The Sovereign Melody, in an attempt to conserve power, had landed.
It was an ungainly sight, for a High Federation warbird is at its most beautiful when it is in space, where it is better able to resist the gravitational pull of the spheres, where it moves with an uncanny grace that belies its city-like size.
None of that, here on Ganá:yeht. Here, the Sovereign Melody had swayed and shuddered, and Luminary's assault on the starship had only exacerbated this. Were it not for its powerful thrusters and expert spacemanship, the Sovereign Melody would have dipped too low onto the plane, and crashed onto its surface.
It was easy to spot, due to its vast size, and Hadawa'ko had to calm himself down as he and his troupe crested over a hill to behold a silver crescent moon resting upon the northernmost mountain. The Warleader stopped, resting a hand against an outcropping of stone, breathing in and out. He had heard tales, mostly from Stepping Stone, about the power of the High Federation. How they ruled over a million worlds with a fleet of a trillion ships.
This, he thought, This is but one of them?
The Sovereign Melody rested upon the mountain, a shining blight upon the stone, and as Hadawa'ko beheld it, and the valley between him and the Federation, he wondered how he would even get inside.
“There are people in there?” one of his warriors, Onondakai, said.
“Yes,” Hadawa'ko replied, and he attempted to hide the shivering in his voice, “Come, let us be off.”
He began descending down the hill. His eyes kept shifting back up to the ship. There was no sound coming from it. No voices, no shouts or screams, no smoke and no fire. It lay completely still, like a statue.
No...
Like an oversized bobcat, ready to pounce.
***
Kathen Aru was in his personal quarters, lying in bed, his arms crossed behind his head. Merry Curiosity was running through calculations in the back of his head, a faint buzzing that sometimes crept into his waking thoughts, numbers and calculations and symbols modifying symbols. He had little idea of what they meant, for Merry's mathematics often went into realms beyond organic understanding and into a place that only AI could access.
“Alright,” she said, “After taking in recent scans, as well as projected maps taken from Truthspeaker's database, I'd surmise this plane has been in forecast with the Silver Eye for around twenty years.”
“Twenty years,” Kathen said, “Explains a lot, doesn't it?”
“About no one finding it?” Merry said, “It does. Hasn't been here for very long, nor is it going to be around for much longer. I'd say it's leaving in a year, tops.”
Kathen nodded at this. Anxiety flooded his chest, and he got up and started to pace.
“...Kate?” Merry said, “Something up?”
He shook his head.
“It's fine,” he said, “I just...”
He trailed off. Found himself looking into the mirror. He hardly recognized the person staring back at him. There was a sunken quality in his eyes that had not been there before.
“I need to talk to someone,” he said.
“You can talk to me,” Merry said, and there was a rare tremor of worry in her voice, “Kate, what's wrong? You're scaring me.”
Could he talk to her?
Could he trust her?
Merry Curiosity was a cutting from Truthspeaker, who reported all secrets and revelations to Valm. One did not even need to speak out loud for this, either, for if one possessed an implant and she was given admin permissions, she could scan your surface thoughts for any doubts, any thoughts of heresy.
But, then, if Merry could do this as well, then she already knew.
And she had not told Valm.
“I'm scared, Merry,” he said, and his voice broke, “I... I don't think I can go through with this?”
“Go through with what?” Merry said, “The glassing?”
She said it so casually, they had sucked in a breath as though sucker punched.
“Y-Yeah,” he said.
He sat down on his bed again, his hands shaking. He wanted to vomit.
“There are people here,” he said, “Not just metahumans. The native peoples of this land. And we're just going to...”
He shook his head.
“And... And even then,” he said, “Most of the metahumans down there are just trying to survive. They aren't... They aren't guilty of anything. They don't deserve this.”
Merry was quiet for a long time, and for a moment he was afraid that she had left him, that she would betray his trust and adhere to her programming, and notify Valm. But she did not.
Instead, numbers appeared in the back of his mind. Calculations.
“There's a good chance,” Merry said, “A ninety-four percent chance, that Valm is going to glass this plane.”
“That doesn't help, Merry,” Kate said.
“An eighty-five percent chance that the metahumans here fight back,” she said, “A seventy-five percent chance that they successfully destroy the Sovereign Melody-”
“Merry, stop,” Kathen snapped, “Seriously. Stop it.”
