Hybrid Saga 01 - Hybrid (2 page)

Rho’uk stood next to Shu’ma, both warriors pounding their chests with a fist in salute to their superior before dropping to one knee with bowed heads to await the Overseer’s attention.

“Enter,” he commanded, after a long quiet moment.

Rising to their feet, they proceeded a few more strides into the chamber, the doors closing shut behind them, shrouding the chamber in even greater darkness.

Shu’ma lowered his head again before speaking. “Overseer. We are glad for your return. I trust your time with the Prophets was enlightening?”

Xin’ma responded without turning. “Yes, Shu’ma, it was. And I return with news of the greatest magnitude.”

Shu’ma kept his head lowered. “What news is this, my Overseer?”

“I bring word of the
Awakening
, my son.”

Rho’uk’s head rose slightly, his eyes darting to the Usarion statues around the Overseer’s praying mantel. He had been taught to worship and honor the Gods with his life and had never doubted their existence. They were to be the core of any Rai Chi’s life. He had been told, many times over, the ancient stories, that the Gods had created the cosmos and all things in it, and that Turaus had made the Rai Chi in His image, to serve and honor Him. All of these stories he believed to the very core of his being.

If he had any doubts at all, they lied in the belief many had in the
physical
presence of the Gods. It was a new mythology, comparatively, that the Gods had come to live in a physical form and swept his people and many others from their worlds, bringing them across the stars to this new world. They had then left them, returning to their own domain in the next world, with a promise of their eventual return. The Awakening. He did not deny that some of those things had happened; this world was not their own; but it was difficult for him to envision the Gods he had worshipped all his life as flesh and blood beings, even if they were super beings. Nor could he fathom why they would have done such a thing? He was not one to question the will of the Gods, and would never place himself in such high standing as to believe he could comprehend their ancient wisdom, but the legend filled him with questions and misgivings, two things he knew he should not have felt from his faith.

Shu’ma raised his head to look at his father, his eyes widening. “The
Awakening
, Overseer? The Gods . . .
return
?”

“Yes, my son.” Xin’ma turned around finally, and folding his hands behind his back, stepped closer to his son. “The Prophets have foreseen it. The time of their arrival draws near.”

The Prophets. This was where Rho’uk’s greatest doubts lied. It was believed that they were the messengers of the Gods, interpreting Their wishes of his people. The Overseer was the only Rai Chi permitted audience with the prophets, though Rho’uk had once been in their presence briefly himself, and so could not deny their existence. Yet, before coming to this world, and the supposed first arrival of the
physical
Gods, there were no stories of these Prophets. None in the old texts. All of these doubts, Rho’uk kept to himself. To speak them aloud would be blasphemy, with the penalty of death.

Shu’ma was not plagued by the same questions, and if he was, he did not show it. He rose to his feet, bowing his head again before raising it to speak, a hint of suppressed excitement in his voice. “A glorious day, Overseer. I will spread this news to the warriors.”

Rho’uk stood back up again as well, still contemplating this intriguing, if not disturbing news.

“It is indeed a glorious day for the Rai Chi, my son,” Xin’ma agreed, pausing a moment before continuing. “And the word will be spread. But, first there is another task that demands our attention. One of the utmost importance. We must prepare.”

Shu’ma responded immediately. “I live to serve, Overseer.”

“The prophets have foreseen something more,” Xin’ma continued, walking slowly down the few steps of the raised praying mantel. “A coming storm. One that threatens the glorious future the Gods have promised will follow Their return. There are some who would see the glory of the Gods undone. Those that would see the great prophecies go unfulfilled. It is this new threat that must be smothered.”

New threat?
Rho’uk was most definitely intrigued by this statement. What threat could there be against the Gods that They Themselves could not smother?

“There is an insurrectionist who spreads dissent,” Xin’ma continued through clenched teeth, spitting out each word as if it sickened him to speak them. “One who’s every breath is an insult to the Gods.”

Insurrectionist? Rho’uk’s eyes widened at the declaration. There were many groups of insurgents that inhabited this system, who rebelled against the reigning power of the Sect Dominion. These bands of anarchists emerged and faded frequently, without much notice. How could one malcontent be such a threat as to trouble the Gods?

Xin’ma’s tone became low and deadly. “This . . .
heretic
flees in the hope of aiding our enemies. In the hope of undermining the Gods. You will find this betrayer and return her to me. She will be made to suffer before the Gods upon Their return. And you will spill the blood of all those who would share in her treachery.

“We have been called upon, my son. It is our fate as warriors and as servants of the Gods to face this coming threat and extinguish it. Our mandate is of the greatest importance. We must seek out and eradicate these infidels and all those who would oppose the Gods. I turn this task to you. This is the destiny of our people.”

“My Overseer,” Shu’ma replied immediately, bowing his head. “On my life, it will be done.”

Xin’ma turned his attention to Rho’uk. “I must speak privately with my son. Go now and bring word to our people, for soon their makers will stand before them.”

Rho’uk pounded his chest in salute and turned, walking from the meditation chamber, leaving father and son to converse alone. As he went, his mind raced over what he had just been told. More doubts. What purpose was this serving if not the will of the Gods? Who’s purpose? For the moment, it did not matter. He had a directive from his Overseer . . . from the Gods . . . and he would follow it.

Hopefully, in doing so, it would lead him to the answers he sought.

