Achanei? Is everyone alright?
Aiben! No, the soldiers have us pinned down on the platform. I can’t get to you.
Where is Nairom? Did he betray us? Aiben was breathing quick and rapid. His peripheral senses hadn’t fully attuned to his surroundings yet. The sensory overload he had just experienced with im shalal blurred them and he didn’t dare look away from Gormy to search for Nairom.
I don’t know, Aiben. He’s not here.
Aiben’s thoughts looped back into the hypernet as he searched again for his childhood companion. The spark of Nairom’s mind flared in the superluminal network now like a hot ember.
Nairom, where have you been?
I’m coming, hold on. Some Zenzani troopers jumped me. I had to take care of them. Stay put, I’m almost there.
Aiben honestly didn’t know how much longer he could wait. The exchange with Achanei and Nairom had taken mere seconds, but that had already been enough time for Gormy. He could deliver the energy bolt at any time. The Chibbi’s natural tendency to gloat had been Aiben’s only savior up to now. His hypersenses were quickly returning and he tuned them up as high as they would go. Still, it seemed like slow motion as he took in all the stimuli directed at him. He could almost feel Gormy’s finger tighten on the firing stud. Just in time, another shattering of glass distracted the Chibbi.
Crystalline shards heralded Nairom’s arrival. Zenzani battle armor encased him, an exoskeleton of fluid metal hardening in anticipation of battle. It absorbed an energy bolt from one of the Protectorate soldiers. Although the Zenzani special ops would have had nanomech-laced, armor-piercing weapons, that didn’t appear to matter to Nairom’s armor. A nano-thin shield was growing from Nairom’s chest, slipping over his face and crawling up and down the back of his head to fuse with plates on his shoulders and back. His face shield was pure black, so Aiben couldn’t see behind it, but he knew Nairom could see them. He could only guess at the rage constricting that hidden visage as Nairom grabbed Gormy from behind.
The Chibbi put all of his might into a backwards peddle and rammed Nairom into a wall with broken windows. The impact sent more bits of shattered wood and glass debris in all directions. The maneuver backfired as several slivers of glass lacerated Gormy’s shoulder. The Chibbi went limp, giving Nairom the opportunity to heave him through the door. The armored cybermancer bounded out into the ruins of the ghost town after their assailant.
Stay in here, Nairom shot into Aiben’s head.
Aiben ignored Nairom’s command and ran for the door. He caught sight of Ballis out of the corner of his eye. His stomach lurched and bile backed up into his throat, but something forced him to follow the two combatants outside.
They had stumbled around into a small alley between the worn-out structures, grappling in the waning light of day. A fist, a boot, a knee, it was all lightning-quick, a blur of limbs trying to overpower and subdue. Nairom had shed his faceplate and softened his armor. He was whirling through hez alim techniques unprotected, his face reveling in the adrenalin rush of hand-to-hand combat.
Don’t interfere, Nairom ordered over the cyberlink when he saw Aiben watching them.
Aiben followed at a distance of a few paces as the two struggled further from the building where the ritual had taken place. He could still hear the drone of energy discharges from within and feared what was happening to his friends inside, but he couldn’t tear himself away from the spectacle of these two enemies locked in a mêlée of hatred.
He had the horrible feeling they were fighting over him. He ordered his nanomechs to energize his muscles and maintain his heightened senses in case he needed to intervene to help Nairom, or maybe even to defend himself from the victor whoever that may be. The Chibbi was proving to be quite powerful with his own brand of hand-to-hand combat. He would have to be in his best form if it came to fighting them. If it was Nairom, then he was confident he was good enough to best him, having trained hard the past year.
Eventually, Nairom forced Gormy to the ground, trapping and locking all four of his limbs. The Chibbi flicked his tail around once again to grip a weapon, this time a vibrating knife from a hidden slot in his boot. “So the general is a traitor to the Protectorate after all,” Gormy spit out, his bared teeth frothed. “The Moolag is going to love seeing your head on a silver platter.”