Another bout of silence. Kathen's anger simmered. Was replaced by a cold sort of guilt. He had never talked down to Merry, not like this.
“I'm sorry,” he said, “I... I don't know what's happening to me.”
“I...” Merry hesitated, and though she was an AI, she seemed on the verge of tears, “I don't know what you want me to do. I can run calculations for you. Scan places and things. But...”
“It's alright,” Kathen said, “You don't have to do anything.”
“Let me help you, Kate,” Merry said, “Please.”
How could she help?
And, at that moment, a call came online.
“Mr. Aru,” Valm's voice rang through his communicator, deep and oaken, “A group of natives have appeared. I want you here for this meeting.”
***
“Human, by all indications,” Rhunea had taken the sensor array, reporting her readouts to the guildmaster, “A group of five. They have stopped, and are watching the ship from a distance.”
Old Scar took a look through the viewscreen, his brow furrowing at the sight of them. Five natives, brown-skinned and with long black hair, all of them were thin to the point of near starvation.
“They're dressed up in animal hides and wield stone tools,” he said, “Primitives. They probably haven't even invented the wheel.”
“Now, Old Scar,” Valm said, “They are human, like you. Try to show them respect, when they come here.”
Old Scar scoffed.
“Very well, guildmaster,” he said, “We are to bring them in?”
“They appear to be here to hold palaver,” Valm said, “I would hear them out. We have yet to broach contact with the natives of this plane. I would collect a few of them, so their line survives in some place.”
“I know of a few conservation worlds we can place them,” Rhunea said, “I can send you a list, guildmaster.”
“Thank you, Rhunea,” Valm said, “All of them are men?”
“Yes,” Rhunea said.
“We'll need to capture at least a few females, then,” Valm said, scratching a chin, “Send a shuttle for them.”
Kathen was at Valm's left hand. He suppressed the urge to panic.
“Are we...” Kathen said, swallowing, “Are we sure that's wise?”
Valm turned to look at his protege. As did Old Scar and Rhunea. Old Scar looked annoyed. Rhunea looked worried, and there was a hint of warning in her wide eyes. Valm was frowning, as he was wont to do. His entire neck craned.
“Explain, Mr. Aru,” the guildmaster said.
Kathen swallowed.
Now or never.
“I... don't you think it's wrong, sir, for us to do this? To glass the entire plane?”
Valm sighed. Rubbed his temples, as though he were talking to an especially stubborn child.
“Mr. Aru,” he said, “Please, now is not the time.”
“I'm just saying,” Kathen said, “This is a bit... over the top. There are innocent people down there, sir, and-”
“That's enough, Mr. Aru,” Valm said, “I will not say this again. This metahuman nation is like a weed, and the only way to remove a weed is by pulling it up, roots and all.”
“Those people aren't roots,” Kathen said, gesturing at the viewscreen.
“They are not,” Valm said, “But they are still in the way. Not all of them have to die, Mr. Aru. We will collect specimens, so that the culture does not die out.”
(Kathen could already hear the screams.)
“But-”
“That's enough, Mr. Aru,” Valm said, “I have heard you out. And I have made my decision.”
“Sir-”
“Kid,” Old Scar growled, “Shut it.”
Kathen looked at Rhunea, who averted her eyes. Others onboard seemed unsure as well. They went about their duties, trying to keep themselves out of Valm's wrathful sight. The entire exchange seemed to have annoyed the Prime Voice, for there were barbs in his voice as he spoke again.
“Have a shuttle sent down to retrieve these natives,” he said, “We will speak with them. Collect specimens of both sexes, so that they may procreate in their new home.”
His eyes slid, disapproving, at Kathen.
“And, when this is done,” he said, “We go high above this forsaken rock, and glass it from existence.”
***
“Something's come from the moon,” Onondakai said, pointing, “It's small. Silver.”
Hadawa'ko looked up. Indeed, there was something that had broken off from the Sovereign Melody, flying towards them. Like the metahuman that was a flying carpet, or the boat made of leaves by the Warrior who had stalked them on the way to Amoeboy's commune, it floated through the sky without wings. What started as a dot on the mountain quickly became larger and larger, a metal vessel the size of a longhouse, arrow-shaped and quiet as a night of hunting.
