1.3
“Without their technology, travel between planets would likely still be impossible.” – ‘Marvels of the Ironskinned’
Metallurg (Metabode)
The streets of Metallurg fed into the center of the ancient city from every direction, the many pathways consolidating into few before finally ending in positions of equal increments around an empty circular proper. There, the gray buildings halted abruptly as well, as if an unseen force forbade their entrance.
Nothing moved in the bleak space beyond the streets. A fearful wind blew across it hurriedly, eager to disappear back into the depths of the city.
Metom’s tower rose directly from the center-point of the proper, stretching for an eternity into the green-gray sky in an attempt to touch the stars. Unlike the other buildings of Metallurg, the imposing structure was an unyielding black, seemingly immune to the decay of time. It stood flawless and formal in the world’s strange light, fighting even the slightest urge to renounce its regal purpose.
Aaron Orilis turned to the group behind him. “Watch your step.”
The two King’s Guard nodded as one. The engineer’s eyes darted nervously back and forth between the shadows created by the ancient buildings surrounding them. Leena met his eyes and flashed the briefest of smiles behind her clear breathing apparatus. The words had been meant for her more so than any of the others.
“Allow me to be the first into the clearing, my King,” Fend said stepping forward. The Orlixi was as thick and imposing as his deep voice. “The town may not have harbored traps but we are no longer in the presence of the common Metean.”
Aaron considered the guard’s words and nodded. Sometimes, it was best not to be the first man to step into the unknown. No one would remember who took the first steps to approach the tower of Metom the Great.
Especially if they were cut down by hidden traps.
The guard took a deep breath and walked slowly into the heart of Metallurg. The s’ore rifle in his hands pulsed with an orange glow as he swept it efficiently from side to side. Nothing moved other than the tall Solixian. After Aaron had counted ten steps towards the tower, he quickly joined Fend. The others followed suit.
“Amon,” Aaron hissed quietly. The engineer was visibly sweating beneath the hard-plastic visor that covered his face. “Now is not the time for fear. You must remember why you volunteered to join this expedition.”
Amon licked his lips and nodded nervously. “I … remember, my King.”
“Say it.”
“To … uh …. see what no other has seen. To study untouched Metean technology first hand. To find any trace of s’ore deposits or stashes.”
Aaron nodded. Usually, this kind of exercise instilled strength in his men, but perhaps he had overestimated Amon’s internal drive.
It’s that stupid name, he thought regrettably. Regardless, it was too late to choose a replacement now. He could only console the engineer and hope he could still preform his task adequately. “Do not be afraid. There is nothing but death here.”
“Of course,” Amon tried – and failed – to say confidently. “I will do my best.”
“See that it is enough. There is no turning back now.”
The King looked again to the formidable tower. What had seemed a walk of a hundred paces had carried them near its obsidian colored base.
He motioned for the group to pause when they were within ten feet of the gargantuan structure. In the short walk from the city’s depths, the tower had grown exponentially, its diameter stretching at least a hundred yards. Its breadth nearly took the words from Aaron’s mouth. Now this is the residence of a true king.
“There doesn’t appear to be a door,” Leena observed.
“We could make one,” Fain responded quickly, the s’ore gun flaring at his words.
The King shook his head. “That will be our last resort.” He turned to the pale Orlixi man beside him. “Amon, you’ve read everything we have on the Ironskinned, any ideas?”
The short engineer coughed anxiously and made his way beside Aaron. “The Meteans were … were not uncivilized when it came to dealing with their own kind. I would bet there’s a door. We just have to–”
The s’ore blade in Aaron’s hand sprung to life as a deafening metallic whine split the alien air. A portion of the gray ground behind them rose and rotated counterclockwise for an ear-shattering moment before silence again overtook the city.
“The stars watch over us it appears,” the King smiled victoriously, turning back to Metom’s tower to see a newly formed archway nearly ten feet tall. It was as if the material had simply vanished leaving a door in its place. A soft green light illuminated the entranceway, inviting the party inside.
That, or the Ironskinned beckon from beyond the grave…
Pushing the thought aside, Aaron marched to the doorway and stepped confidently across the threshold. It was time once again to be first.
The Colony
Camila stood as the group disappeared inside Metom’s tower and the monitor flashed back to the Orlixi ship at the edge of Metallurg.