Nairom was faster. An energy lance from his sidearm, having just been unholstered, bolted Gormy to the dry-pack of orange cement. The Chibbi’s tail spasmed and the buzzing knife clattered to the ground and sputtered out. Gormy Bonebender lay still, his mouth opened and foaming, his face twisted as if to issue one last screech, but sudden death having frozen it into a silent scream instead. Nairom was silent for a few seconds, then threw back his head, and howled, curdling the blood already pounding in Aiben’s ears. It was the eruption of a man given over to bloodlust.
Nairom? The cyberlink blazed with Aiben’s astonishment. This man was no longer the person he had called friend, no matter whose side he professed to be on.
The Zenzani General turned towards Aiben. His eyes were two burning coals fastened into a face scorched by a hideous scowl. Aiben’s sleeve was still pushed up and those steel-gray cinders fell upon his arm. The once reddish mark now glinted in the gingery desert sunlight with streaks of fine gleaming silver, testifying to the presence of im shalal’s nanomechs.
“You already have it?” Nairom advanced on Aiben. His teeth clenched, nostrils flared wide.
Aiben tensed up, mirroring Nairom’s anger, but then realized what he was doing. He forced himself to relax, to be more Tulan than Aiben. “The Mora Bentian clan leaders brought it to me. I tried to contact you…”
“You should have waited for me!” Nairom yelled. He raised his gun and leveled it at Aiben’s forehead.
“It wouldn’t let me wait. It has its own volition.”
Nairom’s hand was trembling now. He shook his head, blinking furiously, as if he were trying to clear away some sticky bit of confusion. Finally, he let the gun fall. “Come with me to Morgoloth, Aiben. Just me and you like the old days. But we need to go right now.”
“What are you talking about? We need get back in there and help the others.” Aiben looked back in the direction of the ritual house. “I think Ballis has been hurt.”
“Forget about your friends, you don’t need them anymore. They’re going to be safer without you, anyway. This is just about us and Hegirith Oand-ib. Come with me to Magron’s Citadel. You can destroy him with that thing and I can take care of anyone who gets in our way.”
“Are you insane, Nairom? What’s wrong with you? You’re talking like killing people doesn’t matter.” The dream where Nograth had Nairom’s face forced its way into Aiben’s head. Power had corrupted him after all. Oand-ib had known this would happen. No wonder he had been so hurt to talk about what he had sent Nairom to do. He had felt responsible for Nairom’s fall.
“But isn’t that what old Oand-ib wanted?” Nairom sneered. “You are supposed to be the one who rids us of this evil man and restores peace to the galaxy! I’m just supposed to be the Hegirith’s puppet that clears the way for you!”
“No, it’s not like that at all.” Aiben’s head spun with the horror at what Nairom had become during their separation. “I didn’t ask for this any more than you did, Nairom.”
“But I did ask for it, Aiben, that’s the point. I was supposed to be the one to get the glory, Aiben. I was better than you were. I guess you don’t always get what you ask for when you’re not the teacher’s favorite pupil.”
“I don’t want any glory, you should know that. What has happened to you? I thought we were brothers.”
“What’s happened to me? Have you ever been denied your destiny because you were too good? Do you know what Oand-ib told me? He told me he pushed me so hard because I was the only one good enough to infiltrate the Protectorate. I’m Nairom, the sacrificial lamb!”
“He was right. You were the only one who could do it. I wasn’t good enough
, so I had to get im shalal. Aiben had to be sacrificed to hazarat shal so an ancient ghost could possess him with nanoscopic machines just to avenge a centuries old conflict!” Aiben was screaming back at Nairom now. Immediate truth could be more painful than eventual lies. Aiben was shaking, his face burning deep red.
“And then you become the greatest of all Haman!” Nairom said. “You were second best, and you get the reward of ruling the galaxy?”
“I’m not in this to become Tulan. I don’t want to rule anything or anybody. I just want to do what I have to in order to save my friends and go home.”
“Give me im shalal, Aiben.” Nairom’s weapon came back up, mere inches from Aiben’s forehead. This time his hand was rock-steady, clenching the energy pistol in a tight, white-knuckled grip. Although his finger threatened at the firing stud, his face was pleading.
Aiben’s hands shot up between them and twisted Nairom’s wrist in a joint lock. Energy bolts spewed wide as he twisted Nairom’s finger away from the trigger. The impotent gun clattered to the ground. Nairom pulled free from the lock, loosening up Aiben’s grip with a shin kick. The two former friends were in close and each attacked and counter-attacked with successive strikes and parries, neither gaining the upper hand.
