Relic of Sorrows: Fallen Empire, Book 4 (2 page)

Abelardus wore fitted, blue snagor-hide trousers and a sleeveless vest under the robe, one that was tight over his chest, showing off his musculature. He wasn’t as brawny as Leonidas, but he had a lean, defined form that would catch many women’s eyes. He had a handsome face to go with it, though there was always an arrogant tilt to his chin that Alisa found off-putting. She also found it off-putting that he had used her and Leonidas to buy time for his people to escape an Alliance attack, not caring if they ended up in a brig or dead as a result.

“You’re not going to hurl any smoke canisters at me, are you, mech?” Abelardus asked, picking up his staff again.

“Where would I be carrying smoke canisters?” Leonidas flicked a hand at his bare chest and feet. His loose gi trousers did not appear to have pockets.

“How should I know what you keep in your pants?”

“I trust you’ve seen an anatomy book at least once in your life.”

Abelardus smirked and spun his staff as he approached the arena. “I’ve heard some cyborg anatomy is broken.”

Alisa frowned, not understanding the joke—the insult. Leonidas glanced at her, but his expression was closed now, giving away little.

“No smoke grenades or other tricks,” Abelardus said, lowering into a fighting crouch, his staff held in both hands before him. Despite his cocky swagger, Alisa thought he looked nervous, with a tense set to his shoulders. He had stopped several feet from Leonidas, leaving himself time to react—or throw a mental attack—before his adversary could strike.

“Fine,” Leonidas said. “No trying to give me heart attacks or make my kidneys burst.”

Abelardus scoffed, as if it hadn’t crossed his mind, but Leonidas’s specificness made Alisa suspect he had experienced those things at the hands of a Starseer. She remembered that old man in the library, the pleasure in his eyes as he had tried to hurl Leonidas through that hole in the wall and to the ice a hundred feet below.

“Ready?” Leonidas asked. He was simply standing, his arms loose and relaxed, but Alisa knew he could strike in an instant.

“Ready,” Abelardus said.

Leonidas surged into motion, crossing the distance between them faster than an eye could blink. Abelardus had his staff out and started a swing, but it did not matter. It was like swatting at a wrecking ball.

Leonidas bowled into him, and Abelardus went flying. He soared several meters through the air before landing. If that had been Alisa, she would have crashed down butt-first, but Abelardus managed to turn the fall into a roll that put more distance between him and his opponent. He came up facing Leonidas, who gave him a second to recover, but then charged after him.

Abelardus flung his hand out before Leonidas reached him. This time, Leonidas flew backward, as if he’d been the one to encounter the wrecking ball. Even though Abelardus had not physically touched him, Leonidas was hurled across the cargo hold until he struck the bulkhead.

“Shit,” Mica mumbled from the walkway above Alisa. “Beck’s armor isn’t the only thing I’ll be hammering dents out of.”

Leonidas slid down the wall and landed on his feet. The blow had to have hurt—it would have shattered a normal person’s ribs, if not broken his back—but he merely strode back toward Abelardus, his blue eyes intense and determined. Abelardus dropped back into his ready crouch, his staff in his hands. He pointed the tip toward Leonidas, as if it were a rifle instead of a seven-foot-long stick.

The hairs on the back of Alisa’s arms rose. She stepped closer to the stairs, as if they might protect her from whatever power Abelardus conjured.

Leonidas dove to the side, as if a bullet were coming out of that staff. Alisa did not see it release anything, but something invisible clipped him on the shoulder, turning his flight into a strange shimmy. Somehow, he got his legs curled under him and turned the dive into an opportunity to spring off the deck and toward Abelardus, who was bringing his staff to bear again. He was not quick enough, and Leonidas reached him first, bowling into him again.

This time, they went down in a tangle of limbs. The staff flew free like a rocket, skidding across the deck to clang off the base of the stairs near Alisa’s feet.

She jumped, startled, but she did not take her gaze from the battle. Leonidas had hold of his prey now and was not letting go. They wrestled briefly, Abelardus crying out once in a mixture of fury and pain, before Leonidas came out on top. Abelardus bucked, his movements frantic rather than calculating, as he tried to throw off his foe. But Leonidas pinned him and reached for his throat. Abelardus ceased struggling, and his eyes grew fierce, full of concentration. Before those powerful cyborg fingers wrapped around Abelardus’s throat, Leonidas’s head jerked back. His eyes bulged and his face contorted in agony, the tendons in his thick neck standing out.