The rest of the women rose with her. She could sense a touch of exhaustion from each of them. The Watcher had closely followed King Orilis all the way to the base of the tower; it was as if they had been right alongside him.
“I guess that was more than we could’ve hoped for,” she said after a moment. “If only we could crack the Watcher’s code. We need to be inside that tower.”
Charlotte smiled as her sharp blue eyes met the Speaker’s. “I have spoken to the woman Aaron Orilis brought with him. Leena she is called.”
Stars bless her.
“She understands what is at stake then?” the Speaker asked without emotion. Now was not the time to celebrate a small victory. For all she knew, the entire party would never make it out of the tower alive.
Charlotte nodded. “She is a Starcaptain, however, meaning she knows how we operate. Her price was not cheap.”
Camila waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing in comparison to what she may lead us to. You have done well.”
The Builder smiled and made her way towards the exit where Evelyn and Leyla waited by the door. “We will return as soon as we can, Madame Speaker.”
“Of course,” Camila responded. “Our planets do not stop spinning for this expedition.”
After the door sealed, the Speaker turned her attention to Anisa. “And what of our business?” she asked the woman of Kire.
Anisa motioned to the monitor displaying the Red Planet. “I have confirmed that High Lord Salmonous has made a move to claim the banner of the Phoenix from High Lord Drusen. It is likely that he means to combine it with his own.”
Camila took a deep breath. If that foolish High Lord announced his claim for Highest Lord there would be open war on Kire. How he had stayed under the Alliance’s radar for so long still baffled Camila. Someone had to have aided him. But that investigation would have to wait – war was unacceptable.
Conflict had a way of escalating to involve all of Solixi if left unchecked. The balance created by the Alliance was more delicate than any of them would ever care to admit. History had proven time and time again that they were only one spark away from an all-consuming fire.
Of course, it wasn’t as if they didn’t have the means to control such a fire. It was just that prevention was much more cost efficient.
A four-hundred-year peace will not fall on my watch, the Speaker thought sternly. “I assume you’ve taken care of the proper arrangement?”
The red veins around the woman’s eyes sparkled in the light of the planetary screens. “Of course, Madame Speaker. The stars will not watch over him this night.”
Camila nodded as she met the woman’s deadly gaze. It was clear that Anisa relished the opportunity to prove that she could maintain balance of her planet.
But what if she had been the one to shield Salmonous’ actions? Keeping the Alliance’s hold on the throat of Kire and its invaluable s’ore mines had proven more than difficult. If the planet’s Voice had turned on the Alliance…
No. Camila dismissed the thought. Anisa had never given reason to doubt her allegiance. Of all the planetary Voices, the Speaker trusted the Kirian the most. Someone else had to be behind Salmonous and the rise of the White Dragon.
“Camila,” Anisa gasped from in front of the five monitors.
The Speaker turned to find a welcome surprise. Metabode’s screen had shifted to a feed inside the tower. However, it was not the usual crystal-clear images provided by the Watcher’s eye. This view’s quality was far less – an assortment of gray pixelated images. It was just clear enough to make out the insides of the structure.
To see that something moved within.
Metallurg (Metabode)
The King of Orilix moved stealthily from one room to the next as the group progressed through the tomb-like tower. Those immediately adjacent to the entrance held nothing of value – a table, chairs, and chipped gray glasses. Another appeared to be a storage chamber with black boxes stacked close to the dark ceiling.
Reluctantly, Aaron allowed the s’ore to dissipate from the edge of his blade and turned to face Amon. The engineer had picked up a thin square-screen off the floor of one of the rooms; the devise appeared beyond repair. His face reddened as he realized he was the focus of the King’s stare.
“No offense, my King,” he stammered. “But it is not as if I have read the schematics. Your guess would be as good as mine … better even.”
Aaron withheld a sarcastic smile. He was not fool enough to think his guess would be more accurate. His father had ensured that he knew a king was not omniscient – that appropriate guidance was needed in complicated areas of study. One only had to look at the history of Salmedia to find examples of royal blunders caused by foolish rulers.
“I think Metom and his heirs would make residence in the top of the tower,” Leena offered. “Every ruler wants to be close to the gods.”
“I agree,” Fain added with his deep growl of a voice. “They also have the best potential to have remained untouched.” The Guard motioned to the dusty floor where large boot-prints crisscrossed towards the other side of the tower.
