Текст книги "Hastrom City Rising (The Adventures of Letho Ferron Book 2)"

Автор книги: Doug Rickaway

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      TWO – Centennial Fulcrum

Letho saw the first body, garbed in the telltale bright orange jumpsuit of a dockworker. Clutched in his hand was a small handgun.

“Hey, Deacon, there’s that dock worker. You can go ahead and have that talk with him,” said Letho.

“Very funny, Letho,” said Deacon. Letho had drawn the Black Bear, and the Tarsi were sniffing at the air. Deacon took the dockworker’s handgun and checked it.

“Still loaded,” he said.

“Mendraga have been here,” Thresha said.

“How do you know?” Bayorn asked.

“Can’t you smell it?”

Bayorn issued a few terse commands to the Tarsi that had survived the events on Alastor’s ship. They nodded assent and took up watch positions around Deacon’s ship. Maka took his place beside Bayorn, and the group moved farther into the cavernous depths of the Centennial Fulcrum’s docking station.There was a definite scent on the air, but it was faint. It was the smell of rot, just pungent enough to bring one’s stomach contents to a roil, but not quite enough to cause a full heave.

They continued to make their way through the abandoned cargo area. The place looked as though some sort of skirmish had taken place there. Work surfaces were overturned. Waste and once-precious things littered the floor, discarded in panicked flight. Some of the walls were marked with the scoring of small weapons fire. As they headed toward the dock foreman’s office, they happened upon more bodies. These unfortunate fellows were dry, their skin stretched taut, lips pulled back from yellow teeth. Telltale puncture wounds marked their necks and chest.

Letho and Deacon each took one side of the doorway to the foreman’s office. The office was a small, box-like enclosure built into the side of the tall steel walls of the docking area. It was made of plasteel set in a metal frame, but the blinds were drawn, making it impossible to see inside.

Letho squeezed the handle of his Black Bear. The wood and steel whispered that everything was going to be all right.

Bayorn attempted to peer between the blinds, then pointed to a spot where the blinds were being pulled down by a set of fingers entangled in them.

“There aren’t any Mendraga in there, if that’s what you’re wondering,” said Thresha.

“She’s right; the stench would be much stronger if her kind were present,” said Maka, sneering. Thresha bared her teeth, then grinned at Maka.

Maka raised his arm as if to strike, but Letho shook his head. Maka backed down, but the look that he cut Letho told him that he was not at all pleased about it.

“All right, on three!” said Letho, kicking the door down.

Deacon went to one side of the office and flipped the light switch, while Letho moved farther into the tomb-like enclosure. The remains of a man lay sprawled across a set of chairs in the corner, as if he had become tangled in his own feet and fallen on the way out the door, then decided to remain in that pose for eternity. Letho went to the man and turned him over. His throat, too, was a torn mess.

“You forgot to count to three,” Deacon muttered.

“This must be the dock foreman,” Bayorn said.

“Oh yeah, what was your first clue?” Letho snapped.

A thin smile adorned Letho’s face, but the inflection of the reply was all but a slap to Bayorn’s snout. Maka grunted and put his hand on Letho’s shoulder, and their eyes met. Letho sighed and hunched his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Bayorn. That was uncalled for. Recent events have me a little keyed up.”

“It is okay, Letho.” The words from Bayorn’s mouth and his icy gaze told two different stories. Letho felt as if the Tarsi was inside his mind, rifling through his thoughts.

Letho turned his attention to the dock foreman. His sallow skin was stretched tight across his skull, and had begun to peel back in places, revealing patches of bare bone.

Letho sat down at the foreman’s desk and found that his workstation was still in working order. Cooling fans whined and chittered as stuck bearings inside took on the task at hand. The dock foreman hadn’t bothered to lock his workstation with a password, so Letho was able to go straight into the operating system. He pulled up the news site for the station and began to read.

“Hey, Deacon, what year is it?” Letho asked.

“What?” Deacon asked, laughing, not sure if Letho was joking. But when Letho continued to stare at him, Deacon answered. “2350.”

“That’s interesting, because according to the news site clock, it’s 2361.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Yeah, but wait, there’s more.”

Letho began to read the foreman’s final email aloud. It had come from someone on Eursus whose official title was “Chancellor Elan Steigen.” The email had been sent with high importance and forwarded to officials on all active Fulcrum stations.

ELAN STEIGEN ISSUES UNPRECEDENTED FULCRUM RECALL

May 13, 2350

ATTN: Fulcrum Station Officials

Dear Fulcrum directors,

Congratulations! Your mission has been arduous, spanning hundreds of Eursan years. No doubt your forefathers hoped to receive the message that you are now reading.

