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THE NEVERVERSE
BOOK TWO
THE ASHES OF EDEN
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley
Prologue
A chill wind hunted across the plateau of broken buildings and empty streets that cut to the bone and whispered of long-past glory. Tar’nar ignored the howling wind outside the protection of the vast dead metropolis. This city had died long before the rise of the multiverse, spanning Ellin Empire, and the creation of humans.
Not that any of that mattered here, for few lived on the surface now to keep a watch on The Great Seal.
Frowning at a group of heavily armed Ellin troops near an ancient jump ship, Tar’nar mounted the steps leading up into a wind-scoured amphitheater. The markings on the ship were clearly those of the E’nu, but just where the elders of the E’nu order truly resided, not even his aunt Tilisa knew. It was her ship that brought Tar’nar to Vim’us, that was true, but it was not her commanding it. A group of inner-circle fanatics had piloted the destroyer to this distant world, yet unlike his first visit, Tar’nar had retained his gate.
Which means they finally trust me, Tar’nar thought, pausing at the entrance to the vast bowl beyond the decaying portal to the inner amphitheater. It had taken years to earn that trust, and even longer to be called to this world as an honored agent.
Composing his mind, and clearing any thought that could betray his true purpose, Tar’nar stepped through the entrance to the holiest place of the E’nu besides the world it resided on.
“Child Tar’nar,” a truly ancient Ellin spoke when he entered the vast bowl-shaped amphitheater. “Come, we have things to discuss,” the old Ellin spoke, waving for Tar’nar to join him and take a seat overlooking the vast space.
To a human, the E’nu elder would have looked like nothing more than a middle-aged man, but to an Ellin his features spoke of many eons of existence, if the slight differences in face shape and eye color did not betray it. The old Ellin’s eyes were not violet as such, but more green with a ring of violet at the edge of his iris. If Tar’nar did not know better, he would think the E’nu elder an Ellin’nary.
With a deep bow, Tar’nar placed his right hand over his left heart and sat. “Master E’lum, you honor me,” Tar’nar said, turning his gaze out over the vast empty-space, and narrowing his eyes at the huge circular rune-carved platform nestled in the middle, surrounded by opaque pillars. It had changed dramatically since he had first visited this place to make his vow of obedience. The fine cracks in the surface, once only visible close to the stone platform, now sat bold and obvious at the high entrance to the amphitheater.
“Yes, it is growing thinner, Tar’nar, as The Never births new and stronger Gifted,” E’lum said in an impassionate voice.
“What is it you wish of me, Master?” Tar’nar asked carefully, turning his eyes from the stone platform and regarding the old Ellin. E’lum kept his gaze fixed on the stone circle and smiled at the question.
“Right to the point as ever, Tar’nar. You were never one for honeyed words. But your task is simple. You must gather the marked An’sary and find the Master Gates. Bring the An’sary here so their life force can be added to those that already stand watch, and heal this wound in reality,” E’lum said, glancing at Tar’nar.
“Where will I find these An’sary, and Master Gates, elder E’lum?” Tar’nar asked, returning his gaze to the stone circle, and noting a rime of frost around the edge.
E’lum said nothing for a time, and simply eyed the broken fragments of crystal at the base of the platform. “One of the hands, we believe, was in possession of the now deposed ruling house of Trinian. I am sure you know it, but d’Aviamier is their name,” E’lum answered with a slight smile, and stood. “As for the An’sary and the other missing gates, we know little. Of the two hearts, one is in possession of one of Ar’liana’s half-breeds that En’nar sought. As for the eyes and the focus, we do not know, but they will be drawn to each other,” E’lum said, walking back up the stairs out of the amphitheater.
Snorting at the answer, Tar’nar glanced at the platform one last time, noting the shattered crystal at its base with a sense of unease. “And you trust me to seek out a d’Aviamier? That name is a stain on my family’s character, Master,” Tar’nar replied, standing to follow the E’nu elder.
“And is there a reason we should not trust you, Child Tar’nar?” E’lum asked, pausing and eyeing Tar’nar.
“None, Master. Your trust in me is truly an honor,” Tar’nar replied quickly, inclining his head at the question. Lifting a ghostly white eyebrow, E’lum just snorted and waved him on.
“Ilisa’s son was a disappointment, Tar’nar. You, however, have more than proven your loyalty to The Pure,” E’lum said in an amused voice.