Chapter 1

ISYSS

The distant light of countless stars shimmered in the clear night sky, their radiance doing little to illuminate the harsh, rocky surface of one of the system’s smallest habitable desert moons. The faint glow reflected from its parent world, the gas giant Turaus, failed to reach down into the maze of gaps and bald spots throughout the mountainous terrain, and shrouded in darkness, they served as sharp outlines for the flat, elevated sections of outcropped rock that made up the majority of the desert satellite. But for its breathable atmosphere, Isyss was nearly incapable of supporting life, its wasted surface too dry to sustain any, giving the small moon a sense of peaceful emptiness and quiet.

Jarred Archer enjoyed the isolation and tranquility that such places provided. Much more so than that of the overcrowded cities that peppered the majority of the worlds of this solar system. There were few places like it, left untouched by the massive shadow of industry and commerce that stretched out to all corners of commutable space. From his current altitude, the barren, lifeless surface almost appeared serene. Of course, he knew it was anything but.

The wasted moon had eluded all forms of technological colonization, and not for any lack of trying. Terraformers had long ago set up atmospheric processing stations to create a suitable environment for habitation, introducing plant and wildlife, but the stubborn rock had resisted almost all of it. Numerous mining corporations had attempted to harvest whatever value could be had from the land over the centuries, all of which having suffered the same fate, finding little purchase, and eventually being swallowed up by the unforgiving climate.

Finally, all attempts to mine or colonize the moon had been abandoned, and now with only a handful of outposts spread out over its surface, it had become a little known, out of the way spaceport for smugglers to rest and refuel in privacy, without having to worry about any planetary authorities or the Sect Dominion, the system’s overbearing and militant governing entity.

Jarred could appreciate that there were still some havens left that would remain free from sentient interference and industrialization. This moon actually repelled it and that thought gave him some comfort. He had spent much of his life, or as much as he could recall of it, in places just like it, if not geologically similar, at least alike in their isolation from the so called civilized world, so it only made sense that he would feel most at home and comfortable in them.

As he continued to watch the barren terrain roll by far beneath him, his mind involuntarily drifted back to those earlier times in his life, the closest thing to an adolescence he had ever known. The memories he
did
have were fond ones, at least for the most part, but only served to remind him of what he had worked so hard to leave behind. A past that was fraught with missing pieces and unanswered questions. A void in his mind as dark and vast as the universe itself, and the constant torment it inflicted upon him when left unchecked. And yet, though he had moved on in an attempt to forge a new life for himself; one of his
own
choosing; the questions still managed to plague him, when he allowed them to rise back to the surface of his consciousness, which was not something he was in the habit of doing. On the contrary, he had become quite adept at ignoring them. He had, with much effort, armored himself against their influence. Odd that something so simple, as a vaguely familiar landscape, could break through all of those defenses.

Feeling the all too familiar surge of emotions that always accompanied such thoughts, he reflexively shook the reminiscence from his mind, and as quickly as the memories, or lack there of, had arisen they were buried once more. Safely hidden away, in the dark recesses of his mind, where they could not be a burden to him. Such sentiments were counterproductive and dwelling on the past was a distraction he could not afford, especially in his current line of work.

Bounty hunting wasn’t the safest or most lucrative of trades, but if you were any good at it, there were decent credits to be made. Most contracts were open to all members of the Hunter’s Guild, which helped to expedite the process for the client through shear headcount. It also served to intensify an already highly competitive market, making it harder and harder for the average hunter to scrape in a living. When a contract came around you either outworked and outsmarted the competition, or you starved. If you were lucky and had established a decent reputation in the marketplace, you could find independent contractual work, which meant you didn’t need to worry about the competition stealing your bounties out from under you. Jarred’s particular skill set had allowed him to establish that kind of reputation and consequently, he had done alright for himself. It wasn’t a glamorous life, but he wasn’t interested in notoriety or prestige. He just wanted to make his own way.

Refocusing his thoughts on the task at hand, Jarred glanced over his ship’s navigational readouts, though few of them were in working order anymore. Cobbled together from the parts of many different vessels; it’s original make was lost beneath layers of rebuilds and modifications, most of which having occurred before the ship had come into his possession; he was sometimes surprised it functioned at all. It’s compact frame identified it to scanners as a scout class freighter, which had probably been the vessel’s original purpose, that small stature making it ideal for quick courier runs, as opposed to heavy load cartages. It was faster and more maneuverable than it’s larger counterparts, while still allowing it to pass for a cargo vessel to bystanders. A helpful cover when his objectives were usually on the lookout for him. Lately, that seemed about all the dilapidated vessel was good for. He had to admit the old ship had seen better days. Pretty soon all the spare parts in the system wouldn’t keep her in the air.

That sad thought was replaced with relief as Jarred saw his destination’s landing beacon registering on the heads up display, one of the few instruments that
did
still function properly. He looked out his front viewport and spotted the faint, artificial glow coming from the installation that was just now becoming visible in the distance.

It was a small, out of the way outpost, even by Isyss’ standards, one that Jarred had never personally docked at before, not that he was expecting it to be any different from the countless others he had been to. He put the ship into a slow descent, angling for the hollowed out crater the station had been built into. To better conceal its presence from those who didn’t already know of it, he assumed, as he hovered over the ridge of the cliff wall. Comprised of dozens of tightly spaced low rise buildings, none rising more than a couple of stories, he was easily able to discern the pedestrian walkways that divided the clustered structures, all of the main arteries packed with hundreds of clamoring beings. Humans, more accurately, as this particular outpost was used almost exclusively by his race. Immediately spotting the station’s docking ring, a large circular walled in structure in the center of the compound, he altered his vector to make a landing.