Food production and clean water distribution have been brought back to acceptable levels in Hastrom City. As such, it has been declared a safe zone, and is ready to welcome all Fulcrum citizens. Upon receipt of this message, all stations will be recalled via internal programming.

The journey back to Eursus is a long one, but our researchers recently discovered hidden functions within the Fulcrum stations’ computer cores. Using remote access protocols, we have enabled deep-space thrust drives on each Fulcrum station. These drives are incredibly taxing on the ships’ power cores, so you may experience loss of non-critical systems, such as uCom services and news site access. These deep space drives will reduce the return voyage from centuries to mere months.

Do not attempt to divert the course being plotted by your navigation systems. Tampering with navigation systems, or attempting to deviate course, will activate system subroutines that will terminate critical support systems, including atmospheric recycling and power plants.

Able-bodied citizens are needed to aid in the rebuilding process on Eursus. Current residents of Hastrom City have been working diligently to fortify the walls that surround the city, as well as partaking in dangerous reclamation missions to add abandoned portions of the city to the safe zone. All Fulcrum citizens under the age of thirty-five and possessed of sound mind and body will serve as needed in these important operations.

Please continue to live your life as usual, enjoying the comforts and leisure activities the Fulcrum station continues to provide. In the event of civic disturbance, station inspectors are authorized to use any means necessary to quell resistance. The infrastructure must be maintained!

All station inspectors are required to re-read their law enforcement handbooks, specifically the section entitled “Returning Home.”

Good luck! May your return journey be a smooth one!

Chancellor Elan Steigen

“So that’s good news, right? We can go home now,” said Deacon.

Letho looked over at the discarded body of the dock foreman, and then back to Deacon. “I think it would be an understatement at this point to say that something is not right.”

Thresha shook her head in impatience. “Don’t you see? All of this—raiding the Fulcrum stations, kidnapping people—it was just the first part of his plan to bring Abraxas back into the physical realm. The second part was to bring everyone back to Eursus, to help bring their race…”—she stammered—”our race, back from the brink of extinction.”

“Well, we were right behind them, so shouldn’t they be here?” asked Deacon.

Maka interrupted, unable to contain his frustration. “I am still confused as to why we are trusting the enemy! Her kind killed my brothers!” he shouted, glaring at Thresha.

Letho had no answer to Maka’s question. And he was crushed to see a wariness in Bayorn’s eyes that he had never seen before. Letho still didn’t know why he had grabbed Thresha’s hand and taken her aboard Deacon’s ship. She had been prepared to die, and he had pulled her away from that fate. Why? Whenever he thought back to the moment, he could only see Sila’s face, the way she had been before. He shuddered, pushing back a vision of her slack jaw, the foul appendage slipping down from between her teeth, slathered in ropy saliva.

Letho realized that he had blanked out for a moment, and when things came back into focus, Maka and Thresha were in each other’s faces, shouting and gesturing. Though Maka towered at least two feet over Thresha, she didn’t back down. Letho knew that a single swat from Maka’s enormous paw would topple her head from her shoulders with the ease of a baby knocking over a block tower. But she had a strength of her own. Letho had seen her rip Jim’s head from his shoulders with her bare hands.

Letho took a deep breath. “Stop!”

Maka and Thresha froze, turning to look at him.

“Listen! I know this seems crazy, but you just have to trust me. She saved my life back there! Crimson Jim was about to kill me, and she took his head off. Ask yourself why she did that. Or why she didn’t do the same to me.”

Letho and Thresha exchanged glances, and her contemptuous sneer melted for a moment.

“Letho, will you step outside with me for a moment so that I may speak to you privately?” Bayorn asked.

Letho nodded. “Deacon, get on the computer and see what you can find. Logs of ship arrivals and departures. Anything.”

“Already there,” Deacon replied.

****

Letho and Bayorn stepped outside the dock foreman’s office and closed the door behind them. Bayorn’s face was dark, his expression unreadable. His irises darted back and forth rapidly, a signal to Letho that his old friend was lost in thought, choosing his words carefully. His lips pursed and he moved to engage Letho in conversation, almost taking a full step toward him, then immediately dropped his head and continued with the brooding routine.

“Bayorn, the suspense is killing me. Can you just spit it out please?”

Bayorn snorted and his eyes flickered like gold coins immersed in water. He had only seen Bayorn’s eyes do that when he was very angry. Suddenly Letho was back on the shuttle so long ago, simultaneously meeting Bayorn for the first time and stepping onto the path toward his supposed destiny.