Grunting at the comment, Tar’nar just shook his head. En’nar was an unhinged maniac in his opinion, and his death nothing but a blessing for all. “Whatever possessed the inner circle to send En’nar on a mission, the man was little more than a rabid psychopath,” Tar’nar said, falling in beside E’lum, who chuckled a little at the comment.
“What makes you think we sent him?” E’lum replied with a tiny smile. “We cast him out of the E’nu for a reason, Tar’nar, and once excommunicated, there is no return. En’nar was driven, yes, but a driven fool, and truly misunderstood our teachings.”
Reaching the dusty and empty street of the once mighty city, E’lum smiled at the decaying ruins. “Here our people truly began, Tar’nar, and here they must rise again. Bring me the Gifted alive and unspoiled. Start on Trinian. There are two girls there of interest, and one or both are d’Aviamier, we suspect. Bring them here, then gather those half-breed abominations that would be our rulers along with their mother. But they all must be alive and intact to sacrifice,” E’lum said, starting off toward the waiting jump ship.
“Yes, Master E’lum,” Tar’nar said with a formal bow.
“You must not fail me, Tar’nar, for if you should, these realities will fall like the rest,” E’lum replied, his Ellin troops falling in around him.
Pausing, E’lum turned and eyed Tar’nar briefly before he continued his journey toward the waiting jump ship. “Be wary, Tar’nar, Ena’Say-d’ya and her sister Ciri’isa walk free once more. She will have as much interest in these An’sary as we do. Ena’Say-d’ya and Ciri’isa must not claim them or the Master Gates. So, should you cross their paths... kill them if you can, but I would prefer them alive if you get the chance,” E’lum said and walked away.
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Seated on a broken pillar long after Master E’lum’s ship vanished into the hazy sky of Vim‘us, Tar’nar pondered the elder’s words as he absently watched the shadows trace patterns of the broken buildings in the dusty street.
Here we fought back As’en’nar, The Great Nothing, that un-being that eats reality long before we claimed the multiverse as our own. I will not name you again, abomination, yet here again is where we must thwart your entry into our island realities, Tar’nar mused, turning the deeper E’nu teachings over in his head. In truth, he despised the elusive Ellin order, and even more so the acts needed to infiltrate them.
That you and the rest of the elders would kill our only hope, E’lum, removes any lingering doubt that you are all insane. If Ena’Say-d’ya and her sister walk free once more, then it is you that must fall along with the rest of you so-called pure. I understand the teaching better than you, E’lum, for house Arka’ra remembers. I know full well it was Empress Em’laya and not you that thwarted The Other, Tar’nar thought, casting his gaze around the broken city, and the empty land surrounding the ancient metropolis. There was little left to show this world was once a vibrant Eden. The great forests had long turned to dust, along with the lakes and gardens that once carpeted the land.
If any place truly deserves the name Ellin, then it was once here on this sacred world, not that Qrin-infested wasteland that bears our people’s name, Tar’nar mused, then snorted at the thought as he pulled his gate from its silver bag.
His aunt would be overjoyed at knowing the true location of this world, and the years spent gaining the E’nu elders’ trust was well worth that knowledge alone.
“Enough, I have work to do,” Tar’nar growled, frowning at his locket, and running his finger around it, reading the patterns and words swirling on its surface.
His destination was far from this broken and decaying world, and it would take a good day or more to reach it. But Trinian kept two of the most precious things in his life hidden and safe, and should the E’nu ever learn of his human wife and daughter, they would kill them alongside him.
“Trinian,” Tar’nar whispered and vanished in a flash of light and a swirl of dust. On the horizon, a single moon slowly ascended into the sky while the frost continued to grow on the stone circle, rivaling the biting wind that prowled the empty streets.
Yet, where days ago there had only been a glimmer of movement in the opaque pillars; now, fine cracks like spider webs wound their way over the surface and reflected the pale evening light on the faces hidden within.
“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.”
~ Helen Keller
Chapter One
A gambler’s luck
Leaving bloody handprints on the marble floor, Serion, Duke of Trinian, scrambled desperately away from his assailant and toward the balcony elevator. A foot on his back, driving him to the floor, put an end to any thoughts of escape.
“Now, just where do you think you are going, brother?” A voice crooned above him before a hard boot in his side curled him into a ball. “Well, where is she? I want her and what she has!” The voice growled at him. Groaning at another hard kick in the side, Serion rolled onto his back to look his attacker in the eye.
