Reavers (Book 3) (46 page)

As he searched for her, he realized he couldn’t sense anyone outside of the room any longer.  As he rose from the bed, the doors opened only a crack and an odd metallic sound filled the room.  On the ground was a strange metal cylinder that was casually rolling in through the crack.

Before Brent could react, the cylinder flashed in rapid succession.  The pulses of light not only blinded his eyes but also seemed to blur his senses - including his Weaver abilities.  Despite his efforts to resist, he felt the dull impact of the ground and his consciousness fade.  Whoever these men were, they worked for someone who had access to some amazing toys - and now he was completely helpless in their hands.

“Never heard of this place before,” Rosalyn said as she folded her arms in protest.

“Don’t be difficult Rosy; you already agreed to this,” Andreas said, attempting to placate her.

“It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind!”

“Do you honestly expect us to believe you’ve heard of every single run-down rim world in the entire Commonwealth?” Tardos asked over his shoulder.

“That’s another thing,” she groused as she tried to stretch in the small drop pod.  “Why would any group as powerful as the Circle hide out
here
?”

“Now you are just being silly,” the short old man said with a small grin.  “You already know the answer to that.”

“She does?” Revel asked with a raised eyebrow.

Rosalyn pouted her lips a bit and folded her arms tighter.

“Care to enlighten the rest of us?”  Revel pressed.

“It’s because she’s never heard of it,” Andreas said.  “If she’s never heard of the place, good chance it’s not important enough for anyone else to care about.”

“Exactly right!”  Tardos touched the tip of his nose.  “Aoede used to be a major refueling world.  Was the central artery of the expansionist movement after the end of the Great War.  Of course, once all the good worlds were repopulated, the number of ships dwindled.  Nowadays, a steady trickle of ships keeps the world alive, but completely forgotten.”

“I’m guessing that steady trickle is made up mostly of pirate scum paying their respects to their covert leaders,” Rosalyn said mockingly.

The drop pod suddenly lurched to a stop as it landed in the receiver on the planet’s surface.  After a moment of stillness, a gentle hiss let the occupants know it was depressurizing.

“Not as much as you’d think,” Tardos said as he anxiously waited for the drop pod to open.  “The Circle isn’t big on visitors.  Agreeing to meet with us is a great honor.”

“Lucky us,” Rosalyn muttered.

Finally the drop pod’s hatch slid open and a gentle breeze of fresh air wafted into the small, olive-shaped craft.  Carefully, the passengers exited the pod and took in the scenery.  There was an odd odor in the air, and the landing pad was completely deserted.

“It stinks!” Revel said as he held his nose.

“Ash,” Kevin said.  “This world was hit hard by the Shard, wasn’t it?”

“Sadly so.”  Tardos bit his lower lip slightly.  “The entire eastern continent was wiped clean.  Nothing but charred ruins and ash clouds now.  One or two of those clouds crosses the ocean from time to time.  A real shame - used to be beautiful.”

“You seem to know a lot about this run-down little rim world,” Andreas said as he stretched.

“Used to come here quite a bit in my younger days.  Although, it seems to have aged as poorly as I have.”  Tardos chuckled at his own joke.

Rosalyn quietly walked up to Revel who was still holding his nose shut.

“Are you sure it was wise to bring Kevin along?” she whispered to him.

“You wanted to keep the party small,” Revel said in a nasally voice.  “Plus it will do him some good to leave the ship for a destination
not
filled with people who want to maim him for a change.”

“If you’re sure . . . would you let go of your nose!”

“Sorry, captain,” Revel apologized and lowered his hand, although he started breathing through his mouth instead.

“Not exactly the red carpet treatment,” Andreas said as he surveyed the empty port.

“Most ships use the orbiter,” Tardos said as he started walking in a seemingly random direction.  “They don’t get a lot of spacers down here.”

“Get
what
?” Rosalyn asked as she joined his side.

