The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (8 page)

Spud didn’t seem reassured. “By then it may
be too late.”

CRASH! We pitched forward, our ship
somersaulting wildly like a football, an
American
football,
rolling down a hill. Grav adjusters barely kept me from being
knocked out of my jumpseat and slamming into the ship roof, but
Spud, a few inches taller, wasn’t quite so lucky, grunting loudly
as his head cracked against the side windscreen.

I struggled back up into position, my eyes
glued to the scan holo which still showed no enemy incursions. “Was
that dark matter turbulence?!” I shouted as we continued to
pitch.

“No, I theorize it was Benedict turbulence!”
growled Spud, pointing over my shoulder.

I turned to look, and to my shock, saw that
the cell behind us where we had so carefully secreted Sutherland
was now empty!

“Where
is
he …?” I gasped, hoping
against hope that, as I stared, Sutherland would somehow magically
reappear in his seat—to no avail.

Our navs had finally stabilized our Cruiser
enough to slow it down; we were rocking gently forward like a
sailboat adrift. We had been kicked way above the speed limit for
this section of our solar system; and were now far beyond Io.
Neptune loomed ahead.

“Snap. The trap has sprung. And the rat
cannot escape,” snorted Spud.

“But,” I nodded at the empty cell, “he
did
escape.”

“
We’re
the rat, Rush.” Spud sighed,
“And-”

“Rush, Escott, can you hear us?” Comm barked
on with a Teutonic accent.

Reluctantly, I answered, “Yes, Dieter. Where
are you?”

“Just made Io Outpost. Everything’s okay
here. Hsin and Rawiri are fine. What is going on? Where are
you?”

The dark side of Neptune had bathed us in
shadows. I could barely make out the pursing of Spud’s lips or the
daggers in his eyes. My eyes were drawn once again to the chamber
behind us from which our prisoner had slipped through
our—
my
—hands. And it was my fault…

* * *

Maryland—five years ago

It had been my fault on Sugarloaf, too. John
had taken me and the boys for a hike up to the top of the Maryland
hill the autumn before he left. The Appalachian Trail winding
through our nearby forests was shaded by a rainbow of colors each
fall, maple and oak leaves displaying infinite hues of yellow,
orange, and red. The boys were young, and just barely able to
handle the hikers’ path up to the first lookout, but I was being
tempted by the steeper slope off the trail which I knew I could
climb, rock by rock, to the mountain’s top.

When John took Billy behind a tree to pee for
a moment, I yielded to the temptation and left Bobby standing alone
on the path as I clambered up the rock wall, so appealingly
inviting me to climb its face. Bobby, then only around ten years
old, must have been more afraid of being abandoned in the woods
than risking the climb, because I soon heard his voice a few feet
below me on the slope. “Wait up!”

I looked down behind me and saw that Bobby
was precariously hanging by two loose rocks at least forty feet off
the ground. I blanched. If he fell, he could be seriously hurt—or
worse. Attempting to reverse course and go down and help him, I
slipped off the ledge and slid several rough feet down the slope,
barely missing knocking him off of his unsteady perch myself. I
managed to stop my fall close to his trembling body, and tried
unsuccessfully to guide his feet to a safe support. As he shifted,
his grip on the rocks gave way and he tumbled screaming down the
hill towards a large boulder below. I didn’t dare look, fearing his
head would be shattered against the sharp, massive granite. When I
finally opened my eyes, there was Bobby, his bulky down jacket
shredded and tattered, but his body intact and his grin genuine as
he looked up at me from the safety of John’s arms.

I kept apologizing as I sheepishly made my
way down the slope, grateful that it was John and not Connie or
George waiting for me below. John seemed to know how bad I felt and
didn’t bother with a lecture. He did, however, give me some
valuable advice. One, if you’re in trouble, ask for help. And two,
first survive, then face the music. Lesson learned.

* * *

Outer Sol System—Present Day

“Location, Rush, where are you?” Derek
repeated.

I didn’t turn on comm for my answer. “In deep
doo-doo. Not enough light-years away.”

I knew where I had to go and what I had to do
first.

* * *

Nav must’ve read my mind, because a split
second later, we shifted into hyperdrive even before I’d finished
saying the words. Now, normally, we’re not supposed to go
faster-than-light speeds until we’ve passed Eris orbit, but there
was no way I was heading back to our team on Earth right away or
letting them find me, having failed so miserably at my task.