“I told you I do not know, Martain. Her mother died years ago. You should know that you killed her for me. How was I supposed to know Megan would hide the girl with it? Gods, that was thirteen years ago. She is either dead or in a love den, so what difference does it make now?” Serion shouted back, spitting blood and trying to get to his feet.
“Because you were supposed to find and kill the child as well, and he wants that bit of jewelry Megan owned,” Martain bit back, pointing at a dark-robed figure leaning casually against the balcony rail. Serion regarded the figure for a moment and shook his head as he regained his feet.
“What do the Ellin want with her house seal? We never needed it to take power, and I see no reason why we would need it now?” Serion spat back, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. Closing his eyes in frustration, Martian took a deep breath and backhanded his brother, sending him sprawling on the floor at the Ellin’s feet.
“Because Serion, that Ellin will pay for our move against Ravan and Esis in exchange for it. Gods, I should have taken the throne myself. You have grown soft Serion, all we need to own this cluster of systems again is a damn locket, and you lost it!” Martain retorted, moving to kick his brother. Hissing laughter from the Ellin drew both men’s eyes as the tall, pale-skinned creature pulled Serion to his feet with little effort before Martain could reach him.
“So, you know nothing of the whereabouts of either this girl or the device she carries?” It said in a soft, cold voice. Sighing at the question, Serion shuddered at the corpse-pale face and shook his head as the creature put an arm about his shoulder and guided him to the balcony rail.
“No, like I said at first, the girl and it vanished into the under-city. I know nothing more, and no amount of searching has turned up anything other than a rumor of her whereabouts. Not even her bio-print has surfaced in all this time, so as far as I am concerned, she is already dead. Frankly, I don’t see what the problem is. The council of lords certified my claim to the throne of Trinian almost thirteen years ago, as they should have, along with Ravan and Esis. Those systems belong to Trinian,” Serion said in an exasperated voice, receiving a nod and a tight smile from the Ellin.
“Indeed, they do, just as the Terran Empire once belonged to House d’Aviamier. But that is of little importance. So tell me, do you have nothing more that could be of use to me?” It said softly, eyeing Serion. Frowning, Serion shook his head at the creature, who simply smiled back.
“Then, you are no longer of any use,” it said, gripping Serion by the shoulders. Startled, Serion did not even scream at first when the Ellin threw him over the rail to fall hundreds of stories to the transit lines below. Ignoring the shrill fading cry, the Ellin spun on its heels and pointed a long ice-white finger at Martain.
“Find the d’Aviamier girl and the device. Fail me and suffer the same fate as your brother, but succeed and you will have your pathetic little empire,” the Ellin growled, its voice colder than an open grave. Snorting at the threat, Martain narrowed his eyes at the creature.
“Your threats won’t work on me, Tar’nar. My brother was a weak-minded puppet. I, however, am far from what he was, but you will have your prize and the girl with it. Katarina is still on this world; I am sure of it. Her genetic stamp has never passed the borders that we know of, so we will find her, dead or alive. And if she has passed Trinian’s borders, well, that is of little concern; her bio sig will turn up and we can go fetch her,” Martain hissed back, clearly unfazed by Tar’nar’s menacing presence. Snorting in disgust at Martain’s lack of deference, Tar’nar turned his head back to the rail and the dizzying fall.
“See that you do, human, but I want the device and the girl alive... kill her and I will kill you,” Tar’nar replied, stepping back up to the rail.
“Serion had a son old enough to inherit, correct? What will you do with him?” Tar’nar continued. Martian gave the creature a cold smile at the question as he joined him.
“Oh, Amion will not live much longer than his father,” Martain said, leaning over the rail trying to see where his brother had landed.
“Do as you wish, but I would sooner deal with only one of you humans,” Tar’nar replied with a hiss of laughter. “You are all so petty and short-lived, but I find you amusing in a way. Perhaps that is why the princess made you all?”
Giving up his search for where his brother had impacted, Martain turned to regard the Ellin, but the creature was no longer there.
“Gods, I hate it when they do that,” Martain said in a disgusted voice, making for an intercom pad beside the balcony doors. Tapping the pad, Martain smiled as he spoke.
“Send me the head of security and the imperial house officer. Amion has murdered his father and fled the palace. I want the city searched for him and his female accomplice,” releasing the call button, Martain laughed at the balcony rail and headed into the palace apartments.