“Sorry, it’s a local term.”  Tardos shrugged.  “Aoede has never been big on the Commonwealth.  Locals call anyone who wasn’t born here a spacer.  They tend to treat visitors as vagabonds, as if leaving your homeworld makes you some kind of drifter.”

“Charming,” Rosalyn said sarcastically.

The sound of a rumbling engine on its last legs slowly approached the small group leaving the drop pod.  Their transportation looked like it belonged in a museum instead of in service.  While the others eyed it carefully, Tardos jumped on without a second thought.

The short man had the carefree look of a small child on vacation.  As soon as Andreas had taken his seat and closed the outer door, the vehicle sped off.  Despite the moaning of the engine, the ride was perfectly smooth.

“Destination?” the driver asked through a small speaker in the roof.

“The Silver Dragon,” Tardos answered.

Kevin raised an eyebrow and chuckled faintly.

“Something funny?” Andreas asked in a stern voice.

“This is beyond clichéd,” Kevin said with a smirk.

“What do you mean?” Rosalyn asked as she turned to face him.

“Good natured thieves running from the law to warn their fellows of impending danger.  Meeting in dark alleys and scurrying off to some bar on a run-down world to meet with
Mr. Big
or some such silliness.  All we need are some old-fashioned trench coats and monochrome lighting and we’d have a classic crime drama 3P.”

“While I don’t like being called a
good natured
thief, he does have a point,” Rosalyn said.  “Why exactly do crime lords always hang out in bars?”

“Simple.”  Tardos smiled.  “Security.  No one gives a second thought to burly, heavily armed bouncers.  Be hard to explain such a threatening force guarding an ice-cream parlor, wouldn’t it?”

“I doubt it’s just that,” Andreas said as a smile slowly filled his face.  “Duda tried to get Rosy drunk more than once when negotiating terms.  Easier to get someone to agree to ridiculous terms when they can’t stand on their own.”

“That only happened once!” she instantly protested.

Revel burst into laughter as Rosalyn realized what she had just admitted.  Abruptly, the vehicle came to a halt.  The force of the jolt tossed Tardos cleanly out of his seat.

“I see I’m still welcome as ever,” the short old man whined as he tried to right himself.

“Oh?”  Andreas asked.

“I might have forgotten to mention a few things,” Tardos said sheepishly as he opened the side door, only to fall out of the vehicle altogether.

“What’s going on?”  Rosalyn asked after carefully jumping off the vehicle with the others.

“I’m not exactly on the best of terms with . . .
them
.”  Tardos wiped off the dirt as he stood.

“Them?  You mean the Cir . . .”

“Shh!”  Tardos quickly gestured for her to be silent.  “From here on out, don’t call them out by name.  No clue who might be listening.”

“So what exactly do you mean?  What’s wrong?” Revel asked.

“Oh nothing . . . they just think I’m a traitor.”

The cold sting of icy water splashing against his face tore Brent back to consciousness.  Sputtering, he tried to wipe the dripping residue off his face only to find his hands restrained.  They were both locked firmly behind his back and anchored to the wall.  The more he struggled to break free, the tighter the restraints grew.

“You’re a resilient one,” a smug voice said.

Brent froze.  He hadn’t sensed anyone.  Lifting his head, he found himself in a room full of women and men in matching uniforms - each of them carrying rifles.  Focusing for a moment, he found he couldn’t sense any emotions at all.  Though he could see them clear as day, he couldn’t feel anything at all.

“Calm, too,” the smug voice said.  “Most Weavers don’t react well when we limit them.”

The speaker was a tall female, maybe five years older than he was.  Her eyes were dark and reserved - she had seen a great deal of strife in her life.  For the first time Brent studied his surroundings in detail.  The room was the familiar gleaming white of a ship.  His captors stood in a stark contrast to the pure white surroundings.  Their uniforms were strikingly similar to that of a Weaver, but they weren’t quite right.

