The answer came to him as one of the mechs moved aside a slab of rubble, revealing the freight hauler’s small tracking module, it’s red indicator light flashing in regular transmitting sequence. Traug’s eyes widened at the terrible realization of what they had so foolishly walked into and he lunged for the comm. “It’s a trap!” he called into the hand piece, desperately. “Return to the ship! Return to the-”
All of the display screens flared brightly before turning to static, a thunderous crack sounding through the hull. The flight deck shook only slightly from the shock wave of the detonation Traug knew had destroyed the better part of his mech security force. Through the front viewport he saw thick plumes of black smoke rising from the glowing fires, not quite visible above the high dock ring barrier wall. It was an explosion he had foreseen only too late. The initial shock of the ambush wore off quickly however and Traug’s thoughts immediately shifted to those of self preservation. The trap was obviously triggered remotely, which meant that whoever had sprung it was still here, most likely moving in on their next target.
“Board the ship and prepare for immediate launch,” he ordered his remaining guard contingent. They needed to lift off and get clear of the immediate danger their attackers represented. Once in the air, the armored freight hauler would be safe enough, and from a relatively secure altitude, he would be able to determine his next best course of action. The vessel was equipped with sufficient armaments and ordinance to lay new waste to the ruined outpost if he so chose. Or he could simply flee for his life. The second option seemed a viable one, and quite acceptable under the circumstances.
Traug heard the flight deck hatch slide open behind him and immediately began to dictate his orders to the mechs he needed to pilot the vessel. “There is no time to waste. Get us in the air and to a safe altitude. My life is in peril.”
“You’re right about that much,” a steely feminine voice returned.
Traug felt his blood turn suddenly cold and he slowly turned to face, not the security mechs he had been expecting, but a pair of humans that stood in the hatchway, their hostile eyes and weapon muzzles steadily fixed on him. He recognized their faces as those of the resistance operatives that had been attempting to aid the fugitive Orna in Trycon City, days earlier in the second of Durak’s sieges. He could not keep the surprise from showing in his features, nor the dismay.
The woman’s eyes continued to burn into him as she stepped forward, her expression conveying what he took to be barely restrained anger. “It’s in a great deal of peril,” she went on. “Whether you survive it . . . that all depends on just how good your information is.”
“Information?” he managed, his throat having tightened so fiercely he was barely able to speak the word. “What . . .
information
are you seeking?”
The woman took hold of the arms of his chair and leaned in until her face was nearly touching his, her expression leaving little doubt of her intent to end his life if his response was unsatisfactory.
“Where is Jarred?”
Chapter 39
GAIA
The sting of Xin'ma's backhanded strike was little next to the pain Rho’uk felt for his failure. He
had
failed. In his duty to his mandate . . . and to the Gods themselves. He had failed Shu’ma, his captain. To persuade him to return to reason. And now his comrade was dead, and he was faced with the task of presenting his body to his father. Their Overseer. It was his duty to do so. One that could ultimately result in the forfeit of his own life. That was a price Rho’uk was willing to pay. If it was the Gods’ will, he would gladly see his blood spilled. To right his wrongs. His failures. He turned his stung face back to his Overseer, offering it for him to strike again if he wished.
Xin’ma’s furious gaze remained on him for a time, the elder warrior absorbing his account of the events of the past number of days. Of his son’s dismissal of their direct orders. His bout with the human. And his subsequent death in the arena. The Overseer’s features had remained poised and controlled for all of it, but his eyes had displayed the true myriad of emotions he was feeling. Anger. Disappointment. Disbelief. Sadness, even. The kind felt by a father having lost a son.
Upon departure from Rydel, Rho’uk had sent communication of the news of Shu’ma’s death, and the events leading up to it. He had not intended to hide anything from his Overseer, nor would he have been able to. Not with things as they were. Having assumed command after his comrade’s demise, Rho’uk had meant to correct the course they had strayed so far from and put things right . . . or as right as possible. Some things could not be undone. Not surprisingly, Xin’ma had responded furiously at hearing the news of Shu’ma’s direct contravention of his orders. When informed of his death at the hands of the human . . . he had seemed almost shocked with disbelief. Now that Shu’ma’s lifeless body had been returned to him, any doubts he had would be replaced with the stark reality of the situation.
Xin’ma’s focus moved away from Rho’uk and he stepped past him to approach Shu’ma’s body. There he stood for a long moment, looking down at his son, who lied on a raised stone tablet in a private viewing chamber within the Usarion Temple in the Gaian capitol. His wounds had been dressed and his body properly prepared for traditional presentation on the two day journey to the Homeworld. He was adorned in his formal battle attire and armor, his eyes opened wide, so as to greet the Gods upon his entry into Their great halls.
“The
human
did this?” Xin’ma asked. It was a redundant question, as Rho’uk had already informed him of as much, but had he not witnessed it himself, he probably would not have believed it either.
“He did, my Overseer,” Rho’uk returned.
Xin’ma continued to look over his son’s body, as if not fully convinced it was him. “
How
is that possible?”
In truth, Rho’uk did not know the answer to that question. The human had nearly bested him as well, in their confrontation on the floating tram above Trycon. If their battle had been allowed to continue, perhaps he too would have met his end at the human’s hands. “This man is different from others of his kind, my Overseer. He has strengths . . .
abilities
. . . that I have not witnessed in his species.” He paused a moment, considering what he had seen in the arena. “Or any other.”
Xin’ma looked from his son back to Rho’uk at the comment. “Indeed. It would seem he is . . .
unique
. Perhaps this is why the Gods show such interest in him.”
Rho’uk was surprised by the remark. “The
Gods
, my Overseer?”
