Alliance of Serpents (8 page)

The implant's only design flaw was that it
had to be attached to a youth so that the two could mature and grow
together, but even a youth would make an impressive warrior if he
performed even half as well as Truce claimed. Getting it back would
be tricky, no doubt, but Thorus was more concerned about the mutiny
that would surely follow. Still, the risk could prove to be worth
the reward. Regardless of what Truce planned, if Kindel managed to
get his hands on the boy called Arus and gave him the lephadorite
in conjunction with the implant, he'd have a soldier of unlimited
power and potential.

"Your scheming may have worked in the past,
Truce," Kindel laughed out loud, "but with a little guidance, this
boy might just be the key to making the Armada the most dominant
force in the universe."

The shining blade darted through the air over
Arus' head as he practiced his forms and techniques. It was much
easier to coordinate his movements now that his vision had been
fully restored. The procedure had actually been relatively simple
once he'd given Doc Nori the time to study the cybernetic eye up
close. Being able to see through both eyes without that maroon tint
or the constant scroll of the scanner's diagnostics was a
refreshing change; he was almost beginning to feel like his old
self again. Still, it wasn't the same working his blade without
Vultrel standing across from him. He'd lost the best sparring
partner and friend he could've asked for, and topping it all off
was the absence of Master Eaisan. Life had changed so drastically
in such a short period of time, and there was nothing for Arus to
do but press on in hopes of a better future.

Damien and Kitreena had been trying to make
the transition as easy as possible for him. They knew he faced a
difficult reality in not being able to return home, and they tried
their best to encourage him despite the seemingly blank canvas that
lay before him. Any prior dreams or aspirations he may have had
about protecting Keroko and following in his father's footsteps and
fathering his own children and caring for his mother—how he missed
his mother!—it all meant nothing now. Keroko would never allow him
to serve them as a combination of man and machine, especially after
he had slain so many of the fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons
of the Militia. If he stepped foot back onto Asterian soil, he
would be tried and convicted as a war criminal. And even if they
did
 understand that he'd only been acting under the
influence of the implant, their paranoia and distrust of machines
would inevitably lead them to the same decision. He was a threat,
whether he was under the implant's control or not, and any threat
to the safety of humanity would have to be eliminated.

The gym was a large room—Arus would've
estimated it was about half as large as Trader's Square—complete
with an assortment of odd machines designed to strengthen the
body's muscles through a variety of weight-based exercises. Most
such machines were located at the far end of the gym, while the
opposite side remained open for weapons training and several other
forms of exercise taught by class. Arus especially liked the floor;
it was composed of some sort of blue padding which bounced slightly
with each step. An assortment of swords, pistols, knives, and
staves hung from the walls between viewports for training purposes,
though the few other soldiers sharing the gym with him seemed
focused on the weight machines.

How did I get myself into this mess?
Arus wondered, shifting to a defensive stance. He was no longer
using forms and maneuvers that were unfamiliar to him; that
information had been lost along with Truce's control over him. To
that end, Arus had no regrets. He would rather be a mediocre
swordsman on his own than a great warrior under someone else's
control. If individuality meant mediocrity, then mediocrity suited
him just fine.
But if Truce can't have me, he'll just find
another host for this cursed thing. He has to be stopped before
anyone else ends up like this.

As he rotated on his heel and brought his
weapon around, he caught a glimpse of the other young men on the
far side of the gym. They couldn't have been much older than he;
perhaps they were new recruits or sons of other crew members. There
weren't many of them, but more than half were staring at him. Their
expressions weren't exactly approving, yet no one wore their
discomfort openly on their faces.
Did I do something wrong?
He slowed his movements unconsciously, returning their looks with
his own expression of confusion. Finally, he stopped completely.
"Is . . . something wrong?"

"Does that thing hurt?" someone asked.

Arus shook his head. According to Doc Nori,
while there were millions across the universe with cybernetic
limbs, there had been no successful cybernetic brain augmentations
on record. The thought that someone's mind could be programmed like
a machine was frightening, to say the least, so it was
understandable that others would be curious of him. "No. It feels
like a part of my body just like my legs or my feet."

"You're pretty good with that sword," a
brown-haired young man said. The group of them began to approach
him together. "How long have you been training?"

Before he knew it, they were huddled around
him the way children surrounded the candy carts at the Festival of
Souls. He was bombarded with questions about Terranias, his
training, and of course, the implant. They varied in race; two were
human, one looked to be a native of Damien's Zo'rhan, and the other
four had pinkish-red skin and drooping ears like those of rabbits.
It had been difficult to get used to, but Arus had been around so
many foreign races since being brought to the
Refuge
that he
was managing to adjust to it. More surprising was how quickly these
young men—at least, the aliens
looked
like men—how quickly
they'd accepted him despite what he'd done on the surface.

"You lost your arm fighting Aratus Truce's
son?" one of the pink men asked. He had a little nose with one
central nostril that flared every time he spoke. "I heard stories
about them growing up, but I thought they were just campfire
tales!"

By the time Arus stepped back into the hall
outside the gym, he'd made seven new friends, each wanting him to
set aside time to either train or share lunch at the cafeteria. It
was strange for Arus, considering that Vultrel had always been the
popular one, but that wasn't to say that the experience was
unwelcome. Friends would certainly help him feel more comfortable
onboard the
Refuge
, especially if he was going to be staying
for a while. Though they'd admittedly been a bit wary of him at
first, these young men hadn't judged or ridiculed him for what he'd
done under Truce's influence, and instead accepted him as a fellow
soldier with open arms.

He was still in such a state of shock when he
left that he didn't even notice Kitreena leaning against the wall
beside the door. "Hey," she said softly.