“I know I’ll be sorry I asked,” Spud said
with a ladle-full of irony, “but where are we going?”

“Zyga. We need some help.”

Spud was incredulous. “You’re reluctant to go
back to Earth Core after this disaster, and you’re going to Zygint
Central? They will send you directly to the Omega Archon.”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I said. I’m
going to get help. Trust me.”

I won’t repeat Spud’s response. I didn’t
understand all of the words, especially the Cockney slang, but
there were a few I recognized that even
I
don’t feel
comfortable telling you. With the angry silence so thick I could
slice it, I had no choice but to settle in with the easiest Spud
monograph I could find, and I spent the next couple of hours
reluctantly learning about “Analysis of Fast-Acting Poisons in
Human Excreta.” Somehow, considering our situation, it seemed an
appropriate subject.

* * *

Warp-down usually happens automatically as we
approach Mayall II, Zyga’s blue dwarf star. But this time, instead
of comming under the guidance of Zyga Traffic Control, I’d
instructed nav to approach our destination invisibly in stealth
mode, using an entry paradigm I’d picked up on the “black market”
at Mingferplatoi Academy.

“You’re making me nauseated,” Spud complained
as our Cruiser pitched back and forth on a jagged path to avoid
guard buoys.

“They’re not squibs,” I returned, referring
to the FX explosives that blow fake bullet holes in our Phaeton
Alliance ship on the
Bulwark
set. “If we hit a buoy, we
could actually get blown up.”

Spud glowered at me without saying another
word.

In minutes, thanks to the paradigm, we were
at Zyga apogee, and began our size adjustments. Most of Zyga’s
inhabitants are substantially larger than typical creatures on
Earth. So we’d blend in with the residents, we enlarged (or in
Zygan argot, ‘mega’d) our ship and ourselves by a power of six.
Still invisible, we eased down to the coordinates I’d designated,
to the Kharybdian Enclave near the West Pole.

As the nucleus of the Zygan Federation, the
planet Zyga welcomes millions of temporary and permanent settlers
from subject civilizations in the known universe. Many Zygfed
citizens opt to assimilate and live in Zyga’s two largest cities,
Mikkin and Aheya, but others prefer domiciles in isolated
neighborhoods called Enclaves that duplicate the conditions of the
residents’ home planets.

Some of these planets are Universe-renowned
for their picturesque landscapes, awe-inspiring museums and
monuments, and refreshing resorts. The planet Kharybdis
unfortunately isn’t one of them. Kharybdis is famous for its
ever-present dense layer of grimy nimbus clouds that drown the
planet’s few islands on a daily basis in torrents of rain. I really
thought that Spud, having grown up in wet and chilly England, would
have an affinity for the Kharybdian climate, so well duplicated in
its Zygan Enclave. No such luck. Spud’s grumbling began the minute
he exited our parked Cruiser and stepped into the adjacent
footpath’s ankle-deep mud. Cursing, Spud micro’d our ship and
stuffed it into his rucksack. Singularly unenthusiastic, he set off
slogging behind me through the mire towards our destination.

“I would much prefer to be suffering through
Ivanhoe
at Covent Garden …,” was the only audible comment
from Spud during our trek.

A spiky drizzle bored sharply into our bare
faces, already reddened from the cold. Despite having donned
Ergal-ed raincoats, we were both drenched and dirty by the time we
reached the coral door of our former classmate Eikhus’s thal, a
ochre structure that resembled a giant conch shell.

Nerea, a sparkling clear, animated whirlpool,
answered the door, exclaiming in high-pitched Zygan, “Shiloh,
William!”

Her spray was refreshing, and helped rinse
off some of the mud from our clothes. I squeaked back quickly,
“Shhh … can we come in?”

“Sure,” she misted, opening the door wide for
us to enter. “You need to see Eikhus, I suppose.”

“The sooner the better,” I nodded as we
stepped into the guest level of their home. I lowered my voice.
“Benedict.”

Nerea paled. Which was difficult, as her
fluid body was transparent as it was. It had been less than two
years since one of Benedict’s fusion torpedo terrorist attacks had
destroyed the Kharybdian city where her parental tributaries had
flowed. The heat released from the bomb’s massive explosion had
instantly evaporated all the aquatic life forms in her now
decimated village, including most of her family. Somber, she led us
into the cavern-like sitting room, and offered us some drinks which
we gratefully accepted. We sat on moist seashells which resembled
truncated stalagmites and waited for her brother.

