Alliance of Serpents (33 page)

Or maybe Kindel's authorization codes hadn't
come from him at all.

Whatever the case, it meant that Sartan Truce
was a free man, and if he was released by Olock, he was likely back
under the protection of the rest of his people. "Where is Olock
now?"

"Likely onboard the
Falcon Mist
. The
admiral did put him in command there, after all."

And if Truce was with him, that effectively
put
him
in control. After seeing what Sartan had managed to
create with the limited resources left over from the wreckage of
his ships back on Terranias, Vultrel didn't even want to imagine
what the Mage would cook up with an entire starcruiser at his
disposal. He was a threat too great to be left alone, too dangerous
to be left alive.

The way forward was crystal clear. The
Falcon Mist
would have to be destroyed.

*******

Watching the stars glide by was once a
soothing sight, one that helped Kindel to relax and temporarily
forget about his troubles. It was nature at its finest, a visual
wonder of the Maker's Grand Design where greed and power and war
meant nothing. To one star, the strength of another meant little.
It continued to shine its own light without concern of whether or
not it was the brightest in the heavens. To a planet, the size of
another planet was irrelevant. Each continued to float peacefully
through the black abyss of space regardless of the properties of
the other. There was something admirable about those of the Maker's
creations that lacked consciousness or intelligence. A planet would
never seek out and conquer another. A star would never murder
another. Sure, two planets sometimes collided within their own
patterns of flight, and stars sometimes collapsed and exploded, but
such an event always brought about something new; a new planet
emerged from the rubble of two, new stars from the dust and gases
left behind by old. There was always something beautiful happening,
always a positive future to look forward to.

But now, as Kindel stared through the
viewport, endlessly grinding his teeth in anger, comfort was
nowhere to be found.

Curse that boy! I offered him everything,
and he spat it all in my face!
He paced the floor as his hatred
bubbled within, forcing his fists to clench ever tighter. After
everything he'd gone through to ensure the safety of the
lephadorite, everything he'd done to keep the information
classified, all of his efforts were blown by his own catastrophic
blunder. No, it
could
be salvaged. If the
Refuge
could be destroyed, then the lephadorite could be recovered from
the wreckage. Or perhaps they could be forced to surrender. One way
or another, they would
not
 win.
He will pay.
Aldoric, too. He's been poisoning the boy's brain from day one.
With any luck, the teleportation has left him a mutated mess of a
creature.
Aldoric had never had a gift for teleportation; it
was a skill shunned by most. But he had shown a new depth to his
power by invoking the technique, an act Kindel never would've
expected.
They're stronger than I anticipated. More determined.
More skilled.
And with the lephadorite and implant both in
their hands, they were more powerful as well.

"No!" Kindel snarled, whirling away from the
viewport. "I will not allow your power to exceed my own,
Aldoric!"

There was only one option left, one that
Kindel had resigned himself to using as soon as the stones had been
stolen. There was great risk involved, but if he wanted to secure
his position as the most powerful man in the universe, he would
have to rise to the challenge. Strength never came easy, especially
not the kind that Kindel sought. Then again, if he couldn't
overcome the danger, if he couldn't handle the pressure, if he
couldn't muster the strength to control the power necessary to
defeat Aldoric, then he didn't deserve the distinction of being
known as the greatest to ever live. He would never have considered
resorting to such drastic measures if he didn't believe it to be
truly necessary, but the threat the Aeden Alliance was now imposing
on the universe was too great to be ignored.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly drew back the
cloth that kept the shimmering sword concealed atop his cabinets.
The sparkle of the diamond azure hilt was complimented by the
equally exquisite twinkle of each gemstone embedded within it. The
blade, clear as glass yet stronger than titanium, reflected
Kindel's face with startling perfection. He was a man out of
options. A man struggling and clawing for whatever advantages he
could get. Images flashed in his mind, memories of the day he'd
first touched the hilt of the weapon, memories of being brought to
his knees by the intense energy that had radiated throughout his
body. How could he even be sure he could harness such power? What
made him think he could do it now when he couldn't even bring
himself to lift it back then?

Aldoric's words surfaced in his brain like a
shark's fin piercing the ocean waters. "Desperate times,
brother."

I won't hold it for long,
Kindel told
himself.
Just long enough to reclaim what is rightfully
mine.

Hesitating, he realized his hands had come
dangerously close to the weapon, and he drew them back as though
bitten by a viper. According to the ship's trajectory readout, they
would reach the nearest planet in another hour. It was a forested
world called Arynias, a planet populated by intelligent—if
underdeveloped—creatures called the Ayaans. They were thus far
unaware of the existence of the other life forms throughout the
galaxy, though they seemed to be in no hurry to explore space.
Similar to Terranias, they possessed the intellect required to
pursue wondrous technology, yet they didn't seem to have any
interest in it. Such a primitive culture would make for more than
suitable bait to bring Aldoric and his companions running.

His hands floated too close to the weapon
once again, and Kindel yanked them away. Tearing his eyes away from
the sword, he returned to the viewport and gazed at two blue auras
glowing faintly in the distance. They seemed to be billowing azure
smoke, though he couldn't quite make them out.
No matter, I have
more important things to concern myself with.
He tried to
visualize himself hoisting the sword, controlling the incredible
power with ease. In reality, he knew that much more focus and
determination were going to be required, but if he could manage to
convince himself capable of wielding such a weapon, perhaps the
actual act would be a bit easier to handle. Even if Aldoric had
discovered the secrets of the Lephadorite, and even if Arus turned
every function of the implant against him, both would pale in
comparison to the strength of the sword forged by the fires of
heaven and wielded against the might of Kuldaan himself.
My
intentions are pure; I only seek to destroy legitimate threats to
the universe. I shall hoist the sword with the blessings of the
Maker as Azriel once did, and evil will crumble at my feet.

