“Take me to the room where Serra had been held.”
Osar said as he gestured for Jurub and the Jakkata pilot to walk in front of him, following the pair as they moved through the corridor from the bridge. He kept a particularly wary eye on the mercenary, knowing from past encounters with members of the species just how dangerous they could be, even unarmed as Jurub appeared to be. He was not unduly worried though, as the mercenary’s reaction to Luna’s appearance earlier would seem to indicate that Jad Eric’s control of an Ark was a significant check on any resentment or hostile feelings that the Immuran might have been harboring.
The alien’s reaction was just another mystery added to the many that already surrounded the Jad-Os and the other humans with him, which only solidified Osar’s conviction that giving his Life Oath had been the right thing to do: Ifni alone knew what other places and revelations his association with the Jad-Os would bring him, but now he was fully committed to finding out.
Case in point was this stellar vessel they had captured: The more modern void ship designs were particularly rare here in the Southern regions of the galaxy, even before the Dark Sun Cataclysm occurred. It was just too far away from Imperial Center and the more settled worlds where the most advanced vessel models were conceived and designed. This ship was very likely already more than a century old, but even Osar’s untrained eye could already see improvements in the corridor panel design, section support and alignment, and even the distribution and placement of the illumination strips and globes. It was new and innovative, appearing significantly more advanced than those found aboard the Predator. Before he could be completely distracted by his musings Osar shook his head, bringing himself back to go over the tasks that Eric had assigned him while the rest of the team investigated the bridge.
“See what you can learn about this ship, its passengers, and whatever goods it might be carrying.” The Jad had commanded, his eyes flashing with barely-suppressed excitement as he spoke the last statement, and it had taken much of Osar’s self-control to restrain himself to a single smile instead of laughing out loud. After two months of living together, Serra’s habit of mocking the Jad-Os anytime an aspect of his Flaw showed had rubbed off on everyone on the team, helped along by the Jad’s laughing along with his companions.
Osar’s participation in the teasing of his Jad had always been more muted though, since System Flaws were tricky things, still not truly understood despite generations of attempted study by savants and System-scholars. The fact that most people with Flaws didn’t advertise their existence also contributed to the lack of understanding regarding the matter. Still, scholars being scholars, that wasn’t enough to stop them from making at least some generalizations: Over time, the general consensus that had emerged was that Flaws were a means of compensating for something unbalanced that the System had somehow introduced into an adept’s Gens Schema. How or why such a ‘mistake’ could occur was another matter of scholarly conjecture altogether.
Finally, his two guides arrived at the wide doors of the converted examination room which slid open smoothly when Jurub placed his hand over the keypad by the entrance. Osar followed the parolees inside, taking care to examine the room’s contents and layout as he stepped through the threshold.
What struck him most was the heat and humidity within the room. Because only his head was exposed while the rest of his body was protectively enclosed within his battlesuit, the room’s ambient conditions were little more than an inconvenience to Osar, but he noticed that beads of sweat immediately broke out along Jurub’s almost completely unclad body while the metal-encased Jakkata beside him gave a low whine of complaint through its suit’s speaker.
“Can you adjust the room’s temperature friend Jurub?”
The Immuran nodded, its long face already sheened with sweat. “Issurath, adjust temperature in Medical Bay to Fergao Surface Standard.”
[Acknowledge command Seb Jurub,] The Issurath’s Vessel Interface responded, its tone pleasant while remaining distant and impersonal. [Temperature and humidity lowering to Fergao Surface Standard.]
“You still have control over the VI?” Osar asked the mercenary, his hand ready on the notch on his gauntlet’s ring finger that provided access to his spatial ring. Jurub’s intense dark eyes registered the motion, a pink tongue flickering out to touch black lips.
“Nurixan gave me access friend Osar,” The mercenary said, choosing his words carefully, making an effort to keep his voice even and controlled. For his part Osar kept his gaze on the man steady, his features immobile except for his slowly moving chin fronds. “I have it until a new owner claims the ship.”
“It would be… unfortunate, if any accidents happened while you had control, yes?” Osar growled. Er-Ra-Lo, who had drifted to a corner, let out a short, distressed groan.
Jurub bowed, outwardly unperturbed by Osar’s threat. “Ifni watches, friend Osar.”