Eikhus, a mighty vortex, arrived within the
hour. Not wishing to have to dry off again, I slipped through his
welcoming arms, but Spud wasn’t totally able to avoid his soggy
hug, to my fervent amusement and Spud’s obvious annoyance. Nerea
brought us up a tray of thikia, and, munching the tasty seaweed, I
gave Eikhus a rundown of recent events.

“We don’t know where he went,” I concluded
about Saul, “or
how
he went.”

“I suspect it was some type of time-traveling
X-fan,” Spud added. “But the cell was supposed to have been
E-shielded by Earth Core.”

A thought occurred to me. I turned to Spud.
“You don’t think Sutherland went back to Sidon…to finish his
assignment?”

Spud shook his head. “Not with that temporal
vector shield in place. It would be impossible for him to penetrate
it.

“Then we’re back to square one.”

Eikhus, ever more and more somber, threw out
a wet hand. “
Earth
has temporal vector shields?”

“Not until now,” I responded, brushing the
mist off my windbreaker.

“That is curious,” Eikhus said. “Temporal
vector shields are very complex, tricky to install.”

“We figure someone from Zygint Central must
have put it on,” Spud continued. “When they discovered Benedict’s
plans for temporal attacks.”

“But after Saul had already gotten to
Yeshua,” I added.

Eikhus looked at us, concerned. “How many
Andarts do you think Benedict’s planted for this campaign?”

Spud shook his head. “We do not know. Nor
where they might be.”

“Right now, we need to find
one
.
Saul.” I corrected, “Sutherland.”

“Sutherland?!” Eikhus misted us both once
again. “You
are
serious?”

“Gary informed us he was one of Benedict’s
lieutenants,” said Spud.

“One? He’s third in command of Benedict’s
operation! If Sutherland was the Andart, it wasn’t just a
small-scale guerilla attack. We’re talking prime mission.”

Spud and I looked at each other in alarm. I
frowned, “What in the world—in the universe—was he hoping to
achieve on Earth?” A small planet at the edge of a small galaxy
that was still in cosmic diapers as far as Zygfed was
concerned.

Spud looked equally troubled, and, barred
from indulging in his stinky smoking habit in the company of the
Kharybdians, grabbed a stylus from his pocket and chewed it as he
pondered.

“I think we should comm the gang—emergency
meeting,” Eikhus stated with an urgent squeak. “These are deep
waters.”

“Good idea,” I nodded.

Eikhus sidled over to his holo, drew in his
limbs and became more cylindrical. He started rotating fiercely,
forming a torrential waterspout with a growing central appendage
that reached out to wash over the holo screen.

Spud pulled his hoodie over his head and
headed for the opposite corner of the room. His back to us, he
huddled to avoid the collateral spray. I sighed as I wiped the
moisture from my eyes. Sometimes Spud can be so rude!

After a few minutes of spinning, Eikhus wound
down and faced me. “They’ll meet us at Matshi’s kalyvi. It’ll be
safer there.” He glanced at Nerea. “Let’s go.”

Eikhus added a few words to his sister in
Kharybdian, then pointedly turned and flung a sheet of water at
Spud’s back. “No offense taken.”

Dripping from head to toe, Spud reluctantly
followed us out of the thal, pausing only to thank Nerea on our
behalf for her hospitality.

We set off once again along the banks of a
muddy rivulet, and, shivering, trudged slowly, sloshing step by
step, towards the outskirts of Eikhus’ village. I broke the chilly
silence. “Where are we headed?” I asked Eikhus once we were out of
earshot (and mist-shot) of passers-by.

“The Chidurian Enclave,” Eikhus said.
“They’ll be waiting.”

Spud’s tone was dry, unlike the rest of him.
“I dread to ask, but who are ‘they’?”

“A few of your old friends,” Eikhus returned
with a wry smile. “And a few of your old enemies.”

* * *

An hour later, Eikhus had brought us to a
hundred-foot waterfall that crashed into a turbulent whirlpool
below the small, slippery ledge under our feet. Behind the
splashing cascade was a small opening to a tiny cave that led to a
dark, narrow tunnel, which, lit by our Ergals, seemed to go on
forever. Eikhus led the way, and Spud gladly walked behind me, as
far away from Eikhus as possible, as we squeezed single file
through the winding, cramped passage. With every step, the ground
below us became drier and drier, save for the moisture of Eikhus’s
occasional sweat balls. Our Ergals kept us bathed in halos of
light, and we marched forward like incandescent ants.