Darvik stood in the square before the amphitheater, just in front of the statue of Koo L’Koom and off to one side, his opponent opposite him. He was a Krauqian, though a relatively tall and thin one with smooth rather than warty skin, meaning he was likely from a different part of Krauqia than Hoon-Kra. Like Darvik, he wore a loose-fitting deep purple tunic and pants with a black sash around his waist, with red face paint around his eyes and a red, toothy maw painted around his mouth. It was clear by the way he held his sword he was no stranger to combat. Between Darvik and his opponent stood Hoon-Kra, holding up his hands to quiet the raucous crowd gathered on the stone steps.
“Praise to Koo L’Koom!” shouted the High Priest of Koomia.
“PRAISE!” roared the crowd, beginning a sequence of call and response.
“Praise to power!”
“PRAISE!”
“Praise to the victor!”
“PRAISE!”
“PRAISE TO KOO L’KOOM!”
“PRAISE!”
Hoon-Kra nodded his satisfaction and continued, “Today we honor Koo L’Koom, gathered before his idol.”
Darvik frowned. The word seemed oddly out of place. He thought of it as a statue, but he supposed it was indeed an idol. Up to now, the Koomites had felt like a philosophical group. Now it felt like a religion. He shook off the feeling. It was his religion now.
“One of these warriors will honor Koo L’Koom by a display of power,” declared Hoon-Kra. “The other will die knowing he was too weak to live.”
A devilish smile played across the high priest’s face. Darvik felt that he was seeing Hoon-Kra for the first time now. The Krauqian heir had played the part of the bored aristocrat for most of his life. Now he threw off that mask with relish, revealing the zealot beneath.
Hoon-Kra pulled himself up to his full height and inhaled deeply. “Warriors, begin!”
Darvik roared and sprinted towards his opponent, immediately putting him on his back foot. The Krauqian’s skillful defense kept Darvik from running him through, but he struggled to find an opening for a counter as Darvik’s flashing blade formed a veritable wall of steel.
Losing himself in the fight, Darvik felt free for the first time in years. For the first time since he’d fallen in with the gangs back in Kerucester.
As soon as the thought sprang up it destroyed the sensation of freedom. The smile that had been playing at his lips faded away and his face set. He pushed in against his opponent, slashing with increasing fury. Finally he caught an attempted parry at an awkward angle and his opponent's sword clattered to the ground. A thrust caused a dark bloom to emanate out from right above the Krauqian’s heart, but, despite his violent life outside the arena, Darvik was not used to thrusting to kill in a duel. After making contact, he pulled back out of habit. He stood, quietly watching his opponent.
“What are you doing, Darvik?” asked Hoon-Kra quietly. Then, more loudly, “To the death!”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Darvik stepped back, allowing his opponent to pick up his sword. Hoon-Kra’s face darkened, but he said nothing.
Fear in his eyes, the Krauqian duelist charged Darvik, hoping to gain the advantage this time around. However, he was simply outskilled and soon Darvik commanded the fight again. Hurt and enraged, his opponent made mistake after mistake. Something in Darvik tried to hold him back, but he pushed that down as well.
Another wild strike. Another masterfully executed parry. Another thrust to the chest, this time with followthrough. Darvik drew his sword back as the Krauqian slumped to the floor. For one horrible moment, Darvik saw Wilbis lying in a pool of blood.
“Lay him on the altar,” said Hoon-Kra.
Darvik looked up at the high priest in confusion. Then he obeyed. His opponent was still breathing shallowly as he picked him up, but was soon on the altar, still as the stone he lay on.
***
For the rest of the day, Crush and Yrinla wandered over the hills and forests of their peoples’ homeworld. As evening came, they made their way back to Crush’s star tree. Creatures that resembled a colorful mix between squirrels and bats flitted around the darkening tree tops, gnawing on the tiny, hard-rinded fruits that hung from some of the trees. One flitted down and landed on Crush’s shoulder. Its fur was a dark purple that would blend in with the grass of the prairies, but its back and bushy tail were striped with vibrant blues and greens. The creature folded its purple-black leathery wings and looked expectantly at Crush. Looking around, Crush found a fruit within reach and plucked it, handing it to the creature. It took it greedily and munched happily, remaining perched on Crush’s shoulder.
“They seem to like you,” said Yrinla.
Crush shrugged. “What’s one more strange surprise?”
She looked around the branches for a moment, idly plucking another fruit for her new companion.
“What’s it all mean, Priestess?” she asked finally.
“I do not know,” said Yrinla. “I came here looking for my people, not yours. If we have indeed found your people.”
“I know a core when I see one,” said Crush. “And it looked like it had been stuck in that cliff since time began, not like it crashed into this world some time in the past. Of course, a core crystal isn’t the same thing as a Robot. For some reason, the structure of the crystal seems to allow for sapience when integrated into an AI program. It’s never truly been understood.”
“We must try to locate any sapients still on this world,” said Yrinla, shaking her head. “Hopefully they will have answers to some of our questions.”
Soon the pair reached their star tree, the purple bat-squirrel still along for the ride.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“I have no food for you, shoo!” said Crush, brushing the creature off her shoulder.
Squeaking its protest, the creature fluttered to the ground and stared up at Crush for a moment before taking to the sky and returning to the treetops.
An alert was sounding aboard the tree, and Crush walked briskly over to the console.
“Admiral,” said Captain Hacksaw’s voice as she pressed play on the message. “The Wabuluban job went well, but we came back to trouble on our base of operations. The People’s Interplanetary Cooperative has set a beacon here. They’re demanding we leave. Tensions are high. Please respond as soon as possible.”
Crush’s fingers flew over the console’s controls and she sent a ripmed transmission to the Liberty.