“And Ifni chooses our time.” Osar finished the mercenary’s aphorism, giving the man an appreciative smile. Deliberately turning away, Osar surveyed the contents of the room before walking towards the door that the Jad had said contained the three prisoners he and Serra had taken earlier. Jurub followed him, careful to keep at least a pace behind.
“What can you tell me of the other passengers on this ship?”
“Aside from me, the pilot, and Lor… umm, Nurixan, there were only three other people not placed within the confinement rooms.” Jurub answered immediately. “The Falwan savant is named Ranla, and she was placed in charge of Ajela and Tobaq, the two Gens-less Mayarad slaves we captured from that unclaimed Dungeon world.”
Osar stopped in his tracks, a rush of excitement catching him by surprise.
“Dungeon world?” He managed to say after a few moments to process the new information. The mercenary standing before him nodded once, his expression serious.
“Untouched, unclaimed, unexploited as far as we know…”
“And you have the coordinates?”
“Probably in the ship logs… but surely also somewhere among Nurixan’s belongings.”
“I see.”
Osar reached out and pressed his palm onto the touchpad on the side of the door. The metal panel slid upward smoothly, revealing the three captives cowering at the back of the small room. Osar looked them over with an experienced eye.
The savant Ranla was a Chwer, one of the three primary Falwan subraces recognizable by their deep green dark-striped skin and large expressive eyes. The Chwer were swamp-dwellers as opposed to the Galpa, who had developed in their home planets upland rainforests and the smaller, rarer Timrin, who lived in the rocky, hilly regions of the planet’s isolated mountain ranges. Osar had once spent a standard month as a guard aboard a Falwan creche-ship looking to establish a satellite colony and had gained something of an understanding of the species and their customs.
The two avian xenoforms however were something new altogether.
They were smaller and more soberly plumaged than the Orribians, another avian xenoform, and certainly less physically intimidating than the Hura. They appeared to be timider too, which was somewhat to be expected of the smaller avian xenoforms, with both individuals trying their best to hide behind the bulk of the larger Falwan.
“Do you mean us harm, Urgan?” The Falwan asked immediately upon spotting him, splaying her webbed hands to keep the avians safely behind her.
“Not at the moment, Rujket.” Osar replied cheerfully, using the Falwan word for a tribal broodmother, a term of respect. Ranla visibly relaxed at his words despite blinking rapidly in surprise, and she stood straighter. “What is one like you doing so far from the spawning grounds of the mighty Rut-Guarai?”
Ranla blinked rapidly, and her body trembled, though Osar could not tell if it was due to relief or to fear. “What do you know of the Gatherings, friend Urgan? And how?”
“That is a tale for a different time Rujket,” Osar redirected, motioning the three captives to come forward. “For now, I need you to give the Oath of Parole while standing surety for these Mayarad, Gens-less as they are. After that… well, we will see where you and your wards can be useful.”
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Jurub’s attention snapped to him and Osar almost chuckled aloud, knowing what the adept was thinking: The Jad-Os had not asked for the Oath of parole, or any other System Oath for that matter, from the Jurub, which was not unusual, especially if the captive adept was remarkably weaker than the adept who captured them. What was unusual, was demanding an Oath from a non-combatant, who would have been more likely asked to sign a System-enforced binding contract or some other means of control. That the reason why no such measures had been implemented was because the Jad was a newcomer to this Universe would probably never cross the mercenary’s mind. However, now that Osar was asking a savant to give the Oath of Parole, the unique situation opened up a whole different set of questions and concerns for the other prisoners.
Osar watched, a slight smile on his face, as Jurub mentally worked through the implications of Osar’s actions, his spirits soaring when he finally saw the fox-faced alien’s eyes widen in sudden comprehension mixed with a healthy amount of terror when he finally understood: By galactic convention and custom so old that it was virtually law, any combatant who had not sworn the Oath of Parole could still be regarded as hostile, classing them as combatants who technically could still be killed with impunity. That Osar now made Ranla speak the Oath while not requiring the same from Jurub, or even Er-Ra-Lo, was clearly a sign that he still considered the two as enemy combatants, foes to be cut down at the slightest sign of provocation.
