they were in the brig was bad enough, but he couldn't justify putting Trelaina at risk too. "I'll be helping guard a prisoner during the repair. I don't think you should—"
Trelaina held up her hand, displaying the row of jeweled bands.
She had proven her capabilities multiple times. "All right. But I have to warn you. This man's dangerous."
Trelaina seemed again to be listening to something Derek couldn't hear. "He lied. Deceived you. Tried to kill the crew."
"Can you… read minds?" The thought was uncomfortable. So far, Trelaina had only ever proven helpful, and she professed the same Faith as Derek. But truthfully, he knew very little about her, and the prospect of her seeing his—or anyone else's—thoughts was unsettling.
"No," she said. "But Shaddai knows all things, and He provides what is needed."
He wasn't sure what most of that meant, but her answer was reassuring.
They hurried to the brig and met Sandor, Royster, and Rowland outside. Clemens and Hoshina from security were with them.
"More bad news, Wildstar," Sandor said when Derek and Trelaina arrived. "The damage is inside cell C."
"But that's…"
"His cell," Sandor finished. "I know. I've made the entire security team aware. Patel and two Space Marines are inside already." His gaze flickered to Trelaina.
"She stays," Derek said.
Sandor's half-second pause said he was considering a protest, but he nodded acceptance instead. "Once we're inside, we'll need to do this as fast as possible." He clapped a shaking Royster on the back. "That means you and me. In. Replace the faulty circuit. Out. Rowland, you have the new circuit?"
Rowland held up the cased component.
"Be ready to run diagnostics or go for additional parts if needed," Sandor said to Rowland. "We don't want to be in here any longer than necessary. Every second our prisoner is out of his cell is an opportunity for him to get loose. Don't give him that chance."
"Understood, sir," Rowland replied.
Clemens led the way into the brig, rifle ready. Sandor followed, then Rowland, and Royster. Derek and Trelaina stepped inside, and Hoshina followed.
Patel, flanked by Marines, stood watch at Deun's cell door. The young man kept a firm grip on his rifle, and concern had etched deep lines around his mouth and eyes. When he saw Sandor, Clemens, and Hoshina, those lines softened, but didn't disappear. "Two power failures since your last check-in, sir," he said to Sandor. "We've kept the prisoner contained, but every time the lights go out and we lose the ability to monitor what he's doing in there…" Patel shifted his grip on his rifle. "When power comes back, he stares into the camera and grins." Sweat stained Patel's dark gloves. "He's planning something."
"All the more reason to get this done quickly," Sandor said.
Patel nodded, but the worry lining his face only intensified.
"Ready?" Sandor said to Patel and the others before tapping in the code to unlock Deun's cell.
The lock clicked open.
And the lights winked out.
Blackness covered everything, and the only source of light was Trelaina's ever-present glow.
Marines and security surrounded the door, weapons trained on the cell entrance.
The only sound was Royster's heavy breathing.
Derek slipped his gun from its holster.
When Deun didn't immediately burst from his cell, Patel slipped one hand between the door and its frame and pulled until the cell interior was visible—or, would have been if they'd had better lighting.
Something snaked from the darkness and dragged Patel inside. The young man's scream was cut short a half-second later.
No one else moved.
Eerie whistling leaked from the black cell.
One of the Marines signaled the other, then gestured Sandor, Rowland, and Royster to one side of the door. Sandor had to pick up Royster to move him, but when they were out of the way, security and the Space Marines clustered to either side of the cell door, weapons ready.
Derek and Trelaina stood across from the cell next to Deun's. If Deun came to the door, Derek would have a clean shot. He'd killed before, but every time he raised his weapon to someone, it got harder to pull the trigger. God, help me.
Something Alori said over a month ago came to mind. "When we're weak, God is strong." The Lieutenant had been eating with another crew member—not even talking to Derek—but he'd overheard that one piece of the conversation, and now that single sentence gave him strength.
The whistling inside the cell grew louder, and methodic footsteps accompanied it in a steady, purposeful rhythm. Each step's echo made it harder for Derek to breathe.
A laser round slammed into Clemens' chest armor, knocking him onto his back.
Hoshina and a Marine dragged Clemens toward cell A, out of the line of fire. Clemens sputtered until he could breathe normally again. The scorch mark on his chest plate was perfectly aimed to cause as much damage as possible. Had he not been armored, he'd be dead.
They needed the power back on if they were going to survive this standoff. Deun had Patel's weapon, and he was a far better shot than any of them, even in the dark.
A second round hit a Marine in the shoulder, and he went down with a grunt.
Before Derek could stop him, Sandor charged into the cell. Of all of them, he was most likely to overpower Deun, with the help of his bionic limbs.
There were no sounds of a prolonged struggle, only the loud thunk of a body hitting the deck moments before Deun darted into the hall. His cuffs were gone, and the tether attaching his ankle to the wall had been severed less than an inch from his boot. He wielded Patel's rifle with terrifying confidence and downed Hoshina, Clemens, and the two Marines with a single shot each. The blasts caught all four men in the chest and sent them to the floor. Two hit the wall on the way down and lay unconscious. The other two gasped for breath.
When Deun raised the rifle barrel to Rowland and Royster, light filled the hall, and the rifle crumpled like paper. Deun threw the useless weapon aside.