The door opened. People walked out. One seemed to be like them, human and not metahuman. The other was a woman with the head of a doe, and she considered all of them with sad eyes. Hadawa'ko saw the others shift, heard Onondakai let out a soft curse, for although they were getting used to the strangeness of the New Ludayans, the sight of such a being was enough to set them on edge.
The last was covered completely in white armor, and held a rifle in hand. They possessed digitigrade legs, like a bird's, and their head was long and snoutish, covered by a helmet with a black visor, though they could not see this High Federation's face.
“You are the natives of this plane,” the one with the helmet said.
“We are,” Hadawa'ko said, “We are the inhabitants of Ganá:yeht, the true-”
“You will come onboard,” the figure said, and the doe-headed woman averted her eyes, “You will present yourself before the Prime Voice.”
Without another word, the creature went inside. The woman followed suit, as did the seeming human.
Hadawa'ko exchanged glances with the others. Then he went inside. The inside was long and chute-like, and with numerous seats for them to sit down in. The three who drove the ship were the only inhabitants here, and already the human-like one was going to the front to drive the ship towards the Sovereign Melody. The entire vessel lurched. Hadawa'ko fought rising panic, for there were no windows in here for him to see out.
The doe-headed woman noted this.
“You are scared?” she asked.
It was disturbing, to see a voice coming from a deer's mouth. Like out of his grandmother's stories. Hadawa'ko swallowed. Nodded.
The woman pulled out a glass tablet, and presented it to him.
“Viewscreens,” she said, “They show us the outside.”
Indeed, he could see the outside of the arrow-shaped ship. It was floating through the air, and the ground below was both small and blurred due to its speed. Onondakai and the others let out gasps and whispers of awe mixed with fear.
But Hadawa'ko took note of what the High Federation was doing. The bird-legged one was lounging, their long tail flickering like a rattlesnake's. The doe-headed woman sat straight, her hands clasped together, her thumbs twiddling. At times she would glance up at Hadawa'ko, but when he returned her gaze she would look away as though ashamed.
The ship rumbled to a halt. The door opened back out, and the doe-headed woman stood up, beckoned for them to exit. They had landed in a room completely composed of metal, box-shaped and cold and sterile. Other ships were here, some arrow-shaped, others bulbous, a few of them sleek and dangerous. Hadawa'ko stared at all of this, trying to hide the awe in his eyes, the nervousness in his voice, for if he was going to bargain with these people, he needed to not look like a confused child.
These people and their flying machines were far more advanced than the Oshya:de. By magnitudes. There was a near-divine quality to it. He could not afford to be taken in by this, and worship them in all but name.
He turned to the doe-headed woman.
“I thank you for bringing me here,” he said, “What is your name?”
The woman flinched.
“I am Rhunea,” she said, “Please, follow me.”
She led them out of the box-shaped room, down metal halls and up metal ramps. Everything was metal. On occasion they would pass by another of the High Federation, dressed up in white armor or in strange uniforms, black leathers and with golden badges upon their chests, depicting four hands, each one clasping another's wrist.
At last, they came upon a final room. By now Hadawa'ko surmised they were somewhere in the center of the ship, though he could not trust his own judgment, for Rhunea had guided them through a maze of iron.
This last door, however, was made out of ivory. Polished and shining, and two guards attended to it. They paid Rhunea no mind as she knocked, and a voice that sounded like ancient, creaking wood said ,”Enter.”
The door opened. The room was circular, with random objects lining the walls, skulls and gemstones, a spear made of rainbows, a miniature golden rendition of a naked man with seven arms, three on each side, the last arching over his back like a scorpion's.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
There was a crescent-moon desk at the end of the room. A tall, gray creature sat at it, his neck overly long, his head small and skull-like, with large eyes that did not have pupils and instead seemed to fill with stars. He was wearing white robes and had two long, blanket-like appendages (wings, Hadawa'ko would later realize) that were tucked quietly over him. Two humans were at his either side. One was old and bald and with skin the color of suntanned bone. The other's hair was yellow, long and wild, and though he held himself at attention, he seemed sad, very sad.
The creature in the center looked at Hadawa'ko.
“You will enter.”
Hadawa'ko, despite himself, complied. All of his bravado, all of the courage had tried to cultivate during the journey, was draining away, to the point that he was sure it was pooling at his feet. The creature at the desk did not so much speak as command, and there was a tremor to it that warned Hadawa'ko not to refuse.