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***
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Tossing yet another credit chip onto the pile, Amion d’Trinian dumped his cards along with it. Another quarter million down the drain, he thought, picking up his wineglass and groaning at the losing streak. Fak it, still another week until I get my allowance. How can I gamble with only three million left? Gods damn these cards; where is my luck? Amion thought, draining the glass and thumping it back on the table.
“Lost again?” A familiar voice spoke with no little humor. Turning sharply, Amion lifted his eyes to the ceiling as a short, reddish-haired man ushered a girl from his office. She was a slender, tiny thing, with long, pale red hair and green eyes, marking her as an under-city girl. The high-caste citizens like Amion tended to the blond side of the red, well mostly. Although this one, he had to admit, was a little taller than average. Only the denizens of the under-city had hair and eye color like this girl, even if hers were paler than most under-city women he had slept with. However, the tiny band of violet around her eyes was anybody’s guess as to where that came from. Dismissing the girl with a flick of his eyes, Amion fixed Ramon with a withering look.
“Are you sure your cards are not marked? Of all the places I play, yours seems to be where I lose the most,” he said in a flat tone, pushing away from the table. Snorting at the terse reply, Ramon flashed Amion a grin, gesturing at the three other men seated at the table.
“No, Amion, they are just better players than you. And besides, your father’s losses keep me well cared for. But pray tell me, how is your illustrious father these days? Still able to cover your debts, I should hope,” Ramon said, pushing the girl toward the elevator doors, another quick smile flashing across his face that never quite touched the pale green of his eyes.
“He was still alive the last time I saw him a week ago. Or was it two? I don’t know, we don’t speak much,” Amion replied, snorting in disgust at being forced to think of his father. Serion had little to do with Amion, and Amion avoided the man as often as possible. Yet, being the son of the local head of state had its benefits. Leaving the table, Amion eyed the doors to the Tower Club and chose the private elevator, joining the pale, red-haired girl waiting for it to arrive. Having ditched his father’s guards assigned to him days ago, and his palace communication unit along with them, Amion had no desire to be chaperoned by them, and he had little doubt they would find him eventually if he stayed in the club too long.
The only way I can get some peace, Amion thought, rolling his eyes in resignation at Ramon’s plastic smile. The man was about as trustworthy as a fox in a henhouse, and a hundred times more dangerous, but Amion oddly liked the man. “See you tomorrow, Ramon. I need to go find a girl and a hotel bed before Father’s men catch up with me. In that, I should have better luck than your cards,” Amion said, casting a disgusted grin in Ramon’s direction. Chuckling, Ramon waved him off and took Amion’s place at the table.
“I will tell them you were never here and keep your seat warm and the cards ready, but I suggest a game other than Empire, because you don’t seem to be any good at it,” Ramon replied, his comment eliciting a chorus of laughter from the other men at the table, and a withering look from Amion. With a snort of disgust, he followed the girl into the newly arrived elevator.
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***
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From a gambling point of view, the night was a disaster in Amion’s opinion, but there were always the love dens, and a girl would help soothe his bruised ego. Losing the money was not really the issue; it was losing the game that annoyed him the most.
Easy come, easy go, I guess. I still have a few million credits in my pocket, more than enough to live large for another week or two. And besides, I could always go back to the palace, Amion mused, and shuddered at the thought of having to deal with his father more than once a month. Eyeing the girl with him, Amion gave her a smile.
Under-city girls were almost always desperate for credit and a way out of the damp slums. She was small, but they always were from down near the ground and sub-levels, and she had to be near the prettiest Trinian girl he had ever seen. Yet the blue and green armband she wore, along with the hostile eyes in return, faded the smile from his face.
“I know what you want, so fak off. Go to a love den and buy it there. Gods, you highborn are all the same,” she said in a broken mixture of French and German. They all spoke an odd mixture of German and Old French in the under-city.
Remnants of the first colonists to Trinian, I guess, or something like that. Bah, history lessons, I never took notice, Amion mused, surprised at the girl’s hostile attitude. Most women living in the slums would jump at the chance of a week or two in his bed and the credit that came with it.
Snorting in disgust at Amion’s wide-eyed look, the girl curled her lip into a hostile smile all the while tapping the armband slipped over her loose black blouse.
“You know what that means, and who I work for, right?” The girl said, letting the smile fade into a flat look. Amion just rolled his eyes at the curled lip and cold smile the girl gave him; the hard look in her eyes just made the girl prettier and desirable in his opinion.