Xin’ma nodded once, returning his attention to Shu’ma’s remains. “Yes. It is by Their command that he was to be brought here to Their temple.”
“For what purpose?” Rho’uk asked, knowing that by doing so he may have been overstepping his boundaries.
“Only the Gods know,” Xin’ma answered. “As Their servants, we simply obey.”
The comment was like a dagger twisting in his side, more stinging than any physical blow his Overseer may have bestowed upon him. It was their duty, their purpose, to obey the will of the Gods. His captain had strayed from that path. And he had followed. Again he was reminded of his failure. To steer Shu’ma back towards their mandate. To obey the Gods. He begged silent forgiveness to Them for all of his failures. For his weakness.
“Was it . . . a
good
death?” Xin’ma asked, bringing Rho’uk’s thoughts back to the physical realm.
“Yes,” my Overseer,” he answered, truthfully. “He fought well. And died well. It was a warrior’s death.”
Xin’ma placed a hand on his son’s chest and leaned in close to speak the words given to passing warriors. Of good journeys to the next world. Gratitude for spilled blood and a promise to be reunited again some day, with all Rai Chi warriors before the great throne of Turaus. And perhaps something more. Private words from a father to his fallen son.
“Take me to him,” the older warrior said, finally pulling his gaze from Shu’ma’s remains. “I would meet this
human
.”
* * *
The bounty hunter hung unconscious from arm bindings affixed to cables running up to the ceiling of his cell, which had been outfitted specifically for him upon his arrival to the Usarion Temple. With the trouble he had given the Sect during their pursuit of the
heretic
, they appeared to be taking no chances with security, while still maintaining the lowest of profiles. Apparently, no one was to know of his presence here. Only a small contingent of the Sect’s elite guardsmen; their combined skill still nothing next to a single Rai Chi warrior; were placed on constant watch. The cell itself had been converted into a deathtrap for the man, heavy weaponry emplacements installed to eradicate him if he attempted escape.
Rho’uk had yet to discern the purpose of bringing the human here to this place. Though his Overseer had suggested it was the will of the Gods, he could not fathom the reasoning. Why would They, the immortal beings that ruled over this realm and the next, have interest in this man? This mortal? He knew it was not his place to question why, but still found himself confounded. Their mandate, as dictated by the Prophets, called for the Rai Chi and all of Their servants to begin preparing the way . . . for Their return. Their . . .
Awakening
. The first element of that mandate, and their highest priority, was to be the retrieval of the rogue Prophet. The heretic. Why now had they abandoned it? If the human was to be interrogated, such a thing could have been conducted by the Rai Chi immediately upon his capture. They could be working to continue their pursuit of the Prophet even now, but instead they had been ordered to return the human to Gaia. To the Temple of the Gods.
He
had become the priority.
“Strange,” Xin’ma commented, as he stood before the man, regarding him with a mixture of interest and disgust. “It does not look . . . exceptional or remarkable in any way. Why the Gods would spoil Their gaze upon it is beyond my understanding. And yet, it’s appearance does deceive the eyes. It took the lives of many Rai Chi warriors. And the life of my only son. My only heir.”
As Xin’ma drew nearer to the human, Rho’uk became increasingly unsure of his intent. The hatred in his voice was obvious, the loss of Shu’ma weighing heavily on him. Like any warrior, like any father, he would want vengeance. Blood for blood. As his Overseer reached a hand up towards the man’s throat, he wondered if the older warrior might tear it from his neck or simply strangle the life from him. The hatred in his eyes told him both were good possibilities. Yet as Xin’ma gripped the man’s neck, he did not in fact kill him, but instead only raised his head and turned it from side to side, examining him more closely.
Rho’uk felt a wave of relief pass over him. It hadn’t been part of his plan to bring the human here, as was his original mandate, just to have him killed by the warrior that had ordered him returned alive in the first place. Such an outcome would land him right back where he had found himself with his former captain, having failed in his sworn duty to the Gods and left to face whatever eternal punishment came with such a crime. Of course, there was no guarantee Xin’ma wouldn’t still attempt to slay the man before they deciphered what the Gods’ wishes were for him.
With that very real possibility in mind, Rho’uk stepped toward his Overseer, closing to within an arm’s reach distance. The price for interfering with Xin’ma would be no less than death, but decidedly, Rho’uk’s considered that fate better than whatever awaited those that failed the Gods. He had already failed to do as much with Shu’ma. He would not make the same mistake again.
“Awaken,” Xin’ma commanded of the unconscious human, not taking notice of Rho’uk’s closer proximity. “Open your infidel eyes so that I might gaze into them and you might see the warrior that will spill your life’s blood when the Gods see fit to command it.” Xin’ma released his grip on the human’s neck, only to strike him with a stiff backhand, similar to the one Rho’uk had so recently received himself. “Awaken!”
The man’s eyes did open now, as his body jerked from the blow. He struggled briefly against his restraints, disoriented from his drug induced slumber and obviously unaware of where he was or what was happening. Once the haze of heavy sedation began to wear off though, the man appeared to gain focus, his eyes quickly scanning the room. They settled briefly on Rho’uk, a moment of recognition, before coming to rest on Xin’ma, who stood glaring before him.
“Good,” the older warrior said. “I was beginning to fear death had already taken you. I would not have you expire prematurely, or by means other than my own.”
Having entered the cell with a translation device, the small spherical construct floating at head level close by, the human would be able to understand Xin’ma’s words and they his.
“Great, another one,” the floating machination translated as the man spoke between dry coughs, shifting uncomfortably in his bound state. “Why doesn’t one of you finally make good on that promise and do it already?”