Despite his obvious pain, his fingers inched closer to Abelardus’s throat. Then, in a quick burst of movement, they were around Abelardus’s neck. Leonidas’s expression grew even more pained, and he panted, some invisible force tormenting him. But a very real force tormented Abelardus. Those fingers tightened, cutting off his airway. He grabbed Leonidas’s meaty forearms, fingers digging into that muscle, but he could not push them away.

Alisa stepped forward, though she did not know what she could do, only knowing that this had gone beyond a simple sparring match. The two men were locked in tableau, like a statue of ancient warriors grappling before their gods.

Alisa clapped her hands as she approached. “Lunchtime, boys. Who wants lunch?”

Neither man glanced in her direction. Abelardus wheezed as Leonidas’s fingers tightened. Abruptly, the force holding Leonidas back, the force
hurting
him, seemed to vanish, as if Abelardus’s concentration had slipped.

Leonidas took advantage. He dropped his head like a viper striking, smashing his skull into Abelardus’s face. Abelardus’s lower body twitched, and he kicked out in pain or frustration, or both. Leonidas was too far up, straddling his torso, for the kick to touch him. He spun Abelardus over, pinning him belly down, face mashed into the hard metal deck.

“Do you yield?” Leonidas demanded, his mouth close to his opponent’s ear, his knee grinding into Abelardus’s spine.

Abelardus roared, trying to lift his head. Blood streamed from one nostril. Fury stamped his face, but he didn’t seem to be able to launch another mental attack from that position. Maybe he was in too much pain to concentrate.

“Do you yield?” Leonidas repeated.

Abelardus clenched his jaw stubbornly, and Alisa worried that he would not say the words—and that Leonidas would not let him go until he did. His face was almost as contorted as Abelardus’s, not in pain now, but he almost looked as if he were lost in some other world, that he was locked in mortal combat in his mind rather than simply exercising in her cargo hold.

“Leonidas, Abelardus,” she said, stopping beside them and hoping she wasn’t being a fool and risking herself by standing so close. “What are your votes for lunch? Leftovers, or shall we have Beck make something fresh?”

For a few seconds, neither man moved, and she thought they would continue to ignore her. Then Leonidas blinked a few times, as if waking from a dream—or a nightmare. He did not let go of Abelardus, but his gaze shifted toward her. He seemed confused, as if he didn’t recognize her.

“Let’s end it, eh?” she said quietly, holding her hands out beside her in a nonthreatening manner.

Finally, he focused fully on her, and recognition returned to his eyes. He looked down at Abelardus, the braids having fallen from their tie and lying tangled about his head. Blood spattered the deck under his face.

Leonidas released him and stepped away. Abelardus slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, as if the fight had gone out of him, but fury still burned in his eyes when he looked up.

Leonidas opened his mouth, and Alisa thought he would apologize—his expression was slightly chagrined, as if he knew he had taken things too far. Before he could speak, Abelardus’s fingers twitched. Once again, an invisible force slammed into Leonidas, the edge of it brushing Alisa. It was like a tornado hitting her, and she stumbled back, barely keeping her feet. Her back struck the stair railing as Leonidas flew across the cargo hold, slamming into another wall.

Abelardus stood up, not sparing a glance for Alisa, and lifted his hand to summon his staff. It flew into his grip. He glowered across the hold at Leonidas. Alisa clenched her fists, irritated by the attack and irritated that she’d almost been knocked on her ass by it. Hells, all she had asked was what he wanted for lunch.

Once again, Leonidas walked away from what must have felt like a ton of bricks being dropped onto his back. He could have charged across the hold, and they could have done it all again, but he only took a few steps before stopping, his eyes locked with Abelardus’s.

“Are we done?” he asked.

“Until next time,” Abelardus said, his voice cold. He ignored the blood dribbling down his lips and from his chin.

Leonidas inclined his head, as if in respect to a worthy opponent, though Alisa could not tell if the gesture was sincere. “I will look forward to it.”

“I bet you will. Asshole.” Abelardus grabbed his robe and stalked up the stairs.

Yumi and Mica watched him warily, but he headed back toward the common areas and crew cabins.