“Your name,” the creature said.
“I am Hadawa'ko-”
(He hoped his voice did not tremble.)
“-Warleader of the Oshya:de. Mountain Clan.”
He leaned forward.
“What is yours?”
At this, the older man at the gray's left side started. His voice was venomous and heated as he spoke.
“You are not to speak unless spoken to, native.”
But the gray brought up a hand.
“I am Olendris Valm. Prime Voice of the High Federation. Guildmaster of Pagan Chorus. A thousand other such titles, but the two that matter to you are those.”
“Prime Voice Valm,” Hadawa'ko said, “I offer alliance.”
Valm titled his skullish head. Hadawa'ko took this as permission to continue.
“We share a common enemy,” he said, “The metahumans of New Ludaya. Together, we can drive them from Ganá:yeht, and make our land free again.”
The man with the yellow hair breathed in and out. A bit too loud. His nostrils were flaring, and his eyes seemed to well with tears.
The gray did not respond.
“You may ask,” Hadawa'ko continued, keeping the stammer from his voice, “You may ask, what we, the Oshya:de, can provide for you. We know this land. Better than the New Ludayans, and better than yourselves. We can help you find them. Where they would hide in the forests, or in the caves, or even deep in the hidden parts of the world, those secret lakes and glades.”
He licked his lips.
“Together, we can remove your hated enemy from this place.”
“So they have named the plane, then,” Prime Voice Valm said.
“It appears so, sir,” the old man said, “Ganayit.”
“And, where are the females?” he asked.
“They're spread out across the plane,” Old Scar said, “There are five here.”
“So take five females of breeding age,” Valm said, “These males look old enough.”
“Of course, sir,” the old man said.
“Prime Voice,” Hadawa'ko said, and now he was realizing something, “Will you assist us, or not?”
But now the two soldiers from outside were walking into the room. Their rifles were raised.
Hadawa'ko's eyes widened.
“What are you-”
Valm was shaking his head.
“No, no, no,” he said, “Look at their eyes. They will go down fighting. Rhunea, put them to sleep.”
He heard the doe-headed woman from the doorframe.
“Yes, guildmaster.”
A breeze drifted through the room. It was scented with something. Fresh flowers, the hints of spring...
He was...
Sleep was...
Hadawa'ko's eyes snapped open. With a snarl, he threw himself forward at Valm, drawing forth his tomahawk. The two men at either side started, but the Prime Voice was quicker, rising to his full height, a thin arm whipping out to catch Hadawa'ko's wrist, lifting him into the air. His grip was strong, far stronger than Hadawa'ko expected, and the Oshya:de let out a gasp of pain as Valm squeezed, the tomahawk falling from his numbing hand.
“Re-double your spell, Rhunea,” Valm said, and his tone was almost bored, “This one's a fighter.”
“Of course, guildmaster,” Rhunea's voice was laced with guilt.
The breeze returned, and with it the scent of dawn and winter's end. Hadawa'ko's rage dulled. He felt heavy, and his limbs lost their motivation, his arms falling to his sides as he felt Valm drop him, his legs buckling beneath him.
This was the last thing he felt, before darkness overtook him.
Rhunea was merciful, for her spell encouraged a good night's sleep.
For the first time in two years, Hadawa'ko's dreams were pleasant.
***
The leadership of Pagan Chorus convened in one of the conference rooms. Dicaeopolis sat next to Kathen, who kept his hands underneath the table, lest Valm see them shaking. The young man had gone pale, and his time was spent flitting his gaze between the table and his mentor. Old Scar stood at attention at Valm's right, hands behind his back, deactivated raysword on his belt. The guildmaster himself waited for people to file in.
Oliander was the last to enter. He nodded to Valm, passed him a piece of paper. The guildmaster read over it, before nodding.
“Rhunea will not be joining us for this meeting,” he said, “She is tired, after that spell.”
Old Scar sneered, for they all knew that such simple magic would not exhaust their guildmate. But no one said anything.
Kathen was staring at the table.
And it was Merry Curiosity, still watching them, who noted the apprehension in Bluebell's eyes, in the way that Dicaeopolis's smile seemed too tugged, too plastered onto his face.
There were some who were like Kathen, who did not agree with this.
But, then, they were a guild, and they were to follow their guildmaster's orders.