The uniforms lacked the sheen that denoted a Weaver.  To his surprise, he found the dull black uniforms slightly insulting.  In total there were fifteen heavily armed guards.  They all had smug looks on their face as they surveyed their quarry.  The rest of his friends were equally restrained and dripping wet, but only he was conscious.

“Limit them?” Brent asked.

“Weavers have proved . . .
difficult
in the past.”  The woman’s smugness disappeared as she spoke.  “It’s taken a great deal of effort, but finally we have a way to handle you.”

Even without his abilities, it was obvious to him she had been deeply hurt by a Weaver at some point.  Glancing over at Angela, he spotted a small metal disc just behind her ear.  He figured he must have one too, although he didn’t feel any discomfort.

“Why have you taken us?” he asked.

“One answer per customer.”  A small smile momentarily pulled at her lips.  “Wake the others.”

One of the fifteen guards tapped on his pad, and another splash of icy water rained from above.  he noted that he was hit as well.  His captor was taking out past aggressions on him.  A groggy moan filled the room.

“Did anyone get the number of the container that hit me?” Cain asked in a woozy voice.

“Looks like the rest of you aren’t as well conditioned.”  The woman sneered at Cain.  “What a disgrace.  To think a civilian can out perform troopers.”

“Civilian?” Brent shouted in surprise.

Instantly catching himself, he held his tongue.  The Brent that had saved the Commonwealth was supposedly dead.  Any record of his past on the academy or his life as a trooper was sealed and forgotten.  Officially, he was nothing more than a professor on a rim world.  The woman didn’t react in the slightest.  He hoped she had taken his outburst as alarm at not being referred to as a Weaver.  Oddly, one of the fifteen guards seemed to stagger at Brent’s shout and now had his gaze firmly locked on the dripping Weaver.

“What can I say?”  Cain tried unsuccessfully to shrug against the restraints.  “Never been big on parades and keeping a neat uniform.  Too much pomp and circumstance if you ask me.”

“Although, you aren’t making it easy,” Tyra said with a smirk.  “Hard to look like a proper unit when you’ve been knocked out, restrained, and given an unexpected bath.”

“Finally,” the woman in dull black said.  “Took you all long enough to wake up.”

“Why have you detained us?” Ronald asked.

The woman remained silent as she matched Ronald’s cold stare.  Abruptly, a loud grunt broke the silent showdown.  They turned to find Cassandra struggling to break free.

“I’d suggest you be careful.”  The woman’s smugness returned and coated her words.  “We’ve taken precautions against heavy-worlders too.”

Despite the woman’s smug expression and tone of voice, the other guards took a step back as Cassandra continued to struggle.

“Where are my children?” she demanded as she pulled against the restraints.

A cold smile filled the woman’s face.  She seemed to enjoy her power over the restrained.

“They are safe,” the woman said with her smug smile.  “Bringing kids is a pain.  I dumped them on the local fist draggers.”

“If there is a single scratch on their heads,” Cassandra roared as she locked a murderous gaze on their captor.

“They are safe,” a calm voice rung in Brent’s ears.

No one else reacted to the voice - only he had heard it.

“Third?” he thought his question.

“Octavia has remained behind to ensure the safety of your offspring,” the voice in his head continued.  “The filthy organic in front of you mistook the mighty Eighth as a mere child.  We decided it was in our collective interest to have my avatar follow.”

Brent glanced around until he spotted the still slack body of Henry.  He had to suppress a slight chuckle.  Henry wasn’t hanging quite right.  He had composed himself in a dignified pose - despite supposedly being unconscious.

“It’s alright, Cassandra,” he said reassuringly.

“But . . .” her voice was strained and filled with worry.

“Everything will turn out well, I promise.”  Brent turned to face her and smiled warmly.  “No regrets.”

She seemed to relax a bit and quit struggling against the restraints.  Out of the corner of his eye, Brent spotted a few more of the armed guards staring at him intensely.  Did they think he was calming down Cassandra with Weaver abilities despite the limiter?