Apparently oblivious to all that was occurring beneath the surface, the Falwan savant made as if to protest, but when Osar turned to her after a moment, something about the calm, waiting expression on his face made her reconsider. Defeated, the savant swallowed in acceptance, her throat sacks bulging briefly, before bowing her head and extending her hands. Osar came forward and took hold of them, noting the coolness of her smooth, mottled skin as well as the flutter of her racing pulse. Bobbing her head, Ranla recited the Oath of Parole.
“I swear by the System and under Ifni’s gaze to accept all terms of reasonable surrender, and to forego retribution or rebellion, until such time that the Oath is lifted or the terms are violated as put forth in the System Guide.”
Osar nodded as the Falwan finished, accepting her parole as he recited the ritual phrases.
“I, Osar Baratuu of the Dagyam Urgan Gene-line, take your Oath as Oath-Sworn to Jad-Os Eric Rama of the Obsidian Moon. I swear by the System and under Ifni’s gaze to honor your Parole and extend you peace and mercy, so long as you abide by the tenets of the Oath as put forth in the System Guide.”
There was a short pause before suddenly he and Ranla were enveloped by silvery, opalescent light. A deep-toned bell sounded, and a bright white window appeared before Osar.
Oath of Parole accepted between Osar Baratuu and Ranla Ruk-Thaga Ruk-Chwer.
Violations of the Oath will result in severe penalties for the Oath Breaker
Just as Osar dismissed the window the room’s outer door slid open, revealing the one-armed, heavily-armored bulk of Jad Eric blocking the doorway, right arm extended and pointing at Jurub.
“You, ser Jurub: Walk us through the bounties in stasis.” Eric said curtly as the forms of the two other Terrans appeared behind him briefly before continuing down the corridor. He then turned to Osar. “Jadosi, do what you can to settle the rest of the detainees then follow after.”
Osar gave his Jad a nod while Jurub hooted in assent, before ducking his head respectfully in Osar’s direction as he exited the room.
Osar turned back to Ranla.
“Make what preparations you need to help reattach my Jad’s arm,” Ranla blinked slowly, a slow, dark flush spreading across her skin as she relaxed. “Mes Jakobin will be doing the primary healing with you assisting.” His voice lowered, carrying more than a hint of a growl as he continued. “I trust there will be no untoward incidents during the operation?”
“I have worked on human subjects before, Urgan,” Ranla sniffed disdainfully, much of her timidity disappearing like ice on a docked void-striker fuselage now that she was under the Oath’s protection and tasked with doing something well within her area of expertise. “If something happens, it will be no fault of mine.”
“Good.”
The other three sapients in the room were looking at him, awaiting their own fates. Osar grinned, the sudden baring of teeth eliciting a squawk of alarm from one of the Mayarad.
“Er-Ra-Lo, you must remain in this room for the time being, yes?” He said, addressing the pilot who was huddled miserably in one corner of the room.
“Stay I will…” The mechanical voice said a moment later, lights playing over its chest display. “You no hurt, no harm, no run away.”
“No harm shall come to you,” Osar said earnestly, speaking slowly to make sure the pilot understood. After a while, the Jakkata quieted down, looking for all intents as if it had fallen asleep. Osar turned his attention to the Mayarad, both of whom were still cautiously positioned behind Ranla.
“Can you take those collars off them Rujket?” Osar asked. Reflexively, the smaller, brighter colored avian tugged at the band around its thin neck.
“Only the Bolseq had the key, Ser Baratuu,”
“Figures,” Osar muttered with a grimace. “Then they’ll just have to stay on for a little while more.”
Ranla nodded, as the two Mayarad exchanged an excited burst of chirps and hoots between them. Osar straightened up, taking one last look around.
“Make your preparations, tidy up, and keep out of the way: We’ll be gathering later to discuss what all of us will be doing regarding the future, agreed?”
“Yes.” Ranla said, bobbing slightly in her species equivalent to a bow.
With a final warning look, Osar turned and walked out of the room to catch up to his teammates.
The moment Osar stepped onto the wide synth-stone slabs of the first deck corridor he felt the hand of Fate bearing down on him.
He stopped, stunned by the sudden feeling of weightiness that gripped at his chest and throat.
