Clarity's Dawn Page 17

  Sax turns from his downed target to see Bas splitting apart the other guard’s miner, a scorch mark on her right shoulder. The Sisters, meanwhile, are running away with Eneks, rolling across the grass towards their building.

  It’s a futile effort.

  “You’ll stop, or you’ll die,” Sax hisses as he catches up to them, the Flaum’s miner in his right midclaw. The weapon’s not made for Oratus hands, but at this range, accuracy doesn’t matter so much. He’ll just spray lasers until they submit, or burn.

  They choose the former, huddling up together and staring at their new captor. Eneks fades from his blue color to a sickly purple, and picks at his feathers while his bulbous eyes blink. Sax isn’t used to having hostages. The normal Oratus position is that an enemy is better off dead, preferably eaten. Not captive.

  The Sisters, apparently, can see his hesitance.

  “What will you do now?” L’Renee asks. “Keep us here until your Vincere comes anyway and takes you away?”

  “Or will you shoot us and wind up the same?” N’Ollene adds.

  “We’ll do neither,” Bas replies, stepping up beside Sax.

  She’s not wielding a miner, but there’s also no sign of the Flaum she tangled with. Either it’s as dead as Sax’s, or she’s chased it off. Either way, the odds of the Sisters and their Vyphen pal making it away alive are growing dimmer.

  “This station must have some defenses, yes?” Bas asks.

  “Nothing major.” Eneks hazards a reply. “It’s not meant for fighting.”

  “But to ward off pirates? Certainly a place like this is a raid target.”

  Again the Sisters squirm, patter towards each other.

  “Speak so we all can hear,” Sax says.

  “We have weapons,” L’Renee says. “But they’re not for you to use.”

  “Never anyone but us,” N’Ollene adds.

  “You’ll use them, then, to shoot the next shuttle they send,” Bas says. “We’ll get them to send it, and then you’ll destroy it. And everything that comes after.”

  The Sisters laugh. Eneks even looks confused.

  “You think they’ll leave? The Vincere will never go away if we fire on them. They’ll simply attack in greater and greater numbers until there’s nothing left of this station.”

  Bas shrugs her claws. “That’s your future. This is your now. Either you take us to the weapons and fire them, or you die here. If you want, you can blame the attack on us.”

  There’s not much debate after that. The Sisters roll off across the garden, with Eneks and the Oratus following. Until they reach the building, which is far too small for any Oratus to enter. The Sisters, though, scramble inside before Sax can react.

  Bas grabs Eneks before the Vyphen can try to run, leaving Sax to make the obvious threat. Either the Ooblots do as they’ve agreed, or their beloved servant becomes a messy stain in the middle of their garden.

  “We’re not running,” L’Renee’s voice comes from inside the building. “The only way to arm the station is in here.”

  “Where nobody else can get it,” N’Ollene adds.

  “Hold him?” Sax asks Bas.

  “He’s not going anywhere. Right, Eneks?”

  The Vyphen shakes his head, feathers ruffling wildly. Sax takes the cue to jump on top of the building, where he tracks the Ooblots through the translucent roof, watches them shift through one room after another until they get to the back, to a small room where, after Sax digs his claws into the ceiling and pulls it off, he can see an array of terminals.

  “What did you just do?” L’Renee protests.

  “He’s ruined our home!” N’Ollene says.

  “Making sure you do as you’re supposed to,” Sax replies. “Tell them you’ve caught us. Have them send the shuttle towards the airlock.”

  The Sisters do as asked. It’s Lan’s voice on the receiving line, and she says a pickup will be on its way shortly. If both Lan and Gar are on that shuttle... getting ambushed and blown up in space isn’t a good Oratus death either.

  Sax flicks back towards Bas, whose still holding Eneks and looking bored with it. He has to protect her, just as she protects him. Sax tells the Sisters to go ahead, to arm the weapons.

  He’s going to start a war to save himself.