“Of course I do. You are on a job for an under-city boss. I may live in the towers, but I know what not to mess with,” Amion said in the same broken mix of French and German. Tilting her head slightly, the girl flashed him another quick smile and moved to the doors when they opened.
“Then stay the fak out of my way, rich boy, or Ramon will cut your balls off,” she snapped, marching away into the dim light of a sublevel. Nodding absently at the retort and following her out, Amion paused and looked around with wide eyes.
“Fak it, wrong floor,” he growled, turning too late to stop the elevator from closing. The girl just chuckled at his frantic attempts to get the elevator to return and set off toward a transit tube stairwell.
“Can’t get back in that way, lover boy, well, unless you have the code, and you can’t have mine. It is onetime use only, and besides, there are no other access points for blocks. Ramon doesn’t like too many back doors,” the girl shouted back, suppressing laughter at his worried face. Growling at the elevator door, or was it the girl? Amion was honestly not all that sure. He spun around and quickly caught up with her.
“How much...?” Amion blurted out, not thinking of defining exactly what it was he wanted to buy. Making a disgusted sound, the girl paused and eyed him for a moment before moving down the stairs.
“I am not for sale, and you couldn’t afford it anyway. How many times do I have to tell you I work for Ramon? You touch one of his girls and you pay… got it? You know he is the only underboss who owns no love dens? Odd faker, but one of the better employers,” she said with a silvery laugh. Rolling his eyes, Amion followed her down the stairwell.
“How much to show me how to get out of this maze? Gods, damn you, I have never been down this far before,” Amion hissed in an urgent voice. Coming to a stop, the girl gripped the stair rail, then sighed as if making a life-changing decision.
“Ramon will probably beat the shit out of me for this,” she whispered, frowning at the stairs leading down into the damp Trinian underworld. “Ah, fak it, and fak Ramon,” she growled and cocked her head to the side, a cheeky smile on her face at his worried eyes.
“How much have you got, rich boy? Not safe for a highborn like you down here. If a no-name or a mist head doesn’t get you, the ghosters and Augys will,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. Amion just stared at her for a moment, processing the probability of running into any of the less than savory inhabitants of the under-city.
Ghosters worked for the under-city bosses, and you did not mess with one if you wanted to live out the night. Wanted mostly for crimes of the murderous kind, they ran drugs, stolen goods, and illegal slaves. And as for the non-names? Well, they just took what they could when they could. Just people lost in the system trying to survive anyway possible. But the Augys he wanted to avoid at all costs. The augmented were outcasts even down here.
Damn things would probably cut me up to replace missing body parts, Amion thought with a grimace, then quickly produced a credit chip and waved it at the girl. “There are a million credits on this, all yours if you can get me back to the palace,” Amion said in an urgent voice. The girl’s eyes lit up as a hard smile graced her face.
“Ah, now I know who you are,” she said in a worryingly knowing voice. “Yeah, I can get you out of here for triple that. Your father is good for it, Your Highness. An under-city boss would probably pay me more, but I doubt I would live to spend it.” With a tiny snort, the girl started off down the stairwell again.
“But first I have a job to complete, and I am on a time limit,” the girl said curtly, not bothering to see if he followed or not. Amion went to protest, but she just waved her hand for him to catch up.
“No, I complete the job first. Not worth my life to keep a boss waiting, and Ramon will throw me off a tower if I fak this up. I am taking enough of a risk taking you with me, and would sooner live to enjoy the credits,” the girl continued and snorted at Amion’s annoyed look. Growling at the smug smile on her face, Amion followed her down the stairs toward a deep transit line.
“Anyway, what is your name, girl?” Amion asked in an exasperated tone. The tiny red-haired girl glanced at him as she hurried along toward the platform.
“Girl..? I am twenty-one, you noble fak’n twit. Fak you highborn are all ignorant fak’s. And my name is Katharine,” Katharine said, raising a hand to stall his words.
“I already know who you are, Amion d’Trinian, and you’d best keep that name to yourself down here. Half the people in the under slums would love to kill you, and the other half would pay to watch it,” Katharine continued, in a hard, cold voice.
“But why...?” Amion retorted without really thinking about it. Katharine just rolled her eyes as she gestured at the pay terminal. With a nod of understanding, Amion tapped his personal credit chip on the terminal and paid for two passes. No point in using my full onetime cards, Amion thought absently, stuffing the near-spent credit chip back into his wallet while Katharine laughed at his question.