No. You are not that person anymore. Stand your ground. He is trying to bully you.

“Letho, I have been thinking about what happened on Alastor’s ship. With Sila. With the Mendraga you have brought into our company.”

Letho felt his forehead become heavy. It sloped down like a creased shroud, and his eyebrows met in a hard line that transformed his eyes into shadowed pits. Letho’s mouth drew into a bloodless line, and he fought back tears. He wouldn’t give Bayorn the satisfaction.

“Bayorn, look. Don’t bring her up, man. Not now.”

Letho’s words came in hesitant blurts, like he was struggling to breathe. He dragged his hand through his greasy, blue-black hair, chuckling a little under his breath. He felt his vision began to sharpen, and his hands clenched into involuntary fists. An immediate twinge of pain brought him back from the brink; he had bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste coating his tongue.

Bayorn nodded. “We must talk about the Mendraga. I cannot understand your choice to save her. She is a child of Abraxas, the one who destroyed our world and forced us into exile. Did you not hear any of the Elder’s words?”

Letho erupted. “I don’t know why I did it! I just—I just did! All right? Are you happy now?”

The shout echoed in the cavernous metallic belly of the Fulcrum station before it dwindled to nothing. Reproach filled Bayorn’s eyes, and Letho felt embarrassment creeping up his neck and blossoming in his cheeks.

Letho, you must do what is right.

Even now the Elder’s words were with him. Letho sang the Elder’s quote in Tarsi. Bayorn smiled, and his eyes took on a glossy sheen and began to water at the edges.

“I can’t explain it,” Letho began. “She saved my life, so I saved hers. It seemed like the right thing to do. Besides, she wants to help us. She has helped us. And according to my records, so far she hasn’t eaten anyone.”

“True. But at some point she will need to feed. What then, Letho? Will we sacrifice one of our own so that she might live?”

Letho crossed his arms across his chest and stared with blank eyes into the middling distance. “Maybe we can do it like in the movies. Feed her bad guys, you know?”

Bayorn scoffed. Letho considered the distinct possibility that Bayorn had never seen a Eursan movie and was wholly unfamiliar with this film trope.

“Mendraga cannot be trusted. If she turns on us, it will be on your shoulders. And if I see even the smallest hint of such a thing coming, I will kill her myself. Do we understand one another?”

“Yeah, I understand. You aren’t exactly dropping subtle hints here,” Letho said.

“Oh, and I would not leave her alone with Maka. He wants to kill her even more than I do. As you know, Maka’s anger is deep; it burns brighter than Tarsus’s stars. He will not be able to hold it in much longer. I am afraid that if she angers him, it will end badly for her,” Bayorn said.

“Well let’s hope that none of these horrible scenarios happen. I think she might be our only hope of getting to Alastor. And Abraxas.”

Bayorn’s face was stern. “Remember my words, Letho. Mendraga have no honor.”

The door swished open, and Thresha joined them outside the office. Bayorn made no effort to conceal his contempt as he shouldered past her. Thresha leaned against the office’s window-wall, her arms crossed, head cocked in a gesture that somehow communicated both interest and disinterest simultaneously.

“Hey. How’s it going?” Letho asked.

“Let’s cut the idle conversation. Why did you save me?”

“Well, you saved me. I was just returning the favor.”

“I wasn’t saving you, you idiot. I was killing the bastard that murdered a friend of mine.”

The way she said friend drew Letho’s attention. He studied her face, an alabaster mask that betrayed no emotion. But Thresha’s eyes told him what he needed to know. Even though her face evoked images of Vigner’s legendary warrior maidens, Letho saw a glimmer of vulnerability there.

Then it was gone, lost in the depths of her emerald eyes.

“I lost someone very special to me as well,” he offered.

“I did not come out here to get all warm and fuzzy with you. This is not a get to know each other conversation. This is a make sure we both understand exactly what is going on kind of conversation,” Thresha said.

“Uh, okay. I was just trying to—”

She cut him off with a scoff. “God, are all the people from your Fulcrum station this dense?”

“You should know. You and your Mendraga buddies ate them all,” Letho replied.

He took a step toward her and tried to make himself larger and more menacing, like the male of a proud species.

“Please,” she said through a laugh. “If you think for a moment I am scared of you…”

“Wonderful, a laughing psychopathic murderer. Maybe Bayorn was right. Maybe I should just kill you right now and be done with it.”

His hand went to Saladin, who hung between his shoulder blades, cool and heavy. Reassuring. Letho felt the anger surging up like a jet of molten rock from the sea floor. She really didn’t seem scared at all. It made him crazy. He became acutely aware of the fact that her chest did not rise or fall, unlike his, which pumped like a bellows.