Aiben had spent considerable time training in hez alim since Nairom’s departure from the Guild and he could see that it surprised Nairom how good he had become. Sheer desperation allowed Nairom to get close enough to get Aiben in a headlock, but Aiben broke the hold and threw them off balance, knocking both of them to the ground. Aiben tried to pin Nairom, but the Zenzani general’s hip rolled over and he was able to unseat Aiben and hold him down in return. Aiben couldn’t move.
Nairom’s hand swept the ground beside them until it connected with the energy pistol that had fallen there. He grabbed it and brought it to bear. There was no mistaking his intent this time.
“Are you really going to shoot me?” Aiben’s eyes watered, but he was too shocked to be afraid. Nairom’s face was a lump of base anger and raw hate. “So then your time in the Zenzani Protectorate has truly corrupted you? Did you go through with Oand-ib’s plan just to satisfy your own lust for power and revenge?”
Nairom fired point-blank and sent Aiben and his ghost into oblivion.
CHAPTER 37
A cool desert breeze slithered across Aiben’s face and pulled him back into the world of the living. He awoke to realize that Nairom hadn’t actually killed him, just stunned him, but the hammering on the inside of his skull made him wish he had. Nanomechs quickly confirmed that the shock had mortally wounded only his pride and trust. The little machines quickly spread through his body and silenced the screams of raw nerve endings, but they would have no cure for his emotional pain.
Once the aching in his head began to subside, he felt a new throbbing in his arm that gripped him like intermittent electrocution. His sleeve had been ripped apart to reveal his arm where the silvery bands of im shalal had once been. Left exposed in their place were strips of raw stinging flesh. Aiben pushed his mind through the new pain as he wrapped the tattered cloth around his arm. There wasn’t much blood, just oozing fluid where something had removed several layers of epidermis.
His thoughts were clearing from the nanomech’s soothing. He remembered now. Ballis! He forced himself to stand, but went back down on his knees in a dizzying rotunda. He hauled himself back up and was able to steady himself just enough to stumble back towards the antiquated building where the Zenzani had ambushed them. He moved as fast as his unsure legs would carry him.
Inside the ritual hall, he found the last of his mentors lying on his back, his head cradled in Achanei’s lap, his eyes half-closed. Achanei was running her hand through his graying hair. Jerekiel squatted down at his side and ran her fingers around the rim of darkened flesh and material that had fused together from the disgorged heat of the Chibbi’s energy weapon. The stench of death was tangible.
Several feet from those three, two of the Keazil’hi and the Shelezar lay on the ground among the Zenzani troopers, all robbed of life. Yolat-ban and Corag-mar bent over the Mora Bentians chanting softly, their fingers etching sacred symbols in the air. Ancient meaning flashed in Aiben’s memory. Lev-9 was absent from the group, but Aiben’s thoughts found the mechanoid. He had gone to warn the Oobellians and assist them in preparing for imminent departure.
Ballis struggled to sit up when he saw Aiben standing over him, but Jerekiel put her hand on him to hold him down. He was too weak to fight her. Aiben crouched across from Jerekiel and smiled down at his friend. The smell of iron and charred flesh made him want to gag, but he stopped himself.
“Where’s the Chibbi?” Ballis managed. His lips were dry and cracked from labored breathing.
“Dead,” whispered Aiben.
Jerekiel reached into a pouch at her hip and brought out a flask of water. She sprinkled a few beads around Ballis’s mouth and then tried to help him take a drink, but a fit of coughs made him sputter it all out.
Aiben looked around. There were so many dead just for im shalal. Were the lives of such good people worth what Tulan had unleashed? He had to hope they were, had to hope that the galaxy would see peace for their sacrifice. Otherwise, how would he ever be able live with himself again? But how would their deaths have meaning now? Im shalal was in the hands of Nairom. Aiben’s face tightened with anger.
“Nairom?” Ballis asked in between gulps of breath.
“Gone,” Aiben said.
Ballis simply nodded his understanding. Another fit of coughs racked his body and he choked up some blood that trickled across his cheek from the corner of his mouth. “Did you get what you came for?” His eyes pressed shut at another cough and when they opened, they were distant, still looking at, but through Aiben.