“Are you all right?” Leonidas asked Alisa, joining her at the base of the stairs. Had he seen her stumble away as he’d flown across the hold?

“Am
I
all right?” she asked. “You’re the one who hit the wall. Twice. You’re going to have bruises. If not hernias. Do you want me to walk you to sickbay?”

He snorted, his back straight and his chin high. “That’s hardly necessary. He fought fairly.”

Fairly. Right.

“If you say so. You cyborgs aren’t very good at making friends.” Alisa regretted the words as soon as they came out. Abelardus had been the bigger ass in that encounter, at least in her eyes.

“It’s not a good idea to make friends with people you might have to kill one day,” Leonidas said.

“Oh? Are you planning a disagreeable end for our Starseer passenger?”

“It’s just a general comment.”

His eyes grew distant, almost haunted, as he gazed toward a wall, and Alisa was tempted to ask if he’d had to do that before, kill someone he considered a friend. She decided she did not want to know, especially since she had started to consider him a friend, and she’d hoped he considered her one too.

A couple of alert beeps came from the ship’s speakers.

“So much for lunch,” Alisa said, swinging onto the stairs.

“Is that trouble?” Leonidas asked.

“Considering how my luck has been lately? Probably so.”

Chapter 2

Alisa passed Alejandro as she jogged through the mess hall and toward NavCom. The comm alert continued to beep softly and insistently. Alejandro followed her, his expression between curious and wary. He was probably worried someone else was after his orb. Alisa wouldn’t be surprised, though they were a long way from any planets or stations. She had taken them out of the shipping lanes the day before to head toward the coordinates Alejandro and Leonidas wanted to check. The coordinates that were adding yet another delay to her mission to find her daughter. If she actually knew where Jelena was, she never would have agreed to the detour, but Abelardus was the only one who had a clue, and it wasn’t much of a clue.

“Is it the proximity alert?” Alejandro asked.

“No,” Alisa said, sliding into the pilot’s seat and tapping the comm. “Someone wants to talk to us.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“We’ll find out. I don’t know who would be out here in comm range.”

Alejandro entered NavCom, and Leonidas also appeared, his big frame filling the hatchway. Alejandro looked at his sweaty bare chest and lifted his eyebrows. Alejandro was, as usual, in a gray monk’s robe, the pendant of the Divine Suns Trinity dangling from his neck.

“Workout,” Leonidas explained.

Workout. That was an innocuous term for it.

“…in need of assistance,” a woman’s voice came over the comm. She sounded harried. “To any who hear this message, this is the captain of the passenger transport, the
Peace and Prayer
. We are pilgrims on a journey to visit the holy landmarks, but our engine has failed, and life support will follow. We need help. If you hear this, please respond. We are in need of assistance.”

Alisa turned down the volume as the message repeated.

“That a ship you’ve heard of, Doctor?” she asked, turning toward the sensor panel.

“No.” Alejandro gave her a puzzled look, as if to wonder why she would ask.

She waved at his robe and pendant.

“Pilgrims don’t report in to me,” he said. “I am a lowly acolyte in the order.”

She looked to Leonidas, wondering if she would catch an eyebrow twitch or anything that would suggest Alejandro wasn’t even that. For a while now, she had suspected he was using the robe as a costume and did not truly have a tie to the religion. Especially since monks were supposed to be peaceful, and he’d proven that he would do just about anything to finish his mission and keep it a secret, even contemplating the murder of nosy pilots.

Leonidas did not react to Alejandro’s statement. He nodded at the sensor display. “Can you see the ship? Does the story fit?”

Alisa gave him a sharp look. “Did something make you think it’s a trap?”

She hadn’t suspected that from the message, but maybe he had heard something in the background to make him suspicious.

“Not necessarily,” he said, “but—”

“It wouldn’t be the first time pirates have feigned needing help to set up an ambush,” Alejandro said.

“True,” Alisa said, “but we’re on the way to your coordinates that are halfway between nowhere and nowhere. This wouldn’t be a logical place to spin your web if you wanted flies to chance into it.”

“A valid point,” Leonidas said.

Alejandro only screwed up his face into a dubious expression.

“Really, Doctor,” Alisa said, “I’d expect you to be the first person to want to go help some pilgrims.” Or she would if he was truly a disciple of the Suns Trinity.