“The females,” Valm said, turning to Erak Yawat, “Where are they?”
“Scans indicate they are spread across the plane, guildmaster,” Erak Yawat said, “The natives are spreading out with those metahumans loyal to them.”
“We need only five,” Valm said, “Show me a map.”
Erak Yawat pressed a button, and the map of the plane appeared before them. Small red dots indicated metahuman bioscans. Blue indicated humans. The natives. Much of the red was concentrated in the southern half of the plane, especially around the mountain that hosted the Traveling Point.
Valm surveyed the map, his eyes narrowing in thought.
“Have they been sedentary?” he asked.
“No,” Erak Yawat noted, “They have not been. They appear to be engaging in guerilla activities against the metahumans, hitting at stationary food storage facilities, even an apparent attack on their mountain base itself.”
“Then any action we take will need to be swift,” he said, “And we must make sure that we are able to capture them.”
“The largest gathering of them proves to be the most promising,” Erak Yawat said, “We can lead a raid down there.”
“How many metahumans with them?” Valm asked.
He was looking at a red blotch on the map. Each individual blip was a human, and there were hundreds of them.
“At least a hundred,” Erak Yawat said, “Abilities unknown. We're still cataloging who's here, and who's not.”
“Hmm,” Valm said, “Then we will need to use overwhelming force.”
“And with the number of metahumans,” Old Scar said, “We might want to just bring the entire Sovereign Melody herself.”
“What's your logic, there?” Dicaeopolis asked, “You don't think a strike team can't just come in and sow chaos?”
“Metahumans are chaos,” Old Scar said, “You don't play their games. You show up with overwhelming force. You be the hammer, before they show resistance.”
He crossed over, leaning against the table so he could face Valm directly.
“We send a raid team in, we don't secure anything. We send in the Sovereign Melody, we can overwhelm them, and take what we need. We can take an entire tribe. Hell, we can start the glassing campaign from there.”
“It's a central location,” Valm admitted, looking at the blotch, “Near to the center of the plane.”
“Two birds, one stone,” Old Scar said, and Kathen's blood ran cold at his guildmate's smile.
***
Rhunea had beaten Kate to the bar.
She was sitting at one of the counters, the bartender pouring her another glass of some smelling, foul purple liquid. She was hunched over it, nursing it in one hand, the other wiping her eyes. She had been crying, Kathen realized, the fur on her face matted and wet.
She looked up at Kathen as he approached, as he wordlessly gestured for the bartender to pour him a glass. He downed it, grimacing at the taste and at the burn.
“Awful stuff,” he said.
“Diashan ale,” Rhunea slurred, “De... De'asin.”
“I get it,” Kathen said.
“Huh, you do,” Rhunea said.
She looked at him. Kathen was staring hard at the wall, his jaw set, his teeth grinding. There was a sense of disgust about him, a shameful sort of anger, and the helplessness that came with it.
“You don't like it,” she said.
“This isn't why I joined the guild,” Kathen said.
“Kate, Kate, Kate,” Rhunea said, and her head was lolling, “You never joined the guild. You were born into it.”
“It's why I stayed,” he said.
“Very few choose to leave the life they've led,” Rhunea said, “To cut all ties. Burn all bridges. It's more difficult than you think.”
She looked at her drink.
“I believe a dear, former friend of mine is down there.”
A name…
Yes.
“Myron Becenti,” Kathen said.
“I went through old records,” Rhunea said, “Cross-compared to bioscans here. He's here. It fits his MO. Well, the nation part. He was always an isolationist, in his politics. I don't think he'd want other sapients to join his little nation.”
She shook her head.
“I wish I would get to say goodbye to him,” she murmured, almost confessed, “He was a good man.”
She was already talking about him in the past tense. To her, he was as good as dead. Kathen looked at Rhunea, horrified, and she smiled as she noticed.
“This is part of being in a guild such as ours, Kate,” she said, “You do the good. But you have to watch the evil, too.”
The bartender poured her another drink. She downed it at once.
“No way around it.”
***
“Your play, Kathen.”
Dicaeopolis was leaning against his chair, watching Kathen as the young human stared at the holographic projection that was Under the Ruler's Gaze. Geometric shapes and points of light floated between the two of them, as they had before. But there was a different energy than their previous session. The satyr's smile did not quite reach his eyes. Kathen was lost in thought, though not because of the game.