“Because, your highness, living in the damp, and dark, working for scraps and garbage tends to lower one’s opinion of their so-called betters,” Katharine said in a terse voice. With a final snort, she walked through the platform gate toward an arriving transit car.
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***
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Amion could make no sense of the tiny woman. Katharine was simply an enigma. Highly intelligent and fierce, the woman was a survivor, and a beautiful one the more he looked at her.
“I am not for sale, lover boy, so put your eyes on something else. I like men with a backbone, not spineless little rich shits,” Katharine growled, catching his eyes on her once again as they sat side by side on a grubby transit car seat. Still, he found it hard to keep his eyes on anything other than the delicate-featured woman, despite her hostility.
“How many more transit tubes do we have to take? This is the third, and gods, are they all this run-down?” Amion said, casting his eyes around the car, noting the broken overhead lights and torn seats. Everything in the car was either damaged or wet, and often both.
“This is one of the better ones, Your Highness. This one is somewhat dry and the lights mostly work,” replied Katharine, casting him a sidelong glance. Frowning at the comment, Amion eyed her for a moment, receiving yet another dark frown from the tiny woman. “You highborn never come down here, so you have no idea what the common people have to put up with,” Katharine continued. Snorting at his narrowed eyes, Katharine pushed him off the seat as the car slowed.
“This is our stop, Your Highness, best move your pampered arse. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get you home and myself off this damp shithole before Ramon wants his cut,” Katharine added, shoving him along toward the transit car doors. Reaching the exit, Katharine rolled her eyes at the doors and kicked them open.
“Well, more broken on it,” she chuckled, and stepped off the car, making for a service elevator. Glancing back at the moldy, rundown tube car, Amion shook his head.
I would tell father about this, but I doubt he would give two fak’s. Amion thought, grimacing at the moldy tiles and pools of water on the transit station floor.
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***
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Remaining calm despite the door to his nightclub shoving open and a group of heavily armed Imperial Police shoving their way in, Ramon simply tossed his cards on the table and lifted an eyebrow at the young officer with them.
“Can I help you?” he said, lifting a hand slightly and waving off his second in command, as the man rubbed his thumb on the grip of his handgun. Dass was a crack shot and would drop all four Imperial Police along with their officer before they twitched an arm. Grunting at the dismissive attitude and ignoring Dass, the officer casually walked to the table and slowly turned Ramon’s cards face up to reveal four empresses, a winning hand by all respects.
“We have reason to believe you are sheltering two wanted fugitives in your… establishment,” the officer said, pausing to grace Ramon with a hard smile. Sniffing at the question, Ramon leaned back in his seat and stretched out nonchalantly.
“This is Trinian boy, so that would be about half the patrons in my bar and half the population of this city you are looking for,” he replied, earning a barked laugh from Dass and the rest of his close men at arms seated at the table. Grunting at the empty answer, the officer picked up a stack of gambling chips and casually flicked them one by one at Ramon’s feet.
“We are looking for Amion d’Trinian and his accomplice for the murder of his father, Serion d’Trinian. His last known whereabouts were here at your bar, and might I remind you, hiding a murder suspect is a capital offense,” the young man crooned, flicking the last few chips at Dass. Shrugging at the veiled threat, Ramon picked up a stack of chips and flicked them one by one at the officer in return with a smile so hostile the officer took a step back.
“This is a public club, boy, so if Mr d’Trinian is in here, go check the fak’n bar and not my private space. Now, fak off and come back with a search warrant if you want to look further,” Ramon said slowly, gaining his feet and prompting his men to do the same.
“A warrant…? We are the Imperial Police, Mr Ramon, and we don’t need one. Maybe we should investigate you and your businesses deeper? Our… you just tell us what we want to know. If you are lucky, we may just shoot you and not torture you to death,” the officer snapped back, clearly not reading the mood of the room and how little his threats meant to the hard-faced men in the narrow space.
“Truly,” Ramon whispered, lifting his hand as if he were pointing at the door. The officer had little more than a second to frown before his head split open and his brains showered the wall beside the door. A heartbeat later, his cadre of guards met a similar fate. Lowering the little two-shot handgun, Ramon kept up his arm. He flopped into his chair and tossed the spent weapon onto the table.
