Chapter Five
Vyken
I release the last of four guards from the sleeper hold and brush my prison uniform off. Cara implemented a new outfit to distinguish between the prisoners and the guards, so I am now wearing simple sackcloth pants bound tight to my purple waist with rope, unlike the armored furs of the guard I am lowering to the ground.
“Apologies,” I growl to his snoozing body. “If I were supposed to be here, I would not have fought to leave.”
As I say it, I know with a swell of pride that this is true.
I fight for justice and for honor; I always have.
As alarms trill across the compound I throw the guard furs over my sackcloth and I run up and down, pretending to look for myself alongside the others. After a minute or two, I dissolve away from the commotion and make my way to the hovercab station, where I quickly slip inside the next available vehicle.
“Greetings, Vyken. My systems tell me you are a wanted criminal,” the planet-wide AI states coolly from the unmanned driver’s seat. Now that we know more of the universe outside Paxia again, I know that this Firosan technology is the most advanced AI in existence, and I feel pride for my people.
“I would never--”
“I know,” the smooth voice interrupts. “There is nothing in my records that states this behavior was possible in you.”
There is a long pause as I struggle for words.
The only ally I have in the galaxy, in this war I am to fight for the truth, is a disembodied … voice?
I grit my teeth.
“Vyken,” she says, “you must tell me where you would like to go.”
I shake my head hard; of course, she is right. The alarms are still sounding. I must leave. “You are not turning me back in?” I ask. It was stupid of me not to assume she would. She can do anything; she runs the planet.
“That is not my place. Look around you. Do I look like a judge? No, I am a cab.”
I swallow. “Take me to the hangar,” I say. I know that the FMS Spitfire rests right now in the large domed building, and I have the cybernetic key implanted into my palm that is used to gain access to her. I am going to have to skip asking for permission and instead figure out how I will ask for forgiveness.
Tyr is my oldest friend, and the Admiral of the military I have pledged my life to, and I am about to steal his most treasured possession.
And I don’t know when I’ll be back.
*
The Spitfire is so balanced and easy to fly that it feels like I am standing still on deck and the entire galaxy is slipping quietly past me.
Travelling this way is lonely. Part of the reason, I have always believed, for having a crew of at least five is that it is easy to feel your mind begin to slip away as you navigate for a long while through the void. Meaningless chatter is a wonderful way to beat back the madness.
But my mind right now? It’s sharper than ever.
My mission is twofold: clear my name, of course -- I hate that anyone would believe I was capable of such an atrocity -- and find out who really wiped out our allies. My theory is that it is either the Suhlik or their sympathizers, and there is no way I will let them get away with something so heinous.
I am on my way back to the planet Fera. I will piece together whatever clues I find, and I will figure out what happened there. I have never been what I would call the smartest on any given team, but I am far from simple -- and I have desperation on my side.
As I land on Fera I know exactly where to walk, but I don’t feel as if I have actually been here before. Intellectually, I know that I -- or just my body -- was here very recently, but none of this is actually familiar to me.
I know where I have to go, though. Even if the Ferathorns are all dead, the Oracle is timeless and essentially incorporeal. The leader of the Ferathorns will have answers … and I am certain that even if it wanted to kill me on sight, it would not be able to.
All around me on the planet Fera there is what looks like dead plant matter. Fera is supposed to be thick and lush and green, but it is brown and dry and the soil beneath my feet is cracked in zigzag patterns.
Everything around me looks dead, and I feel as though I might throw up.
Could this really, somehow, be my fault?
What happened here?
It doesn’t take me long to navigate my way to the heart of the planet, around the cracked soil and dry bracken, under dry boughs and over fallen plant matter. I hop down a level, sandy dirt raining over my head, and I growl and tear off the scratchy fur wrap around my chest. I prefer to be unbound anyway.
The roots seem to grow back over my head once I slide down into the heart of Fera and the suns are blocked out. I wipe my sandy palms on the sackcloth pants given to me by the Firosan prison and I look around, jaw set, for answers.
And they come in the form of a dull green bioluminescent glowing. It lights up the cramped cavern until my purple skin glows a faint green along with everything else down here.
It’s the first sign of life I’ve seen since touching down on this rock, and the thought makes my muscles tense. I fold my arms across my broad chest and squint at the source of the light.
“Welcome to Fera, Vyken. As you know, I am the Oracle of Fera.”
I swallow -- my throat is dry from the barren quality of the air -- before answering. “Well met, Oracle. You say ‘welcome’ as if I have not travelled here before.”
The plant and fungus-based orb flickers as if regarding me thoughtfully. “Yes. Your body I have welcomed already. Your consciousness … it has not yet been here.”
My chest swells. I knew coming here was the right thing to do. The Oracle sees all; knows all. It protects the Ferathorns -- or it tries to. If it viewed me as a threat it would have terminated me the second the Spitfire broached the atmosphere.
But instead it has welcomed me.
I could leave now, take evidence of the Oracle’s words and bring it back to Wrax and to Cara and show my people I shouldn’t be locked away. But I know that this evidence isn’t enough to gain their forgiveness. To return with a selfish plea and no answers, no results, would have my planet lose all respect for me. For failing my mission I may even lose my title. My crew. Doomed to desk work.
I would almost rather remain imprisoned. No. I came this far, broke out of jail and stole a ship and became a fugitive -- I must go all the way before I return to Paxia. I must solve this.
“I knew it,” I say aloud. “You must help me … I need to find out who did this to the Ferathorns. To your planet and its people.”
“Your enemies are our enemies.”
“The Suhlik.” Of course it was them. With a war coming it stands to reason they’d target our closest allies. And to remove a respected General while proving nobody on Paxia can truly be trusted? To stir such turmoil and unease in wartime is surely the strategic move of a genius, though I hate to even think it. The Suhlik are underhanded dishonorable foes; everything the Mahdfel are not.
It glows brighter, showcasing anger that matches the burning in my own soul. I nod once. “What do I do?”
The Oracle hums and its light pulses.
“I know what we must do.”
A moment passes and then a pain splits through my head as it burns information into my long term memory. I double over, gritting my teeth, and then I lean back. The string of numbers means nothing to me, but I know that I will never be able to forget them.
“Go. The girl. The girl is the answer.”
Right. So they are coordinates.
The girl is the answer.
That’s all I am getting for now. The Oracle’s light fades; I know it gets exhausted by communicating for long stretches of time with other lifeforms, and burning information into my mind must have taken a lot out of it. I must go. This is all the information I have, and I know deep down it is all I need. I will not fail.
Because I am General Vyken of the Firosan Mahdfel Military, and this is the most important mission of my life.