  19 Captive Souls

  The inside is long, wide, and unbroken. And I recognize it. These are the same pools Ignos had me making back in Damantum - frothing purple liquid with textured lips to allow for easy in-and-out access. Only where we were building two or three, here there are easily a twenty, if not more.

  The space is crowded too - all sorts of species are being herded around by Sevora-hosted Flaum and Whelk. Everyone’s being pushed into various lines, though our Flaum guards keep us away from the rest of the throng and take us to the far end.

  “No common Sevora for you,” the Flaum leader continues. “You’ll be receiving the best of hosts, experienced and capable. You should be honored.”

  “It’s never an honor to lose your freedom,” Malo replies.

  “Then think of it as sacrifice, if you prefer,” the Flaum replies. “What you’re doing here is only going to help your people. By submitting to the Sevora, you will save them, either from yourselves or from the rest of a hungry, brutal galaxy.”

  “Is that the pitch you make to everyone?” Viera asks.

  “Because it’s not very good,” I add. “You should try talking up the miracles you’ll be giving us. How we’ll never starve, how we won’t need to worry about making our own choices, how we’ll never have to want for anything ever again.”

  The Flaum stares at me for a moment, trying to decide if I’m joking or being serious.

  “Or can the Sevora not grant all of our wishes?” I finish.

  “We will change your wishes, and then grant them,” the Flaum replies.

  That’s clearly enough talking for him, as he turns and heads along the outer edge of the pools, and his guards push us along after him.

  As we go, I look to the right and see a lanky Teven slowly walk towards a pool, its tiny limbs sticking out from the long reed serving as its central body. It hesitates about halfway across the pearly flagstones and a Flaum comes up behind it, reaches out with a clawed hand and pushes the Teven forward.

  The Teven whirls at the touch and for a second I think it’s going to mount some kind of resistance, but then the Flaum raises his miner and the Teven decides not to risk its life in the face of the laser cannon. It turns, wades into the pool and disappears beneath the purple waters.

  “How many do you take every day?” I ask the Flaum, because I’m realizing if I don’t talk, then I might panic.

  “Thousands across Vimelia are exchanged every day,” the Flaum replies, once again falling into his boastful tone. “Whether we’re recycling old hosts, integrating new ones, or trading rom one Sevora to another to better match needs, the Sevora are always in motion.”

  I first met Ignos in a crashed pod outside my tribe, deep in the jungle. When I approached its ship, thinking it was a rock, it opened and, inside, was an inky liquid much like what I see in these pools. I went in, and gained what I thought was a god, what was in fact a creature determined to spread its parasitic race across my world. Here, though, the event seems so commonplace. As if giving up everything to another species is as normal as cooking breakfast or running through the trees.

  It twists my stomach into tight knots, and I take a hard swallow to get my breath back. Feel Malo’s hand touch my arm lightly and breathe easier for it. I’m not alone this time.

  There’s no line for our pool, and as we approach, the Flaum asks us who ought to go first.

  Malo volunteers immediately, but I shut him down.

  “Let me,” I say. “I’ve done this before, and I know what to expect. If something’s wrong, I’ll be able to deal with it.”

  “Nothing will go wrong,” the Flaum says, nodding across the hall. “This is the most common thing we do. It’s the very core of
who the Sevora are. Now, get in and submit.”

  There’s not much in the way of ceremony for entering a Sevora pool. The Flaum don’t care if I keep on my clothes - I don’t know if they realize I’m wearing a mask - and they don’t blow horns, flash lights, or do anything other than watch me with their hands close to their miners.

  Malo and Viera watch me too, of course, though their faces are etched with concern. Even though this is part of the plan, we all know it’s not going to be pleasant.

  The flagstones are cool to the touch, and everything glows somewhat in the clear light filtering in from the roof, which is a translucent cover that provides a frankly amazing view of all those intertwining spires. Not for the first time I’m surprised at how much beauty these terrible things can create.

  I get up to the edge and look into the purple. It’s too dark to see below the surface, the water quickly getting to the level of a deep twilight. There’s clearly current too - either that or the Sevora themselves make the ripples caressing the surface.