He could see the small knot of his people gathered around the pale form of Jurub, looking into one of the stasis pods and talking in low voices. Gritting his teeth, while sweat beaded over his brow, Osar managed to make a few steps forward before being forced to stop, his hand on the surface of one of the pods. Breathing harshly, Osar turned his head, his eyelids fluttering as he looked through the large clear glass window in the middle of the doorway. Inside was a Deral, bipedal humanoid species with leathery gray-green skin, bristles for hair, a pair of large, slightly bulging eyes, and a wide mouth filled with broad, flat teeth. This one looked to be some sort of mechanic, wearing grease-stained overalls, a tool-belt and heavy boots.
There was a small, ruby-red information bead suspended about an inch from the pod door’s surface, held in place by a magnetic anchor. Curious, despite the heaviness that he was feeling, Osar touched the bead with a black-nailed finger. With a hum, a hardlight screen appeared, holding to the right of the window, canted slightly so he could see, showing a standard Imperial bounty poster:
Madi-Rov el-Ket, enar-Sakovta
Wanted by: The HavGal Shipping Company
Wanted for: Theft of Company Property
Threat Level: Minimal
Reward: 50,000 Imperial Marks
If captured, remand to the nearest Imperial Security Office
Additional: HavGal will redeem any and all possessions and stasis devices found on the fugitive pending inspection and verification by a Company representative.
It was the typical low-level bounty post, similar to the hundreds that Osar had cut his teeth on after he had left the Legions. He had spent a few years chasing down bounties before deciding that the risks were simply not worth the rewards and transitioning to beast hunting instead. At least the beasts he hunted were somewhat predictable compared to a xenoform on the run.
Osar touched the bead again, dismissing the hardlight screen.
He pushed himself away from the pod door, the weight of his battlesuit pressing down on his shoulder, slowing his steps. Gritting his teeth, Osar lurched forward with determination, every step a struggle, making his way to where his companions and Jurub were now clustered.
Standing in front of the last and biggest door at the far end of the corridor.
Moving in subjective slow-motion, Osar watched in silent dread as Jurub pressed his palm on the door lock and opened the final chamber.
Osar’s eyes flashed with bright light, seeing his companions, and inexplicably, even Jurub limned in red and gold flames. The fire blazed in intensity, searing into his brain, but the conflagration at the entrance of the chamber was like a bonfire beside the solar corona that seemed to flicker with ominous and wondrous fire around the man held captive within the room.
Then the inferno of light and fire was gone, as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving Osar blinking in sudden darkness, relieved of Fate’s burden as the normal state of reality crashed back around him.
He did not remember walking the last few meters to the doorway.
Inside, the man who Nurixan had captured was suspended by wrist-thick cables carved with glyphs, while rotating black and red mandala’s of aetheric script orbited his body in a ritually prescribed pattern, shooting bolts of what looked like very painful energy into the prisoner’s body in precisely calculated but distinctly randomized intervals. In addition, every five seconds a flash of aetheric light would wash over the prisoner’s body, making it twitch and shudder, their power originating from an aetheric core extractor that, judging by the force and intensity of its emanations, was probably linked directly to the Issurath’s engine room and its Dungeon core-powered primary power plant.
His entrance into the room made the others turn towards him, eliciting gasps of surprise at his sweat-soaked and pale-skinned appearance.
“Osar, what…!” Eric began in alarm as Osar shoved his way past Cid and Jurub.
“Jad-Os,” Osar said hoarsely, grabbing at his Jad’s uninjured arm. He breathed deeply, trying to steady himself, his normally stoic face pale and drawn with his chin fronds hanging limp and seeming lifeless with shock. “Jad-Os… we must free this man… he is, will be, you need him by your… I mean we need him on our side.”
Osar watched Eric take in what he had babbled as he tried to catch his breath and calm his nerves, unsettled by what his Seeker’s Gaze had shown him. In return the Jad studied his face for a long minute, needing the time to make sense of what had just been said. Then, the man’s lined face and expression shifted, resolve hardening his gaze, as he nodded acceptance of Osar’s words.
“Jurub,” His Jad-Os commanded, looking towards the mercenary.
“Yes, Commander.”
“Free this prisoner.”