“Be on guard then,” Aaron voiced in agreement. “If something survived the bomb perhaps it awaits us there.” He looked cautiously at the pulsing rifles in the hands of the guard. “Do not fire unless we are left with no choice.”
A moment later, Fend returned, dragging a steel short-sword in the dusty floor behind him. “Stairs,” he said bluntly. The guard met the King’s eyes. “I thought it best to leave a trail – in case we need to run.”
There have been worse ideas…
“Lead the way,” Aaron commanded.
As they walked, the green light from the entranceway followed. Like an invisible servant, it provided visibility in the tall, bleak hallways of the tower.
Behind them was only darkness.
Fend pointed towards a passageway where Aaron could just make out the beginnings of a spiraling staircase. As if reading their minds, the green light raced ahead of them and lit the dust ridden stairs. Aaron took a step ahead of the guard and craned his neck upward in an attempt to see the top of the tower. The green light stretched as far as his eye could see, and there did not appear to be an end.
“M-my King,” Amon called. There was the usual hint of nervousness in his voice.
Aaron made his way over to the thin engineer who was tracing something in the wall at the base of the staircase. “Use the light in your suit, Amon.”
On cue, light blossomed from the tip of the engineer’s breathing apparatus, revealing a series of carvings which ran along the wall beside the stairs. It was the alien script of the Meteans for certain, full of beautiful curves, vexing crosses, and foreign shapes that still held no meaning despite a thousand years of study.
“This is … his symbol,” Amon said nervously as he traced one of the figures.
Aaron was glad he hadn’t said the name aloud. There was no need to even think the name Metom in such a forsaken place.
But the engineer wasn’t done. Like a beast with a scent, he quickly went to a knee and examined the edge of the staircase. “I think that these are supposed to be …. automated,” he observed. “Perhaps there is no need to walk to the top.”
“They have not moved in a thousand years,” Fend countered. “What makes you think they will still function?”
“The tower seemed to have no problem letting us in,” Leena mused.
“Then, what could make it work?” Fend asked.
Aaron sighed and stepped closer to the stairs. His guards were more renowned for their skillful protection than their wits. “Simple,” the King explained. “Something born right here on their own planet.”
He raised the s’ore blade and placed it against Metom’s symbol. The blade roared to an orange life and, after a few seconds, the ancient symbol glowed brightly in response. A moment later, the stairs began to wind upwards.
“Hurry,” Aaron advised, carefully examining the glowing reserve in the reservoir of his blade’s handle. “That drained more s’ore than I would have liked. Who knows how long it will power the staircase for.”
A heartbeat later, the group was ascending through the core of the great tower. The stairs made no sound as they guided them for what seemed like miles above the planet’s surface. Fend stood five or six stairs ahead, Fain equidistance behind.
“I’ve been thinking of something else,” Leena whispered into the King’s ear.
Aaron smiled, a harrowing set of fantasies running through his head.
“Not that,” she smiled putting a playful hand on his black bodysuit. “If the bomb truly killed the Ironskinned where they sat … then where are their bodies?”
The King frowned and met the woman’s pretty eyes. He hoped Amon hadn’t overheard. Luckily, the engineer was still transfixed by the broken gadget he had acquired earlier. It seemed he had somehow coaxed a part of it back to life.
“Wouldn’t they … I don’t know … decay after all this time?”
Leena shrugged. “Those killed on Orilix were burned – as they were everywhere else in the system. The Alliance may know, but I doubt they would tell anyone outside their inner circle. Perhaps … they do simply decay.”
Aaron tightened the grip on his blade. Leena had broached another subject that was best left to mystery. “They would never let it die, Leena.”
The woman’s face paled. “I didn’t mean…”
“It’s best not to speak that name either,” he interrupted.
As had all kings, Aaron had studied Dynastend in the histories of the galaxy. It was an unstoppable phenomenon that had not been seen in hundreds of years. But just because it had not reappeared did not mean it had died.
It was the one thing the Alliance would never sacrifice if they had a choice. As far as Solixia was concerned, Dynastend was the ultimate trump card.
It had ended the only coup ever attempted by his ancestors. Even the blade he now carried had been unable to withstand its power as it razed the capital city. Aaron didn’t know which name was worse to say aloud. Metom or Dynastend. He refrained from either.
For a long while afterwards, the group rode in silence.