“Kathen,” Dicaeopolis prodded, “Your play.”
Kathen reached out a hand. Then retracted it.
Dicaeopolis sighed.
“Your head's not in it,” he said.
Kathen, after a moment, shook his head.
“You're thinking about the meeting, my friend,” Dicaeopolis said, “About what we're going to do.”
He nodded.
The satyr shrugged.
“First glassing?”
He sounded so calm and casual, but there was a hint of resignation in his voice, bitter and sad.
“When was yours?” Kathen asked.
“My dear friend, it's not like virginity,” Dicaepolis said, and he let out a false chuckle, “I jest, I jest. No. It was...”
And his eyes became distant.
“It was... Porphyrion,” he said, “During the war. Darwinists had rolled in, around ten years prior, and taken over, ruling through a proxy dictatorship. Was one of their major bases in the Elch-Dieran Paradigm. The locus of the entire front out there.”
“And they glassed it.”
“I was... I hadn't joined the guild then, but I had received the invitation,” Dicaeopolis said, “Poor Tom, you remember him? Poor Tom had suggested I join him with the Seventy Seventh. We watched from an observation platform as the Seventy Seventh blew the place to Tartarus.”
He shook his head, and when he sighed was not from fondness.
“And... you got rid of the Darwinists there,” Kathen said, carefully.
“The Darwinists. Their proxies. The rebels hiding out there. Our own forces, too, those we couldn't pull out in time. Everyone, and everything. Soldiers and civilians. The elders and the children. Porphyrion is gone now. All that's left is glass and ash.”
He looked at the game.
“I've seen three other glassings since,” he said, “The same story, each and every time. They all look exactly like the others. I couldn't tell Porphyrion apart from Imactuli, or Starland.”
Kathen looked at the game.
He moved a piece. His carrier, one of his last pieces remaining in the game. As before, Dicaepolis's ships outnumbered his. But the winning pieces, the Izmu'helat, were nowhere to be seen. Kathen had destroyed them, all of them, near the start of the game.
All, save for one, one of his own, floating with the rest of his meager fleet. Everything else were naught but simple ships, carriers and fighters, and even then Kathen had only one wing of those to the satyr's six.
So it was odd, then, to send the carrier forward. Without protection, with only its onboard cannons for defense.
“Are you... giving up?” Dicaepolis asked, “Making the sacrifice play?”
Kathen did not answer.
His Izmu’helat disappeared, lapsed into the warp.
His carrier opened fire. His wings surrounded it, as he had done before. Dicaeopolis’s forces fired off plasma in return, and the battlefield became alight with numbers and pixelated explosions.
And then the Izmu’helat re-appeared. Directly between Dicaeopolis’s forces. The auto-defenses on the satyr’s ships turned, started opening fire.
The Izmu’helat went down in a blaze, exploded, and its death was enough to take out half of Dicaeopolis’s fleet. Yet its presence was still there, and the ships kept firing at it. At each other, now that their main target was gone.
Kate’s last wing of fighters mopped up the rest.
The game ended. The two sat, staring.
Dicaepolis blinked.
Then smiled.
“You're a tricky devil, aren't you.”
Kathen smirked in response
It was his win.
His first, against Dicaeopolis.
“You're starting to learn,” he said, “Every piece is just a piece. The only one of value is the last one.”
Kathen nodded.
“As long as someone survives, that's what matters,” he said.
“Precisely,” Dicaeopolis said.
There was a way that his young friend stood. As though he had decided something. Something secret.
Something heretical.
Kathen made for the door.
“Oh, Kate?” Dicaepolis said.
Kate stopped.
“Mind how you go,” the satyr said, and he gave him a wink.
***
The Sovereign Melody's brig was spread across the entire first deck. A valley of steel, there were only a few true rooms, with walls and doors, desks and a few cots for the guards who patrolled the cavernous underbelly. The rest of the place was composed of looming metal poles, ten feet to a roof, before it repeated over and over until they struck the ceiling. Rayshields divided them into cells, and the natives were thrown into one. All five of them were huddled together, fearful eyes leering out at the blood red lights that walled them in. There were no guards here – the Sovereign Melody had no other prisoners, and the ship's manpower had been devoted to her repairs.