  “Get in,” the Flaum barks from behind me. “Your master needs its host.”

  Apparently that’s the cue. I take the order and step forward, expecting there to be a step but there isn’t one. It’s just a cliff. I overbalance, send out a yelp, and splash into the pool.

  That’s me, always dignified.

  I try to swim, but the liquid is heavy, pulling me down. As though I’m trying to shove against the same thick muck that coated the sewers. Every stroke tightens my muscles and leaves me sinking, to the point where I wonder if I’ll just drown in here.

  The thought dies a swift death as I feel a tickling touch around my head. I try to lift a hand to brush it away, but the ink is too thick down here, too heavy. I can’t even get my arm up that high. Not that it matters anyway - Sapphrite’s big design gets to work before the probing Sevora can realize my mask is blocking it.

  The sign comes when the ink around me starts to shift color, to bloom into a sickly orange as the coating on my hair reacts with the nourishing chemicals in the ink and grows. Spreads its viral haze through the pool.

  At once the tickling touch vanishes - if Sapphrite’s creation works, that same virus should be devouring the Sevora now, gobbling up the thin-skinned parasite and spreading from this pool to the others.

  Of course, the mask protects me from the virus too. Its protection is what made Malo, Viera, and I such perfect vessels for the delivery. As it is, though, I’m stuck at the bottom of a massively growing collection of voracious cells, and I can’t lift myself out.

  There’s a shift next to me and I see the Flaum guard’s gray-metal stick slash through the thick orange like a black line. I’m able to get my hands around it, the mask protecting me from the rough edges, and I feel myself start to rise.

  Like a parting film, the orange gives way as I reach the surface to total chaos. Shouts pour in through the mask, coupled with far-off bangs.

  Clarity’s Dawn is beginning their part of the deal.

  Malo grabs my arm and pulls me the rest of the way out, and I get my first look at what’s happening to the rest of the pools.

  Sapphrite said the bacteria would spread fast, hopefully fast enough to outrun any seals the Sevora could enact. Right now, more than half of the pools are turning orange as the stuff eats its way through the pipes that apparently connect them all.

  Sevora-controlled guards are running around in a panic, heading for panels or just fleeing entirely as captive species realize they have a sudden chance to be free.

  “They will seize their opportunity,” Sapphrite said back down below. “They will fight back once they’ve seen what’s coming for them.”

  In this case, anyway, the Amigga is right. After seeing what waits in those pools, and with the guards distracted, Teven, Whelk, Flaum and others rush either towards exits or towards their captors, angling to pull miners from their hands.

  But not all of them. Some simply stand still, looking around, vacant-eyed and lost.

  “We’ve got to go,” Viera says, and I turn away from the scene to see my friend with both of her miners drawn, picked up from a pile of taken tools and weapons meant to be directly returned once a Sevora has taken control of their new host.

  There’s only one exit from the building that I can see, and it’s crowded with bodies and the flashes of miners, though whether the attacks are coming from Sevora or not, I can’t tell.

  “Not that way.” I point back behind the tubes, towards a set of maintenance doors, where some of the Sevora guards had disappeared. “They won’t be expecting us to head through the back.”

  At first, at least, nobody stops us. With Viera leading and Malo watching behind, the three of us break around the long pool towards those doors. They’re smaller than human entries, smaller too than the ones on Cobalt, which must have been sized with Oratus in mind. These are simple squares about two meters high, plenty tall for a Flaum but Malo has to duck under as we head through them.

  That the doors open straight away surprises me, until I remember that the Sevora operate by absolute authority. Why bother with security when everyone on the planet ought to be under your iron-fisted control?

  Beyond the door I expect to find hallways, but instead it’s another open area, and what I see is horrifying: rows and rows of stunned species clumped together. Bodies of Flaum, Whelk and others piled on one another, though they’re all seemingly still alive. Still breathing, though they barely move.

  “You’re a host for so long, you don’t know how to be free,” Viera says, and even her light voice carries lead at the sight.

