Death Drop (45 page)

Graale’s grip didn’t loosen as expected but tightened. Abalias almost cried out—partly from the pain of the crushing hold and partly in terror—as heat surged through his arm. The green glow that poured from Graale’s eyes in the mine base was aflame again and the comet above his head was burning brighter than last time. Its dazzling tail was so long it touched the carved ceiling and bent ninety degrees, dancing back and forth along the roof like a luminous serpent. He opened his mouth, still clutching firmly to Abalias, and the light spilled out, bathing the colonel as the cell door crashed open.

“NO!”

Abalias heard the murderous roar behind him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Graale. The light faded from his eyes and mouth as the comet tail hovering overhead slinked back along the ceiling and withered until all that remained was a white-hot orb between Graale’s spires. He let go of the colonel and his arms slowly drifted to his sides, then the sphere of light flickered and vanished. When the orb flashed out, Graale’s head tumbled from his shoulders and rolled to Abalias’ feet. Instead of seeing the lifeless expression of his comrade staring up at him from the ground, there was only a jagged, cracked rock. The shape looked like it could have been Graale’s head—rocky spires, a craggy section where a large piece had been broken off—but there was nothing there to identify the chunk of rock as having once been a living thing: no eyes, no mouth, nothing. The rest of his body fell apart at every joint and collapsed into a pile of rubble beneath a Dissension Sergeant’s uniform.

Abalias was yanked from the ground like he was an insect. The pressure around his throat was incredible, and for a moment he thought that Gyumak must still be alive and that the monster had slunk down to the dungeon to take his revenge. Then the grip released and he fell back to the ground. He crumpled to his knees, clutching at his throat and coughing for the second time today. Noruuka and the helmed phantom floated menacingly over Killikbar’s shoulders as the dark general of the Berzerkers put his scarred nose to Abalias’ and bared his terrible teeth.

Abalias knew this was it. He was going to die on this planet—most likely in this cell, by the phantasmic devices of Killikbar’s wraiths—but he would go down fighting. His armor glided over his head and the beginnings of three thick spines of ice rippled on his torso, but before they could erupt from his body and impale his enemy, he was cursed. Killikbar stretched his immense jaws and snapped his head forward with unnatural speed, putting Abalias’ entire head inside his mouth. A stream of the same white-blue vapor that made up his phantoms seeped from his throat. The vile tendrils of dull light moved like living things as they melted the ice over Abalias’ nose and mouth and streamed into his body. The rest of his ice armor retreated back to its hiding place under his skin and he convulsed violently before bending forward on his hands and knees and retching. His heaves coincided with screams of agony: his broken leg and collarbone weren’t set anymore and there was no cold inside of him to dull the pain. His powers were gone.

“INSOLENT DOG!” Killikbar roared as Noruuka lashed Abalias across his broken collar bone. “You killed my giant and now you rob me of my destiny—the stone one’s power was MINE!” Killikbar was foaming at the mouth. As he looked up from the floor, Abalias could almost see the deep crimson of blood, brought on by rage, mix with the endless black of Killikbar’s eyes.

“I was going to use his power to destroy you in the black arena, but
now
I have a better idea. Atrolus will slowly cleave you apart, limb by limb, on the battlefield. You’ll suffer like no other man or beast has suffered, and once you have died—slowly, painfully—I’ll take your soul and use your powers to hunt down and kill everyone you know: your beloved Dissenters, your friends, your family—everyone!”

“Go ahead, you twisted fuck, what will I care—I’ll be dead,” Abalias wheezed through clenched teeth.

“Oh, no, my dear Colonel,” Killikbar snickered, “you’re wrong. My phantoms are very much aware that they’re doing my bidding. It’s part of the magic—the torture! You’ll be screaming every second inside your head, urging your arms to stop the butchery, calling out a warning to each innocent life you slaughter to run, hide—but you’ll be helpless to stop it.”

Abalias knew Killikbar wasn’t bluffing, and the thought of being trapped inside a phantom shell while fully conscious and murdering innocent people made his blood run colder than it ever could on its own, but he wasn’t about to show it.

“Let’s do it, asshole! Let’s dance, you and me—right here, right now!”

“Ah, Colonel,” Killikbar laughed, “we have plenty of time!”