“Arrogant prick. I don’t give two fak’s who the fak you are. No one comes into my club and threatens me,” he growled and sighed before turning a resigned look on Dass.
“That will draw some unwanted attention, boss,” Dass said, sliding his handgun back into its holster and inclining his head at the dead officer.
“Possibly, but I don’t think so if they are looking for Amion. There will be dozens of little groups running around the clubs looking for him, so this lot won’t be missed for hours, if not days. Anyway, clean this trash up and dump them in a deep sewer line,” Ramon said, waving at two men reloading their weapons beside Dass. “And Dass… a word in my office.”
Snorting at the casual tone after murdering a group of Imperial Police, Dass simply grunted and followed Ramon into his private office space. Shoving the door shut, Ramon waved Dass into a seat and tossed him a whiskey glass.
“Get a discreet team out and track Amion down before his uncle gets him, and Kat before she gets tangled in this… but I want Amion alive. When you find Katharine or she gets back before then, tell her she is to stay here and out of the under-city. Give her a penthouse room and a month’s pay; that will calm her tongue,” Ramon said, filling his glass, then the one in Dass’s hand.
“Planning on selling the boy back to Martain?” Dass replied with a half grin, then furrowed his brow when Ramon shook his head and sat in a plush leather seat.
“No, I want the kid as insurance, and I have an off-world client that will pay double anything Martian could offer for the boy if we need safe passage off this shithole,” Ramon said casually. Grunting at the comment, Dass knocked his drink back and placed the glass on a low table beside him.
“And Kat…? What has she got to do with this?” Dass asked, then rolled his eyes as he stood. “The under-city will be purged like never before if they can’t find Amion in a love-den or a bar,” continued Dass, stalking to the door.
“Kat is a caustic little bitch, Dass; we both know that. But she is one of our family, and she has not forgiven me for Clare’s death. So go get her home… that is an order,” Roman replied, knocking back his drink and filling the glass again.
“Right you are, boss. I will get a team of ghosters out in the city and spread the word you are looking for Amion and Kat alive,” Dass said and closed the door. Long after the door shut behind Dass, Ramon stared at his whiskey glass, a worried look on his face before he downed the drink and threw the glass at a wall.
“Fak…!” Ramon hissed and stamped to the little safe he kept his gate in. Pulling it from its silvery bag, Ramon braced his mind and pulled on what little talent he had to contact his benefactress… she would not be amused, and Ramon was terrified of failing the woman.
Your Highness. We have a problem… and I may have lost the girl. Ramon cast out into the sea of mind space and flinched when he felt her angry answer.
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***
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The journey in the elevator took place in near silence, punctuated only occasionally by a snort of disgust and a black look when Katharine caught Amion eyeing her.
“Still not for sale, lover boy,” Katharine said curtly when the doors opened at the bottom level, before she froze, frowning at the pitch-dark tunnel ahead.
“What is the…” Amion tried to say, and got slapped in the chest by a surprisingly firm hand for a girl of Katharine’s size.
“Shut your food hole, rich boy,” Katharine hissed. “Hurry, follow me,” she whispered, snatching his hand and starting up a side passage. “Purge,” she hissed as they all but ran.
“How do you know?” Amion hissed back, trying not to raise his voice.
“To quiet down here, and the passage lights are out. Locals do that as a warning,” Katharine snapped back, coming to a stop at an air-duct grill. “Quick, help me with this,” Katharine whispered, pulling a little electric screwdriver from her pants and quickly removing the two lower screws.
“You have a screwdriver?” Amion asked in an amused whisper.
“Yeah, you dumb fak, and you should be glad I do. The imperial police will not work out who the fak you are until you are dead, and well, a little late then, don’t you think? They don’t always round citizens up down here. Most often they just execute you on the spot and dump your body in a sewer line,” Katharine said curtly. “Now unscrew the ones up there. I can’t reach them.”
Taking the driver from Katharine, Amion quickly took out the two screws and stepped back. “Now what...?” Amion asked, handing her the driver and screws.
“We get in, numb-nuts,” Katharine said crisply, tossing the screws at Amion and hitting the lower right side, letting the grill swing out on its hinges. Lifting herself up into the rounded crawl space, Katharine waved Amion past her and pulled the grill shut with a click.
“Come on, Amion; move up to the crossing down there. They check these things, you know,” Katharine hissed, shoving past him. Amion hesitated and frowned at the distant sound of running feet and radio chatter.
“Fak, she is right,” he said, and heard a little laugh.