  “This, this is what happens?” I say the words knowing neither of them can answer, knowing that I’m seeing it all spread before me.

  There are shallow pools on this side too - much smaller, and many of the bodies are clustered outside of them. Where the Sevora must evacuate their hosts before heading to the other side for new ones. No secret why they’d want to keep these pools hidden , either - any captive looking at these bodies would get a very different idea of what it means to be a Sevora host.

  And that’s when I realize why some of the Sevora guards went this way - there are so many listless souls here that if someone roused them to fight, they could overwhelm this whole building and more.

  “Hundreds and hundreds of them,” Malo whispers.

  “Come on,” I finally muster. “We can’t just watch or the Sevora will realize we’re not taken. Let’s go.”

  20 Inciting Rebellion

  The shot fires - a blast of bright white hot energy streaking out towards the approaching Oratus shuttle. Just when it’s about to hit, the white bolt diffuses into a series of thin crackles and scatters around the ship without any apparent damage.

  “Dispersion shields,” Bas hisses. “They suspected.”

  “How could they not? Two Ooblots catching two Oratus?” Eneks says. “Especially ones like yourselves?”

  Sax watches the shuttle continue its approach, heading in towards the garden’s airlock. If the ship had its shields running - something that drained plenty of energy, and not worth doing if you didn’t suspect an attack - then it followed that whatever waited inside that shuttle would be strong enough to take Sax and Bas by force.

  “Fire again,” Sax orders, and the Ooblots carry out the order.

  Another white bolt lances out, another white bolt dissipates into nothing.

  “You only have one cannon on this station?” Sax says.

  “Only one that we’re willing to use,” Eneks replies. “Try to kill us if you want, but if we make enemies of the Vincere, then we are most definitely dead.”

  “We need to run, Sax,” Bas says. “Back to Plake, maybe? Force her to take us away?”

  Sax is shaking his head before Bas is done talking. He’s had enough of negotiations. Enough deals and dancing around. There’s only one way he wants to get out of this - Sax wants to fight, to win, to get back who he is.

  “Eneks, where is the nearest comm
unications array?” Sax hisses and the Vyphen points towards another room in the Ooblot’s short building.

  “What are you doing?” L’Renee asks.

  “It can’t be good!” N’Ollene adds.

  Sax clomps over the roof, tears off the cover of the room with his claws, then steps into the space. The terminals are set low, but Sax can still tap the screens, still open a channel to the oncoming shuttle.

  “This is Sax, your target,” Sax rasps into the speakers inset in the terminal’s base.

  “You’re wanted for suspected rebellion against the Chorus,” the voice that comes back is watery, a Whelk. “You’re ordered to stand down and await our arrival. Any further attempts at attack from the station will be returned with lethal force.”

  “Torching an entire station for two Oratus seems brutal, even by our standards,” Sax says.

  “We follow our orders, unlike you.”

  “I follow my conscience.” Sax cuts the communication. Flips the channel to broadcast through the station. “Scrapper Station, the Vincere is declaring that anyone on this station who does not submit for an interrogation, who does not give themselves up and face whatever crimes they may be guilty of, will be shot dead.”

  He takes a breath. Looks back at Bas, who gives him the nod.

  A lie that might cause many to die.

  A lie that might let the Oratus live.

  “We’ve chosen to fight back. Any who stand with us, who want to survive, find your weapons, form up, and find your courage. Scrapper Station will not bow to oppression!”

  Inciting innocents to rebel isn’t something Sax has ever done before, and being up in the garden, away from those same people, makes it hard to discern what effect he’s had, if any. The key, though, is that he added an open channel to that last broadcast, sent it flying out into space.

  To the Vincere frigate, to the shuttle.

  If there’s guilt to be had in potentially setting up a fight between people who could have avoided it, Sax kills it with the sure knowledge that anyone on Scrapper Station is likely avoiding lawful work anyway. Everyone here has something to hide, someone to scam, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to survive.