As such, Kathen Aru was alone as he stepped out of the lift and into the brig. He went down the electro-plasmatic halls, which hummed with his every step. His brow was furrowed, and he rolled his jaw as he came to them.
The leader of them, this Hadawa'ko, stood up from the others. Glared at Kathen. The young guildmember tilted his head, sighed. No doubt Hadawa'ko had come in good faith, that the High Federation could save his people, as Kathen had been taught was the right and just thing to do.
When you fight for others, you fight for the world.
The voice, Valm's face, came to Kathen like an electric shock. His mentor spoke of freedom. Of justice, and the weapons to wield it. He spoke of peace. Of goodwill.
And yet...
And yet he wanted to destroy these people.
“You,” he said, “Are you able to pilot a ship?”
“No,” Hadawa'ko replied, “I... I do not.”
“Autopilot, then,” Merry Curiosity said. Kathen paused at this. She was on his side. She hadn't ratted him out to Truthspeaker.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself,” Merry replied, “Are you... are you sure about this?”
Kathen looked at Hadawa'ko's pleading face, and in his mind he could see what would happen if he went down this path. The native would go free. He would warn the others, his people and the metahumans, of the carving path of the Sovereign Melody. They would know, quite precisely, where Pagan Chorus was going, and lay an ambush there.
His guildmates would die.
“Yes,” he said, “I'm sure.”
“Valm will be disappointed,” Merry said.
“I know,” Kate said, “But I don't care.”
He pressed a keypad, and the front rayshield blipped out. Hadawa'ko and the others looked at him with surprise.
“Come on,” he said, “Let's go.”
***
They moved as one through the halls. Merry requested permissions to the various camera programs on the ship, turning them off, or playing false footage, so that Kate and the others weren't spotted. They went manually down the ship, floor by floor, ramp by ramp, until they hit the floor that Hadawa'ko recognized. Despite the narrow sameness of the passages within the Sovereign Melody, this floor was different. It was more open.
“The hangar's down here,” Kate said, “Quick, follow...”
He stopped.
In front of him was one of his guildmates, a Plodiak, in the ship's uniform, a couple of miscellaneous tablets and machinery in hand.
The Plodiak looked at Kathen, who scrunched down, ready to pounce on him.
“Sairad Ghedir,” the Plodiak said, and he smiled at Kathen as though he were a close friend. With a conspiratorial wink, the Plodiak guided Kathen and the natives towards one of the ships.
It was the Point of No Return. Kathen winced at the name.
“Get in,” Kathen said, “Quick.”
The natives did so. Kathen was the last to enter, running up to the console and inputting commands. At least he was familiar with the Point of No Return's schematics. It even possessed a stealth drive, which he thrummed on.
He input the coordinates, before turning to Hadawa'ko.
“Alright, listen,” he said, “This thing here's on autopilot. It'll take you home.”
Hadawa'ko's eyes narrowed.
“When you're there, you tell everyone that the Sovereign Melody's going to glass the plane,” Kathen said, “Get as many people through the Traveling Point as you can.”
“We will not leave,” Hadawa'ko said.
“You have-” Kathen grimaced, looking away, “You have to.”
“Where does the glassing start?” Hadawa'ko said.
Kate's heart hammered. He could not...
“They're going to start at the largest place you've congregated,” he said, “The... center of the plane.”
Hadawa'ko, for a moment, looked confused.
Then his breath caught.
“I thank you,” he breathed, “I...”
He looked away, aghast.
The door closed. Kathen turned around.
“No one saw us?” he asked.
“No one,” Merry said, “There'll be a ruckus soon, though.”
Kathen nodded.
“We will not say anything, Sairad Ghedir,” the Plodiak said, and he smiled, as though in on a joke.
Kathen shook his head. More of that business. But he knew the Plodiak would keep their secret. There was a tone akin to reverence in his voice.
It disturbed him greatly.
But it was also a tool.
“Tell no one,” he said, “No one at all.”
He put a finger to his lips. The Plodiak mimicked the action, a sly smile on his face.
Kathen nodded, and returned to his room. He heard the Sovereign Melody lurch beneath him, the soft purr of her engine rumbling beneath his feet. She was taking off again.
…
…
Yet even then, the Point of No Return fired off like an arrow from the bow. Its stealth module was active, and it was as though it were naught but the invisible wind as it rushed away from the Sovereign Melody.
The warbird took off, bereft of one of her flock.