“Yes, I did. And I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Ballis’s eyes fluttered as he tried to focus them. “I didn’t think we’d make it this far, but you survived despite my fears.” More blood seeped out as he struggled to speak. “I didn’t want it to happen like last time I was in charge. I was afraid a young kid from Besti was going to die just to please the whims of old men in safe places.”
Aiben pressed tears out of his eyes with the palms of his hands and tried his best to look pleased. “Your memory is back?”
“I actually wasn’t going to let you come this far, Aiben. But I couldn’t remember to stop you, I guess.” Ballis tried to smile, but failed. Another cough forced its way out. It was violent and doubled him into a fetal position. He never straightened out.
“Ballis!” Aiben grabbed the front of his friend’s shirt, wanting to shake him awake, but Jerekiel placed her hand over his. Tears ran hot down his cheeks and splattered onto the burnt flesh and fabric mesh that was his friend’s chest. Achanei pressed her fingers against Ballis’s neck and probed. She shook her head sadly.
“There’s nothing you could have done, Hegirith.” Jerekiel lifted Aiben’s hand away from Ballis. She stood and motioned for the remaining two Keazil’hi to follow her out the door. “Come, we can attend to death later, we should post a guard for now.”
Achanei let Ballis’s head gently drop to the floor and moved behind Aiben to wind her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Aiben.” She buried her face into his back to stop the burgeoning tide of her own tears.
They took their dead comrades from the building whose walls were carved with the ancient history they had just died for. Aiben watched quietly as Corag-mar and Yolat-ban reverently lifted the Shelezar’s limp body into the rear storage compartment of the vehicle in which they had arrived for alachti ai alamat. The old woman joined the lifeless shells of Ballis and the other two Keazil’hi already there, ready for their final journey to the mountain homes of the Neilemi’aaki ilud.
“He will be buried in a place of honor, next to others who have given their lives to free Rahan from the Zenzani,” Jerekiel promised Aiben.
He nodded his thanks, but couldn??
?t bring himself to look her in the eye. He directed his gaze downward instead. The remaining survivors had gathered around the front of the Keazil’hi’s transport to discuss what their next steps should be now that im shalal was in Nairom’s hands.
A twilight breeze threaded ginger dust around their feet. In the distance, where the dusky sun bled purple into the desert, a sand raptor shrilled at the onset of night. They all looked in the direction of the avian cry as if it had dredged up some primeval fear in the group.
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now. What I’m supposed to do,” Aiben confessed. He was looking at the ground again, circling his foot in the rusty dirt. He felt vulnerable, as powerless as he had felt those many days ago on Besti in Ballis’s garage kicking at the spare parts.
Achanei snaked an arm around him and pulled him closer, but didn’t say anything. Jerekiel watched them closely. It was getting dark and her eyes were already starting to glow from the night-vision lenses she wore.
Aiben continued, not wanting to be aware, for now, of the budding stiffness between the two women. “It seems Nairom’s determined to play out my fate for himself.”
“But he can’t use im shalal,” Achanei said. “Wasn’t that the catch in Tulan’s plan? It will only respond to you.”
“Then what use could Nairom have for im shalal?” Corag-mar shrugged. “He isn’t the Iniri’ki Hegirith.”
Aiben could hear by the tone of his voice that Corag-mar had lost some of his former awe in the Shelezar’hi’s prophecy. After all, Tulan had come for the ancient symbol of salvation, only to have it taken away from them.
Where did that leave the Shelezar’hi and their fabricated soothsaying for the Rahani ilud’hi now? Aiben wondered silently. Then he said aloud, “He wants it for the same reason I do. He wants to kill Magron Orcris with it. But he wants to use it to gain power for himself, not for the sake of peace.”
Aiben tugged back the remnants of his tattered shirtsleeve and for the first time since the assault, the others realized he had been wounded. Strips of frayed material twisted around his arm, tinted a deep reddish-brown from half-dried blood. He unwound the cloth and then held up his arm for everyone to see where Nairom had flayed im shalal and the nanomechs’ tattoo from the skin of his arm. He had no idea how Nairom had done it so expertly.