#######

"Word has it that Thorus is back in command
of the
Black Eagle,
Boss."

Truce shrugged as he put his feet up on
Olock's desk. "I'm not concerned. The man is so blinded by his
pursuit of Arus that he hasn't even acknowledged my existence in
nearly a week. With any luck, he won't know I'm gone until it's too
late."

Olock frowned and sat, rummaging through a
jumbled mess of papers scattered across his desk. "So long as none
of his spies find you here," he said, unconsciously adjusting his
cap. "I tell you, I may be in command of this ship, but Kindel has
got eyes on me everywhere I turn. I doubt you're even safe
here."

Truce glanced down at the grey Vezulian
uniform he wore and very nearly spat on it. "People know my
description, but they don't know my face precisely. Furthermore,
none would expect someone like me to simply waltz around in front
of them if I was truly an escaped prisoner. Besides, we took care
of the logs. Anyone who looks it up will see that Thorus himself
authorized my release, and they'll be forced to accept me
here."

"I don't know," Olock said, shaking his head.
He finally settled on one specific packet and began to flip through
it. "What if he finds out?"

Truce stretched his arms and folded his hands
behind his head as he lounged in the cushy chair. The
Falcon
Mist
was most certainly a step up from the Underworld. "If we
work quickly, it won't matter. Have you found it yet?"

"I think so. Give me a minute."

While Olock skimmed through the packet,
Truce's eyes wandered. The captain's office was certainly worthy of
a commanding officer, elegantly decorated with fine paintings and
carpeted with lush blue fibers that somehow managed to soothe a
person's feet right through their boots. A wide viewport stretched
along the back wall above brown oak cabinets trimmed with gold
along their edges and fixed with golden polished handles. Olock's
chair was fancier than anything Truce had ever owned, cushioned
with thick maroon padding and equipped with an electronic heating
mechanism for muscle relaxation. Starships of old never had much in
the way of luxury, but then, Truce's last experience with ships had
been many years ago.
I wonder what else has changed out there
since we've been stranded on Terranias.

"Here it is," Olock finally said, laying the
packet on the desk as he pointed to a technical readout of the
Black Eagle.
The rear of the ship on the port side was
highlighted, and a complete detailing of the damage incurred during
the battle was listed beside it. "There's little doubt that the
Alliance was trying to destroy Kindel's ship. A myriad of missile
and laser blasts damaged the
Black Eagle
so severely here
that the fuel lines to the engines are nearly exposed. If you look
here," Olock continued, turning the page to an overhead view of the
damaged region, "you can see that the major fuel distribution hoses
for the port engine are just behind these two walls." He pointed to
the innermost segment of the breached hull where only two titanium
walls of the starship's inner structure remained. "If we manage to
get a powerful enough blast into that hole, it should break down
the walls, ignite the fuel lines, and destroy the ship
.
"

"Regular laser blasts won't do the job,"
Truce noted, scratching his beard. "And any missiles launched would
certainly be intercepted."

"And our cover would be blown," Olock added.
"So, I figure that if we can find a way to reroute all of the
firepower from each of the laser turrets on
Falcon Mist
to
be directed into one single blast, it might do the trick."

Truce pursed his lips as he rose, his mind
working to find the best way to exploit this opportunity. "The
problem is finding a way to do that without raising any eyebrows."
Even if all the power was successfully rerouted to a single turret,
that much energy would likely overload the cannon's generator and
blow the thing apart. A stronger generator would have to be
installed. "Are there any turrets on the
Falcon Mist
that
were damaged during the battle?"

Olock nodded. "Several."

Truce's grin widened. It was all too easy.
The Aeden Alliance had unknowingly assisted the Kyrosen in bringing
down one of the greatest tyrants to ever wander the stars. "Good.
We'll need to get our hands on battleship-class energy generators.
We'll install those into the turrets we have now. As it stands, the
circuits on this ship are likely not set to properly handle that
kind of output, but I'm sure I can come up with some kind of
override. If we can get stronger generators into the cannons, and I
quietly program each to route their energy to a single turret,
we'll have more than enough firepower to take down Thorus'
ship."

"We'll have to move quickly, then." Olock
rolled up the packet of papers and shoved it into his back pocket
as he stood. "Crews are already hard at work on repairing the
Black Eagle
. To top it all off, Commander Enzulia seems to
think he's in charge here, no matter what I say. I'm sure he's
already ordered the repairs of our turrets to begin."

A soft tone at the door signaled the arrival
of a visitor. Truce and Olock exchanged nervous glances. "Come in,"
Olock finally said.

F'Ledro sauntered in with his usual
arrogance, though it quickly dissipated when his eyes came to rest
on Truce. "B-Boss! What are you doing here?"

"Good timing, F'Ledro," Truce said with a
smile. "We're going to need your help."

"I'd love too, Boss, but Enzulia is riding my
tail," F'Ledro told him with a startlingly dismissive tone. "Olock,
the commander wants to know when you're going to down to the engine
room and start helping with repairs."

Olock glared at Truce, the unspoken
complaints about F'Ledro's insolence registering without a word
being spoken. Sartan waved his hand forcefully, and the wiry
soldier's body was thrown into the wall. "I am your one and only
commander, F'Ledro!" Truce growled, stepping forward. "From this
moment on, you will follow only
my
 orders. Is that
clear?"

F'Ledro was already on his knees, an inch
short of bowing before his leader. "As clear as crystal, Boss!" he
whined. For the thousandth time, Truce wondered how such a weasel
had managed to survive as long as he had.

"We have devised a plan," Olock said,
crossing his arms in contempt. "If all goes well, the
Black
Eagle
will be reduced to scrap metal, and Commander Enzulia
will be cowering at our feet."