Thresha placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled. Letho felt the anger reside, replaced by confusion.

“Boys. Hands always going straight to their swords. Go ahead. Kill me. Or try, anyway,” she said.

“Sir? Probability of success in eliminating target is high, but serious injury to your person is a statistical certitude. Would you like to proceed?”

“Thanks, Saladin. Great timing, by the way,” Letho said.

Thresha dropped her hand from Letho’s shoulder and turned to show him her slender back.

“Your previous assumption was correct: I lost the one who was most important to me on Alastor’s ship. I have betrayed my master, and thanks to you, my lot has been cast with a group of Tarsi who want to tear me limb from limb. Maybe it would be better if you ended it right now.”

“I just need to know if I can trust you,” Letho began. He was attempting to take a genial approach, and was unprepared for the verbal fusillade that followed.

“You have no idea what you are doing, do you?” Thresha turned and shouted. “You’re just some Fulcrum kid who got a gun and a sword and now you’re going to save the world, huh? Well, I have news for you: you have no idea what you are up against! You are going to get all of your friends killed.”

“Well, that isn’t exactly what I was expecting… I was hoping you would say something like: ‘Why yes, Letho, thank you for saving me, and I would love to join forces with you to help rid the universe of the evil Abraxas!’”

Thresha sneered. “You don’t see it, do you? You and your friends have already lost. Alastor has won. He has his army, and now he controls one of Eursus’s greatest cities.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Think about it. That message on the computer is over ten years old. Whatever happened on this Fulcrum station happened a long time ago. What do you think Alastor and Abraxas have been up to for a decade? Building convenience stores and fine art museums? Why don’t you just get back in your ship with your friends and find a nice place to settle down? Eursus is a big planet—surely there’s a place you could go where Abraxas would never find you.”

“I can’t do that, Thresha.”

“Why not? There would be no shame in it. You and your friends have no hope against Abraxas and Alastor. Even if you could somehow raise an army that matched Alastor’s man for man, there would be no hope. An army of Mendraga would cut you to pieces.”

“You don’t understand. I’ve spent my whole life doing nothing, and then—everything changed. I have…”

Letho searched for the right words. How could he possibly describe his metamorphosis?

I died and came back from the dead.

I am the only Eursan who can communicate with the Tarsi in their own language.

I have super strength and speed.

Wounds that would kill a normal man heal up in seconds.

I am a superman.

“I have been given a gift. I don’t know what made me this way. But I think it happened for a reason. And if I am going to die, I want it to be with Saladin in my hand and my gun blazing. I want to see Alastor’s face again. I want to put my boot on his neck and push.”

“Excellent monologue, sir. Vivid imagery,” Saladin said.

“Quiet, talking sword.”

Saladin’s LEDs faded to a sullen maroon hue.

“Well, I won’t be party to this. As soon as we get planetside, I’m gone. You think you can keep your friends from killing me until then?”

“I’ll do my best,” Letho said.

****

Letho stood outside the office for some time after Thresha had gone. She had not gone back into the office, which was probably a wise move on her part. Letho took some solace in the fact that she seemed reluctant to re-enter without him.

He thought of Maka, Bayorn, and the other Tarsi, and wondered if he had pulled her out of the proverbial frying pan only to throw her into the fire. He could still see the expression on Maka’s face when Letho had flown through the entry hatch of Deacon’s ship with one of Alastor’s own in tow. A movie for one played inside Letho’s mind, and he saw it all again with startling clarity: Maka’s eyes darting between his and Thresha’s. What had he seen in Maka’s glowing eyes? Disappointment—shot through with traces of contempt. Peals of sarcastic laughter echoed from the dark recesses of his mind. His copilot had returned.

Letho felt a twinge of fear when it occurred to him that he had no idea where Thresha had gone. He wondered if he could trust her; he knew so little about her. He did know that she had saved him by killing one of her own, in a spectacular display of both inhuman strength and brutal resolve.

But what if it was some sort of ruse? What if Alastor had orchestrated it all, sacrificed one of his own to allow Thresha to gain his trust? Having one of his acolytes close to Letho would provide Alastor with a significant strategic advantage.

You overestimate your importance, Letho. Alastor has probably forgotten about you. He probably took as much notice of you as he might a gnat, or a toaster oven.

Letho shrugged, a gesture directed at no one in particular. Maybe the copilot was right. Alastor might even think he was dead. According to the Fulcrum’s log, he had been missing for at least ten years. That was quite a long time, even for someone who might be immortal. Plenty of time to form the assumption that Letho and his ragtag group had perished.