Trelaina's raised fist hovered in the corner of Derek's vision, and he was so glad she'd insisted on coming with him. She'd just saved two of his crew from a quick execution.
Derek's finger still covered his trigger. He should shoot now, while he had the chance. Even disarmed, Deun would show them no mercy. He had to protect his crew—his friends. But even though he'd shot Deun once before, the thought of doing it this time was unsettling.
Trelaina stood beside Arach and slightly behind Captain Wildstar.
"You know what needs to be done," Arach said.
Trelaina passed Captain Wildstar and didn't stop until she was five feet from the escaped prisoner. "You will not harm anyone here."
The prisoner faced Trelaina. His eyes watered from the sudden brightness, but he didn't even squint. His features were stunningly familiar—almost identical to the man who'd returned the shard of emotion to her. But there was something in this man's face that marked him differently—a wildness that possessed him.
"Your orders mean nothing to me," he said. Either he had a translator implant, or he'd studied a language similar to Telzarti.
"I did not think they would," she replied. "But know I am prepared to enforce them." She pulled two fingers together, and the tether around the man's ankle tightened.
He made no sound of pain, but he shifted weight off the constricted ankle.
By now, Captain Wildstar and the two conscious men near cell A were approaching her and the prisoner.
"Go," she said. "Leave this ship and never return."
The prisoner's laugh echoed through the entire brig. "You expect me to believe you're just going to release me? You don't even belong here. You have no authority to let me go."
Arach was behind the prisoner now, between him and Royster and Rowland. The angel nodded encouragement.
"I have the only authority that matters," she said. "Now leave. And if you harm a single person on your way out, I will know."
Trelaina snuffed her glow, and the brig fell into darkness.
"He's gone," Arach said seconds later as the brig door clicked shut.
"Will the crew follow?" she said amidst the captain and security team's shouts and footsteps.
"No. Comms are down. The door is locked. No one will even know he's escaped until he's away."
"How will he get out? The hangar's blocked."
"There is a catapult designed for launching fighters from above deck. It will be simple for him to take a captured Gatlantean plane and leave, and they will not be able to follow him."
"I saw the look in his eyes," Trelaina whispered as Captain Wildstar and a Marine pounded fists against the brig door and shouted in the hope passersby would hear them. "Was it wise to let him go?"
Trelaina slowly brought her glow back to a comfortable brightness.
"Wise? No," Arach said. "Needed? Yes." He stood side by side with her as Captain Wildstar directed three men to stay by the door and took the fourth into the cell with him to see to the XO and security guard. "One of the men inside that room is dead. The other will not wake until late tomorrow, but no one else is seriously injured. You saved many lives today."
"But why release the prisoner?" She adjusted her rings. "I could have stopped him. He would never have harmed anyone else."
Arach folded his arms across his chest. "Shaddai has not said. But I trust He knows better than you or I."
Captain Wildstar emerged from the cell. "Trelaina, can you open the door to the brig?"
"Go on," Arach said. "No matter what you do, it will not move."
Trelaina raised both hands toward the exit, but true to Arach's word, though she directed dark matter particles into the gap between the door and the bulkhead and pulled with all her strength, the door remained shut. She didn't dare buckle a wall, lest she collapse the deck above them.
When sweat beaded her forehead, Captain Wildstar stopped her. "We'll have to find another way out—warn the crew Deun's loose onboard ship again. Sandor's stable, but Patel… There's nothing we can do for him. What happened when your light went out? Are you all right?"
"I am well," Trelaina said. "But I am saddened by your loss."
"It could have been more of us dead if you hadn't destroyed that rifle when you did. What were you saying to Deun? My translator couldn't pick up either of you."
The power came back on in the brig, and the door slid open.
"We discussed the will of Shaddai, Captain Wildstar," Trelaina said. "Do not worry. Your crew is safe from…"
Arach supplied the name.
"Deun of Gamilon. He will trouble you no more."
Wildstar paused with his comm halfway out of his pocket. "You let him go," he said it low enough to keep others from hearing.
"I did."
An emergency notice pinged Wildstar's comm. "He's left the ship. No further casualties reported." He put the comm away. "I don't know whether to thank you or throw you off my ship. That was reckless, thoughtless, and foolish. He could have murdered my entire crew on his way out."
"But he did not," Trelaina said.
"No. He didn't."
Captain Wildstar breathed a heavy sigh. "I need to get my XO and two others to the med bay. And we have a young man who needs a funeral worthy of the courage he showed today. Help me see to them until the medical corps arrives."
"Yes, Captain Wildstar."
Episode 31 Notes:
* To learn more about the mark on Desslok's hand, read the Intermissions in Book 0: The Guardiana.
* To find out more about Trelaina burying her father, read the short story Shards.
The title for this episode was taken from Isaiah 41:17-20:
When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them, I the God of Israel will not forsake them.
I will open rivers in high places, and fountains in the midst of the valleys: I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water.
I will plant in the wilderness the cedar, the shittah tree, and the myrtle, and the oil tree; I will set in the desert the fir tree, and the pine, and the box tree together:
That they may see, and know, and consider, and understand together, that the hand of the Lord hath done this, and the Holy One of Israel hath created it.