“Admiral!” answered Hacksaw immediately. “Where are you? Why aren’t you here?”
“I had a mission of my own, Captain,” replied Crush. “Explain the situation, please.”
“As I said, the PIC showed up and claimed the planet,” spat Hacksaw. “They’ve given us a standard day to pack up and leave. Which we could, only this is clearly unjust. Do you want us to attack?”
“No, do nothing of the sort,” said Crush. “We have to play by the Code if we want to be taken seriously by the rest of the galaxy. I want you to take the Liberty, another gun ship and a support ship of your choice and set up shop on Gateway. Send Captain Tank and the rest of the fleet to me, along with any supplies needed to set up a beacon.”
“Understood, Admiral,” said Hacksaw bitterly.
“Captain,” said Crush in a warning tone. “Something big is going on here. On this world, I mean. I believe I found the source world of core crystals.”
Hacksaw threw up his hands, flabbergasted. “That’s- I mean- look, forgive me, Admiral, but as interesting as that is, how does it keep the FRF alive and growing?”
“Captain Hacksaw, I am asking you to trust me,” said Crush. “All of this means something.”
Hacksaw shook his head. “Forgive my honesty, Admiral, but you’re spending too much time with that Astralbian, and she’s making you into some kind of mystic. But you’ve earned my trust. I’ll do as you say.”
“Thank you, Hacksaw,” said Crush. “You’ve proven a worthy Captain. I will not take your advice lightly. But, for now, follow my lead on this.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Hacksaw.
***
A number of the exiled Shairet were now gathered on the shore of the algae-covered lake. Their clothes were more ragged than their counterparts in the lake village, and some were covered in some kind of tanned fish hides rather than the woven reeds that most wore.
Talon Squad had managed to communicate that they had come from the sky and knew the people in the lake village. Beyond that the conversation stalled rapidly.
“I was really hoping the whole ‘when you need it most’ bit of Rehkna’s prophecy would have kicked in here,” said Raivyn.
“Yeah,” said Vanbrook. “That’d be nice. However, it looks like we’re stuck with communicating the old-fashioned way, unless we can get a translator.”
“I speak some Shairet,” said Hrake.
“You what now?” asked Vanbrook incredulously.
“Speak some Shairet,” repeated Hrake. “I’ve been spending time with Chreep when possible, trying to learn his language. It’s more similar to Hrudukite than it is to Talpaertan. Shall I?” He gestured to the gathered exiles.
“Well, um, by all means,” said Raivyn.
Hrake walked up to the first exile who had approached them and began speaking in the shrill chirps and cheeps of the Shairet language. After a moment of halting conversation, Hrake turned to Talon Squad.
“She says her name is Kiap, and that they would offer us fruit if they had any to spare. They have watched our kind over the last few months, but tried to avoid making contact. She then said she was surprised that anyone can live in the skies and asked if we used the storm clouds like lakes. I tried to explain that we come from another world, but I’m not sure she grasped the concept. I can say from experience it’s a strange thought to understand.”
“Can you ask them what they need?” asked Raivyn earnestly. “Tell them we come from a nation that respects psychics. They don’t have to be exiles anymore.”
Hrake turned back to Kiap and relayed the message. After a few more halting exchanges, he translated. “She wonders how the mad can be respected. She says no one has ever gotten through their defenses before. Or something like that.”
“Don’t they want… friends?” asked Raivyn, searching for the words but not finding them. “Acceptance?”
Hrake shook his head. “I’m not sure I can get this across, but I’ll try.”
During the exchange, Hrake’s face contorted with concern. Raivyn thought she made out a few syllables of Shairet, but it seemed impossible.
“She says it’s not safe,” said Hrake. “She says Koo L’Koom is coming soon.”
So she had heard correctly. Koo L’Koom. Things were starting to click.
“So the psychics’ madness is caused by Koo L’Koom?” she asked.
Hrake spoke with the exile again, nodding as she responded.
“Yes,” he said. “Koo L’Koom passes by this area from time to time. His passing is unpredictable, but typically occurs… I don’t know the numbers, but it sounds like he’s due back soon.”
“We’ll have to ask Chreep about the timing,” said Raivyn with a shrug. “But I think I understand the madness better now. I think it’s what I experienced when the aether squid attacked the Wingspan.”
“Hard to imagine what would have happened if D’Jarric hadn’t been there,” offered Vanbrook.
The lead exile spoke a few words.
“She asks us to please leave if we have no more questions,” said Hrake. “They wish to be left alone.”
Raivyn nodded. “Let’s pack it up. I don’t want to wear out our welcome.”
She turned to get into the ATUC, and then her face paled. A storm of red beams fell from the sky, a full thirty seconds going by before the chorus of booming concussions reached their position.
“Again!?” groaned Vanbrook.
“That was the lake!” shouted Reclan.
“Come on, everyone, let's go!” commanded Raivyn. They hopped into the ATUC and Raivyn floored it, leaving the exiles standing around the lake.
The Shairet wondered what they had just seen and watched the strangers disappear in a cloud of dust. Then they walked back into their small lake and hid from the world.
***
Jasken was enjoying a quiet lunch in his office when the Wingspan shook like it had been struck with a massive sledgehammer. Nearly throwing his sandwich as he jumped from his seat, he rushed up to the bridge, nearly falling down the stairs as another strike landed.
“DEKKEN, TALK TO ME!” he shouted into his comm.
“The Astralbians are back, Admiral!” cried Dekken. “There’s clearly more this time. I’ve switched on travel shields, but I’m not sure how much more we can take!”
Stumbling onto the bridge as another blast nearly took his feet out from under him, Jasken looked out to see the airfield smoldering, a number of ships reduced to slag. A final blow landed on top of the Wingspan and the ship went dark.