Sila.

Letho remembered the moment that Saladin had responded to his will: the engagement of grab-servos that had melded with his consciousness; the pleasurable smoothness of swinging the sword, even as it completed its infernal trajectory and parted Sila’s neck like a scythe through trembling stalks of grain. He knew the memory would always be with him, like the phantom itch from a lost limb. He tried self-comfort, telling himself that the creature that had stood before him had not been the girl he had cared for so deeply. But another part of him, something dark and hateful deep within his core, reminded him that he may have acted too quickly to truly assess the situation. This shadow within him had enjoyed killing Sila’s abandoned body. Had enjoyed bathing in the blood of the other Mendraga he had torn to pieces in his incandescent rage.

With no one else to speak to, he addressed his talking sword. “Saladin, what do you think about what happened in Alastor’s ship?”

“Sir? What do I think? I am unsure how to respond to this query.”

“The Mendraga. What do you know about them?”

“One moment, please.”

Letho felt insects crawling across the surface of his brain, tunneling through the center as Saladin’s artificial mind spun up. He knew what Saladin knew, could see into his databanks through the connection between their minds. Yet Saladin chose to speak the words aloud:

“I have very little information about the Mendraga. It is unknown whether they are an alien species or a product of genetic mutation. On Alastor’s ship, my scans detected multiple physiological anomalies, including, but not limited to, irregular internal organ configuration, low body temperature, and an adapted mandible structure that allows them to consume the bodily fluids of their prey. This seems to be their primary form of sustenance.

“My records also indicate that the first sightings coincided with the launch of the Fulcrum stations. There are numerous documented attacks on Fulcrum stations. “

“They were searching for Fintran. And they found him. Bastards.”

“Fintran. Yes. Rather unfortunate that he was terminated. Tarsi lore may provide more of the answers you seek. It is a shame you can no longer ask him.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Letho said, grimacing, wringing his hands. He paused, then asked, “What do you think about Thresha?”

“Sir, if you could formulate questions that are more empirical in nature, it would greatly assist me in providing suitable answers.”

“This is something we are going to have to work on, Mr. Talking Sword.”

“Vocal inflection indicates humor mingled with derision. This is called sarcasm, correct?”

“Yes, Saladin. It’s called sarcasm. Let me try again: have you scanned Thresha? And if so, what did you find?”

“Of course, sir. I have scanned all of the entities currently aboard this ship. The Tarsi with you now are no different from those represented in studies conducted before your race left Eursus. Their bodies are remarkably similar to the Eursan form, excluding the obvious differences in size, fur covering, and facial structure. In addition, your two races share a significant overlap in respective genome sequences, though theirs is much more complex.

“But you, sir, are a marvel. Nano-machine tests indicate perfect health. Your cells appear to regenerate at a rapid rate, and I can find no traces of disease or toxins in your bloodstream. And your mind! So many synaptic connections…”

“Saladin. Thresha, remember?”

“Forgive me, sir. I became distracted. Perhaps on some level I was seeking your approval.”

“It’s fine. Just tell me something about Thresha.”

“Very well. She does not appear to be dissimilar to other Mendraga. However, a body scan detected an anomaly in her abdomen: an organic growth, cyst-like in nature, roughly the size of your hand. I am unable to discern its origin or purpose, as I know very little about Mendraga physiology. It appears to be calcified. It may have originated as a tumor, or possibly even a fetus. There are numerous possibilities.”

Oh my God.

“Sir, is everything all right?”

“Yes. No. That is more or less the most horrifying thing I have ever heard, Saladin.”

A tumor.

Or a fetus.

That “or” was as big as a Fulcrum station.

Either prognosis caused Letho’s insides to curdle. Letho hoped it was the former, a cancerous growth eradicated by the Mendraga condition. The latter was too much for him to process.

“Okay, enough biology. Can you detect lying, Saladin?”

“Yes, sir. Pulse and blood pressure tend to spike—even brain waves change when a person lies. Though this does not apply to Thresha, as her phys—”

“Saladin, if you say physio-something one more time I’m chucking you out of an airlock.”

“Again I detect derision. You are being facetious. As I was saying, I do not have any conclusive methods to detect falsehoods in creatures with no pulse, but based on her mannerisms and brain wave patterns, I have thus far detected no signs of mistruth.”

“Well, that’s good to know. Good talk, buddy.”

“I agree. Sir, if you have any more questions—”

“Saladin, talking time is over. “

“Of course, sir.”