Timeless (The Cartographer Book 3) (29 page)

“LET THE GAMES BEGIN!” Vayne shouted. He wrestled control of the cannon and fired on the fourth skiff, sending soldiers and pilots scattering toward the woods.

I spotted Tialoc boarding the final skiff. He barked orders at the cowering pilot, who scrambled to get back into the pilot's chair. It appeared the Minister was trying to escape. I could not allow that.

I bolted past Arcturus, who was in the middle of putting the final destructive touches on the first skiff, turning it into nothing more than a charred slab of scrap metal. Soldiers turned their weapons on me as I ran past them, but I ignored them. I had to get to Tialoc. Fortunately, most of Vayne's minions weren't too far behind me, and they took down the few soldiers who had their sights set on me.

I reached Tialoc's skiff as it started to ascend. I grabbed the side of the vehicle and hung on as it continued its launch. It ascended about six feet in the air before I was able to hurl myself over the side railing, where I landed face down on the floor.

“What the…?” Tialoc exclaimed. The Minister was unarmed and his eyes scanned the area for a weapon. There was nothing standing in the way between us, except a single slave pilot.

I pulled out my handgun and pointed it at him. “Land this thing now!”

Tialoc narrowed his eyes and grinned. His mouth was full of white teeth wrapped in golden braces. It was just another sign of the Order of the Sun's expensive tastes acquired upon the backs of the oppressed. His smile was nauseating and it took all my willpower to not carve a peephole in his forehead.

“I don't think that is going to happen,” he purred. “Do you people not understand who we are? This is our planet and we will not let you outsiders ruin what we have built here. Your false doctrine and sweetened lies will not sway the people to your side.”

“You already conspire with liars. Calypso and this false Consortium are one big lie. You have made your bed and we're here to make sure you lie in it.” I turned to the pilot. “Is this what you want?”

“Do not address him!” Tialoc shouted.

I ignored him. “Your people have died fighting the Order. You deserve to be free, not grovel before these people, like some sort of dog. Right now your people are out there dying for the cause.”

“What cause is that?” the pilot asked. He fumbled at one of the buttons of his Order-supplied uniform, as if he was having an allergic reaction to it. Underneath, I witnessed the pale gray of his slave collar poking out. He quickly straightened his uniform collar and caressed the sunburst logo of the Order of the Sun.

I was momentarily shocked into silence. Either the Order brainwashed this poor kid (who couldn't have been older than me, by the way) or he was extremely naïve. Either way, I was treading dangerous ground here. There were only three of us aboard the skiff and I may have falsely believed I held the advantage. I needed to diffuse this situation and do it quickly, otherwise, what I originally perceived as a two against one in my favor, may turn against me.

“The cause is freedom.” I answered. “Everyone deserves the right to be free.” I gestured toward Tialoc. “What makes them so special?”

“Our devotion to Brasus makes us special,” Tialoc growled. “To be a part of the ministry requires a long, rich heritage of service. He is no more a slave than I am. I serve a higher power, as does he.”

“I used to believe in a higher power too,” I explained. “Until I expanded my horizons and witnessed the wonders of the universe, I believed that God created us and watched over us.” I turned to Tialoc. “But how could God, or any god for that matter, allow an entire species to be destroyed? How could there be so much sadness and pain, if there is a God?”

“I don't need to explain how Brasus works to the likes of you,” Tialoc sneered.

I nodded slowly. “You're correct. We call that the freedom to express yourself.” I pulled the trigger. Tialoc's face shattered in a cascade of blood and bone. He dropped to the floor in a bloody heap. I turned the gun on the pilot, whose ashen face looked on in horror. “Land this thing.”

The pilot immediately complied and landed the skiff near the woods. Embeth hurried over and frowned when he looked upon Tialoc's corpse.

“Have much trouble with that one?” he asked.

“Nothing I couldn't handle.”

Embeth grunted and lowered the rocket launcher. “I just received a report from Lianne that the attack upon the palace has been a success. They have trapped the Prophet and his people inside and are about to break through their defenses.” He turned his gaze upon the terrified pilot. “What about this one?”

I turned toward the pilot with the gun held tightly by my side. “Will you at least think about what I said?”

The pilot nodded, but remained silent.

“Go,” I urged. “Go and tell the others what has happened here. Tell them that Gliese will need the rebels now more than ever.”

The pilot nodded and ran off into the woods. I turned to Embeth. “You realize the Prophet is going to use the evacuation tunnels to escape, right?”

“Horus has that covered,” rumbled Arcturus. He strolled over to us, carrying his hammer in his right hand and dragging an unfortunate enemy soldier behind him in his left. He tossed the man to the ground in front of the skiff. “Found this one skulking behind the remains of that skiff over there.” He flipped a thumb over his shoulder toward a skiff that was barely recognizable. “Based on the bars on his collar, I would say he is a high ranking officer.”

“Don't expect me to beg for my life,” the soldier balked. “Brasus will honor me for dying on the battlefield.”

About ten soldiers survived the battle, including the officer. The other nine were lined in a row, on their knees with their hands clasped behind their back. Vayne circled them, with his weapons cradled eagerly at his side, as if he hoped someone would get out of line so he could take pleasure in gunning them down.

“It is over,” I stated and turned my attention to the officer. “The government of Gliese will be returned to the people. The Order of the Sun is no more.”

The officer appeared ready to argue the point, but thought better when Arcturus growled behind him and slapped the head of the hammer against his palm. Hiro approached us, holding up Athew for support. Behind him, Cantrell approached cradling Kedge's body.

“I think we are done here. Shall we complete our mission?” he asked.

I hopped off the skiff and removed my helmet. I wanted to look upon Kedge one last time with my own eyes.