Not even the pain wracking his body could mask the confusion on his face as he stared back at the Berzerker general.

“Marstulu, my overlord God of war, will be high above Pelota del Fuego in three months’ time. Spilling your blood slowly in the arena will be a perfect offering! Until then, we’ll make sure you are properly…
conditioned…
GROWWWL!”

The helmed phantom, Atrolus, pointed his sword at Abalias and motioned him to get to his feet. He rose on one leg and Noruuka lashed his back. Abalias grimaced and couldn’t help but cry out, not only in pain, but in despair: even if he survived the three grueling months of torture that were ahead of him, when the constellation of Killikbar’s wicked war god was high overhead, Noruuka would lash him to his feet and march him to the black arena, not only to his death, but to an eternity of torturous murder under the control of Killikbar’s sorcery.

Interlude

T
he control room overlooking the bazaar at Luxon from inside the hollowed out head of King Gamuun’s statue was filled with smoke and the acrid tang of spent rounds. Its rows of display screens still showed the comings and goings of almost every pilot, merchant, traveler, and thief in the great port city from beneath the thick spatter of blood oozing down their glossy fronts. The remains of the portmaster lay slouched in a chair, his squat arms hanging limply at his sides. A strange-looking hand, with several clawed fingers on both sides of its meaty palm, reached down and reengaged the gate.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but The Ghost has something we require aboard that ship, and I’m afraid I need him
alive.
”

***

Chapter 32:
Time to Run

“T
welve meters.”
The alert from the program was flashing erratically, and Dezmara didn’t have time to contemplate the four gunshots she heard on the other end of the com as she pegged the throttles at full. The Zebulon class star freighter leapt forward, and Dezmara smiled as the acceleration pinned her to her seat and she flicked the control stick starboard. The ship passed horizontally between the gate’s split doors with mere millimeters to spare, and as it rocketed above the dead, gray remains of Trinity Major, Dezmara held the stick to the right and turned several barrel rolls in celebration of their victory and regained freedom.

Diodojo slunk from the surrounds of his pipe-enclosed hiding place in engineering and dropped to the floor without a sound. Sensing the danger of Luxon had passed, he sauntered out of the room and up the main deck toward the cockpit. His sleek, spotted head was held high, and an expression that looked every bit like a smile parted the whiskered flaps of skin beneath his nose, revealing the pointed tips of his teeth. He walked undetected into the cockpit and leaned hard into Dezmara’s right leg as a loud purr motored from his throat.

“Oh, god!” Dezmara’s nerves were still on edge and she jumped. “Doj, you scared the shit out of me!” She flicked on the auto-pilot and caressed both sides of his head just under his ears. His eyes were bright and the nostrils on his triangle-shaped nose flexed in and out as he took in her familiar scent.

“How’re you doin’, Doj?” Dezmara said in the most upbeat tone she had heard from herself since before they docked at Luxon. Of course, she could guess the answer—Diodojo was alert and in good spirits—but she wanted to check the site of his wound just to be sure.

She carefully slid her hands up onto his head and applied pressure with her fingertips through the bandages along the length of the gash. Diodojo’s right eye flickered with discomfort but he didn’t flinch or yowl, and the baritone rumble of his cheery mood was constant throughout the prodding.

“Good boy,” Dezmara said as she scratched roughly behind his ear, “you’re healin’ up nicely!” Diodojo pawed at her knee and let out a spry roar and Dezmara jumped involuntarily but kept on smiling. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said as she got to her feet. “Now c’mon, I’ll get you some raw steaks from the galley, then it’s off to the infirmary to bandage my wounds. Then I have to talk to Simon.”

Diodojo’s jubilant purr went silent and the corners of his mouth relaxed. Small crests of fur wrinkled the skin on the right side of his snout. His smile was gone and in its place was a silent scowl.

Simon Latranis had climbed down from the gun turret above the engineering room and settled into his high-backed chair. He was sitting in front of no less than eight monitors and an equal number of keyboards, stacked in pairs and hovering along the inner edge of his crescent moon shaped control station, when a strange object landed in his lap with a soft thud.

“Shite!” he cried as he looked over his shoulder. “What’s the big idea, luv? Tryin’ to send my heart right back into overdrive?”