“Yeah, no shit, rich boy. Now shut your food hole and get up here quickly. My friend Clare went missing down here months ago during a purge, and I doubt they sent her to an off-planet pleasure resort,” Katharine snapped.
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***
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Jessica swam in a sea of dark dreams, her inner self tossed and battered by storms of fear and hate. She was turning as Oto described it, growing darker and more hateful the longer Catherin held her captive, harming her to draw her sisters out. She knew it with certainty every time her mind reached out for her twin Emma, and it reeled back in pain from the null ring she wore. And with every stab of pain, the darker side of her nature gained a firmer foothold.
It was a revelation of sorts as the hours spent hanging in her little cell dragged on.
Emma was the cooling water to her raging fire, and that fire was consuming her. They were two sides of the same coin, and two beings with the same soul. Jessica longed for and dreaded the moments of agony when Catherin tortured her, for they provided a brief connection with her twin.
Yet those moments were twisting her inner self into a dark ball of hatred and poison, threatening to consume all she once was. The more she fought against it, the less of her original self she felt as her inner being retreated further into the dark, and her twin along with it. Yet that was an anchor of sorts. A flimsy and tenuous line that held what little remained of her inner core in place as a last stand against the darkness.
So this is what Varen and Estelle meant by turning. I have no true defense against it, Emie, and what little I have left is eroding, Jessica thought, as her dreaming self slowly reached for the surface. And you are turning along with me, Emie. I can feel the darkness taking hold of you as you block me out.
The thought brought a shameful stab of hatred for her twin sister for abandoning her every time Jessica was subjected to hours of torture and abuse.
But would I be any different if I were in your place, Emie? No, probably not. I would push you away as well.
It was a shameful thought, and as much as it brought a deep sense of sadness, it was the latter that eroded her last defenses the most. Taking a deep, painful breath, Jessica opened her eyes to the never-ending twilight of her dimly lit cell. Her back screamed at her for release after days of hanging from the chain.
I would have thought one would get used to it? Jessica thought, working to push the agony away. “In a way, I guess I have,” she said in a voice that still felt scratchy and horse from the hours of screaming, her skin still tingling at the memory of the fire like pain Catherin inflicted on her.
Yet there was one little hope, one last tiny flame against the all-encompassing dark pressing in and crushing all she once was. The tiny crack in the psychic wall, created by the null ring that held her, was growing. Oh, it was little more than a hairline crack. But it was hope. As slim and unassured as it felt, it was all she had, and Jessica worried at it. She pleaded with it, raged against it, and cried at it until she passed out from the pain of the effort.
Yet it moved.
A butterfly’s wing would have disturbed more, but with every passing day, the crack grew, and with it a slim hope of freedom.
But what will be left of me should that freedom come, Jess? Or am I just opening the door to let a deeper darkness run free?
Jessica never had the chance to ponder the thought as the pain of working at the crack in the null overwhelmed her conscious mind and plunged her back into that storm-tossed sea of dreams. It could have been a day or a year when a hard slap awoke her again.
“Ah, Jessica, so nice of you to wake,” Catherin crooned, stepping back and waving Remy to take the chain from its hook and dump Jessica in the null chair. “I hope for your sake your sisters come for you soon. But then again, I am not sure it really matters what is left.”
Jessica just eyed Catherin with utter disdain and curled her lip in a feral smile. “I would pray you kill me before then, Catherin, for should I ever break free I will rip your heart out and choke you with it,” Jessica bit back, and laughed when Catherin struck her. “Oh, you will have to try harder than that, Catherin. And my sisters will not come, for they have abandoned me.”
Sniffing at the comment, Catherin selected a long needle from a case Remy placed by the door. “They will come in time, Jessica, or you will all turn and destroy yourselves. You are all linked, but your twin will rampage first,” Catherin replied and smiled as Jessica screamed.
Emie, please, Jessica cast, and reeled back in pain at the attempt to connect with her sister’s mind as the null chair slammed into her nervous system, punishing her for the action.
But Emma just backed away at the end of the psychic link and blocked her out. Catherin could have set Jessica on fire or frozen her solid, for all the pain it would give, could never match that simple action of her sister. So Jessica screamed. She screamed at Catherin, and at the pain, but most of all she screamed at her sisters and their inaction. Outside, the sun of planet Verion hung mute against the void, bathing her dreadnought prison with a ruddy hue.