“I remember the first time we met,” I said, speaking to no one in particular. “On Xajax, we met for the first time as enemies. Today, we leave each other as friends.” A tear trickled down the side of my face and I flicked away like a bothersome gnat. “Goodbye friend.”

“Hiro, do me a favor and go back and get the shuttle,” he said. “I can't carry him all the way.”

I found it mildly surprising that he offered no snarky reply to my comment and instead, chose to remain businesslike in his demeanor. I wanted to thank him for it, but decided against it. I didn't want to push the envelope, as they say.

Hiro returned with the shuttle about an hour later. Cantrell loaded Kedge onto a pull out cot located at the back of the ship. Hiro struggled to load Athew into a seat, so I moved over the assist.

“Damn it, I feel like an old lady,” Athew complained. “Soon you two will be fighting over who gets to wipe my butt.”

“I doubt that,” I replied and snapped the buckle into place.

“Quit your bellyaching,” Hiro said. “Just be lucky we don't shoot you like a gimp horse.”

Cantrell emerged from the back of the shuttle and took the controls. I slipped into the seat next to Athew and closed my eyes. I didn't close them to sleep (I may never sleep again, after all that's happened). I closed them so I could drown out everything around me and meditate on everything that had taken place.

I had murdered two men
. That thought, in itself, was disturbing, but I found my thoughts drifting to Mortem and his zombie brigade. Originally, I had been appalled by his “experiments”, but the more I thought about our current situation, from a tactical standpoint, the more I realized we would need him. I had no clue how many soldiers he had, but there would be no denying their power. I had a target in the back of my mind for a while, but I thought a direct assault by us would only result in a failure of epic proportions. With Mortem in the mix, I revisited our chances. I needed Sam's help. With his engineering prowess, Grillick's inventions, and the tools of the Cartographer, coupled with Mortem's army, there was only one logical target left—one that would end this conflict for good.

I glanced at Cantrell, who fumbled over the steering controls. He must have felt my eyes on him because he looked over at me. “One target,” I repeated out loud.

“I'm sorry?” he replied with a confused expression.

I looked down at my clenched fist, a hand I had lost long ago, courtesy of Shai. “We have just one target left before this conflict comes to an end.”

“Oh yeah, what target is that, General Chambers?” Cantrell scoffed, his lips twisting into a wry smile.

I placed my clenched fist on the armrest and looked at him with such ferocity that his smile melted. For the remainder of my life, I would never forget the look on his face when I uttered the word. For the first time since I met him, he appeared dumbstruck.

Caelum
.

Final Ride

Gordian Knot Conference Room 7

There had been times when I wished I was a better orator. Sometimes I wondered if things would have turned out different had I been an Abraham Lincoln or Winston Churchill—someone who could inspire people during periods of tension and conflict. Time and hands-on experience make powerful mitigating factors in improving oneself. I could simply point to my speech to the rebels as an example of my improved oral persuasion skills. None of that mattered at the moment, however. I suggested something so completely outrageous that I truly believed the people in the room would denounce the idea before the final words fell from my lips.

But they didn't.

Instead, the room fell silent for a long time. Eventually, Ibune broke the silence when she stood up and placed her palms on the table. “Just so I am clear, you are suggesting a direct assault on Caelum?”

The battle on Gliese came to an end not long after we left the planet's surface. Lianne and her forces succeeded in taking the palace. She had been able to take the Prophet and his henchmen as prisoners due to Horus' effective work in sealing off the emergency escape. Bofor rallied the rebels and a temporary government had been put into place, led by Yori's cousin, Kreel. Horus agreed to stay behind and assist with the transitional government. Most of the news was good, but there was something hidden within Ibune's expression that cast a doubtful shadow over everything.

“Yes,” I replied. “This may be the best opportunity we have to strike.” I addressed each of the other members in the room. “We have Mortem's army. I have seen them up close and they are very effective.”

“We have had some unexpected events happen which you may not be aware of,” Ibune interjected with a somber tone. She reached up and rubbed the moon tattoo on her forehead, like she was trying rub out an oncoming headache. “Scribe is dead. We no longer have the means to gather inside information from the Consortium.”

The news caused my guts to twist into a knot. The Timeless were ancient, but they were mortal, a fact I sometimes overlooked. I looked at the nameplate engraved on Scribe's chair and wrestled with the knowledge that he would never sit there again. I had hoped to pick his brain once the war was over because, as the chronicler for The Timeless, he had witnessed, and even been a part of, countless wonders throughout the universe. Now I would never get that chance. My rage toward Calypso blazed unlike ever before.

“I am not so sure we can rely on Mortem,” Embeth replied. “He is a loose cannon.”

“That's an understatement,” Vayne added. “He is one card short of a Carratta deck.”

Vanth stood at the back of the room, hidden amongst the shadows. I directed my words toward him. “You once told me 'it doesn't matter the reason for the fight, it only matters that I fight'. I am choosing to fight with the tools that are available. Do you choose to fight?” Without waiting for an answer, I pointed at Vayne. “Do you?” I circled the room with my finger extended, pointing at each one of them, asking the same thing.
Do you?
I ended at Ibune, who simply stared at me with her usual cool demeanor that could wash away a structure fire.

After several minutes, she surveyed the room. The makeshift committee aboard the
Gordian Knot
consisted of myself, Vanth, Vigil, Vayne, Lapiz, Embeth, Ibune, and Grillick.
Not much of a committee
, I lamented. Moro and Sam were missing in action. Horus, Menjaro, and Mortem were on the planet's surface, conducting a sweep and clear. Arcturus and Cantrell were in the shuttle bay, preparing Kedge and the fallen mercenaries for their respective funeral rites. The Twelve Timeless had been reduced to the
Eleven
.