“That thing saved my life,” Dezmara said as she pointed at the vambrace Lilietha had sold to her, “and I need you to look at the tech and see if you can rig it to protect the ship.”

Simon’s eyebrows bunched under the goggles on his forehead as he turned the item over in his hands and eyed it curiously. “Look, luv, I’m not wrappin’ the ol’ girl here in an intergalactic prophylactic, it just won’t”

“Just set it up in the armory, press the button there, and squeeze off a few rounds, would ya? Oh, and, Simon, aim wide of it all the way ‘round.” Simon looked at her like she’d recently gone off the deep end. “Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”

The reassuring look on Dezmara’s face melted Simon’s doubts and ignited his curiosity. She had never led him astray in their three years together. He cradled the little guard from the bottom with both furry hands like it was an offering to the technology gods as he got up to start his newly appointed task.

“Wait a sec, chief,” Dezmara said as she placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “First things first. How’s the ship?”

“Would’ve told ya if you hadn’t distracted me with this little gem—was workin’ on the damage scans ‘fore you arrived.” Simon tapped a button and one of the screens beeped as its blank front transformed into a glowing schematic of the
Ghost
. “Right, then, good news first. As you prob’ly guessed, since we haven’t been strained through a bullet hole into the cold vacuum of space, the ol’ girl’s hull is intact. She’s got some dents an’ scrapes, but nuthin’ a little make-up, applied by the maestro, won’t fix once we’re docked in a
non-hostile
port.”

“And by
make-up
, you mean?”

“Some bangin’ with my tools, a little heat from my burner—standard body work, luv—the usual.”

“And the bad news?”

Simon bunched his lips and breathed heavily through his nose. “Got ‘bout a quarter of our ammo left an’ the tanks are thirsty.”

“How thirsty?” she asked, more irritated at herself for not noticing the fuel status in the cockpit than at anything else. “Enough to get us to Chuudagar?”

Simon’s cheeks puffed out as he completed a quick calculation in his head. “It’ll be close, luv, with very little room for all that fancy flyin’ of yours. That’s the heaviest haul we’ve ever run and Chuudagar idn’t exactly the moon next door, now, is it?”

“Well, look at it this way,” Dezmara said with a feeble attempt at optimism, “with a quarter of our ammo, we should weigh less.”

“Not really the reassurance I was hopin’ for, luv.”

“Okay, got a job for you and it’s priority one, got it?” Dezmara said without acknowledging his concerns. She wouldn’t admit it to a soul, but she was just as worried as he was about the ammo and fuel—maybe even more. “Where’re you with The Bug?”

“Nearly there.”

“How close, Sy?”

“Hour or two tops, luv.”

“I need you to get down there,” she said, motioning to the thick black line marking the center of the bay door in front of Simon’s station, “and get it done. She’s been out of commission too long and we could’ve used her today.”

Dezmara wasn’t accusing Simon of anything—he knew that—but he felt guilty anyway. She was right, and if he didn’t spend so much time tinkering with his gadgets and computers, The Bug would’ve made a world of difference back in the dockyard at Luxon. He thought about everything that went down—Dezmara’s unbelievable heroics and feats never ceased to amaze him, no matter how many times she pulled off the impossible—and he was utterly dumbfounded as to how they had managed to make it out alive.

“Luv?” he said hesitantly. “I still don’t understand what bloody happened back there. Thought you and me were havin’ our last cheers. How’d we get out?”

That very thought had been pulling at the seams of her mind, distracting her focus from the dangers of the upcoming run, from the second the
Ghost
skimmed through the great gate. Her eyes glazed over as they followed her mind into the mystery for a few moments. “I honestly don’t know, Sy. I mean, I heard shots—four of ‘em, clear as day over the com—and when the gates cleared, I punched it and didn’t look back.”

“Do you think someone did the chap in so we could escape—same someone who sold you this?” Simon was waving the vambrace from side to side.

Dezmara fought against the picture of Lilietha’s innocent face twisted in ugliness as her long, delicate blue finger snapped the trigger of a gun back four times and the grotesque image of the portmaster’s body falling to the ground in front of her.
“She’s not capable of that! How do you know? You barely know the girl! She helped you escape, gave you the shield. How do you know she didn’t kill him? There was definitely more to her than she let on!”
The argument in her head would’ve raged on if she hadn’t made a serious effort to stop it.