The greeting startled him so that he nearly
jumped. "Oh, hello," he responded with a smile. "I'm sorry, I
didn't see you there."

"I came to find you because I feel there are
a few things you should know," she said. Arus didn't like the sound
of her voice. "First off, Vultrel will be boarding a transport to
return to your planet later tonight. I know you don't believe your
people would receive you well, but I felt you should have the
opportunity to join him. Please understand that we don't want you
to put yourself in any situation where you wouldn't feel
comfortable. We will send you home if you wish, but you are more
than welcome to stay if that's what you'd rather do."
Can't say
I'd blame you.

Arus ignored the thought she attached to the
end of the sentence. More than likely she hadn't meant to. "I
appreciate the offer, but I cannot go home like this. If anything,
it could possibly be more dangerous for me
there
than it
would be here." He almost thought he saw her wince at the
statement, though her face was smooth again in an instant.

"Well, that's the second thing I wanted to
talk to you about," she began as they headed down the corridor.
"We've just finished listening to a transmission between Sartan
Truce and Olock. It seems that Truce has worked out a deal with the
Vezulian Armada to form an alliance of sorts. They plan to come
after you."

Arus did grimace then. He knew Truce would
want to recapture his prized invention, but he hadn't expected it
to be so soon. "What is the Vezulian Armada?"

"There you are!" Damien's voice called down
the hall. He sped his walk to a brisk jog as he approached and
smiled at Arus. "I apologize; I had to go over a few things with
some of my men." He looked at Kitreena. "Have you informed him of
everything?"

"I was about to explain what the Armada is,"
she said. "Or should I let you do it?"

A silent exchange occurred between the two;
only a fool could've missed it. Kitreena widened her eyes at
Damien, who barely shook his head in response before turning his
attention back to Arus. For once, Kitreena's thoughts were silent
on the matter. "We should discuss this privately. Come, I have to
go to the library to pick up a few things."

They led him to a sliding door that appeared
to lead into a closet. Damien and Kitreena stepped inside without a
second thought, and Arus had no choice but to follow. A series of
buttons lined the wall beside Damien, and once the doors were
closed, he pushed one marked "Sixteen." Arus felt a slight
vibration beneath his feet, and then the floor seemed to fall away
beneath him, though not fast enough for his feet to leave the
ground. His stomach sailed into his throat, and he looked at
Kitreena with wide eyes. Somehow, though he couldn't fathom how,
the room was going
down.

Kitreena found his reaction humorous, of
course. She giggled so softly to herself that, even amidst his
terror, he couldn't help but gaze at her beauty.
She's so pretty
when she's not angry. I wish she'd show that side of herself more
often.
Her smile was replaced by a brief glare as soon as the
thought rolled through his mind, and he quickly spoke up. "What is
this room? Are we moving?"

Apparently, Damien hadn't even noticed Arus'
response. He burst into open laughter as though Arus had missed the
greatest joke ever told. "No, no," he said between gasps of air,
"it's called a transportation lift. Some cultures call it an
elevator. It's just an easier way of traveling from floor to floor
than taking the stairs. I apologize, I meant no insult by my
reaction, I just sometimes forget that your people do not use
machines."

"No offense taken," Arus told him.

Here either,
Kitreena's voice spoke in
his mind. He looked at her briefly, but her hair was blocking most
of her face from that angle. Was she
grinning
at him? Girls
were so confusing.

When the doors opened again, they were on a
completely different level of the ship. The hallways were
constructed of the same silver polished metal and wood as the
previous deck, though the uniformed men and women here sometimes
wore coats of white and grey and blue, and many carried either
books or clipboards or packets of paper that they studied as they
walked. Clearly this deck of the ship was dedicated to research in
some way, especially if the library was located here. Arus followed
Damien and Kitreena down the corridor to an intersection where they
turned left. They led him into the first door they came to on their
right, and he gaped in awe at what lay before him.

The library was larger and grander than
anything he could've expected. There had to be at least a hundred
aisles of shelves packed with books on either side, and lines of
tables, chairs, and computer terminals separated them by threes. A
wooden railing circled off an area in the center of the library
where the floor was dropped down by several steps. Several red
cushioned chairs meant for lounging and three long couches with
curved backs and covered with an assortment of tasseled pillows sat
within the circle to provide a secluded area for relaxation where
one could read or study. Not too far beyond the circle, several
elderly men and women stood behind a long counter; no doubt they
were the librarians. The carpets were brown and grey where pictures
of various planets mingled with beautiful landscapes formed by the
different colored fibers. The sight was like something out of
Master Eaisan's fables about royal lords and ladies in their
luxurious mansions. Certainly not a place Arus had ever expected to
find himself in one day.

"How big
is
this ship?" was all Arus
could get out.

Damien led them toward the bookshelves on the
left. "I don't know how people on Terranias measure things, but to
try to put it into perspective, I'd guess you could fit your entire
village on the
Refuge
at least twice. Perhaps more." That
made Arus' jaw drop further.

"Watch out for that guy," Kitreena whispered,
pointing to one of the grey-haired men behind the counter. "He
watches everyone like a hawk, and he always accuses me of wrinkling
pages even when I don't touch anything."

"Knock it off, Kitreena," Damien smiled as he
rolled his eyes. "Devlin's just trying to keep everything in good
condition. Give the old man a break."

At the end of the first aisle, Damien turned
to the wall and started thumbing through titles. "I don't know how
much, if anything, you've heard during your time on the
Refuge
, Arus, but do you know anything about the Vezulian
Armada?"

"I remember you two mentioning them a couple
times, but that's all I know," he admitted. He kept his voice soft;
anything less in a library would be improper. "Are they enemies?"
he nearly bit his tongue at the end of the question. Of course they
were enemies if they were allied with Sartan Truce.