Ashes of Andromeda (The Last Archide Book 3) Read online

  “Some of those choices are the result of learned behaviors, some are instinctive, and others are deep, cultural behaviors. Other behaviors are so imbedded into the fabric of humanity that they’re nearly impossible to deviate from. The question becomes: where did it all start?”

  “This is a circular debate. It really has no beginning and no end. Things change all the time,” Oryan challenged.

  Sicari gazed at him with a look between empathy and pity. “Is it?”

  “Of course it is. Society decides what’s right and wrong and that changes every day. It also changes for every person in that society.”

  “In your studies, no matter how far back, was murder ever considered good?”

  “No. But some murder is justified. A soldier murders to protect others.”

  “A fact you’re well acquainted with! Soldiers take life, there’s no denying that. Tell me, Warlord, did any of the lives you took as a soldier feel good?”

  Oryan began to see Sicari’s point. “No. But it had to be done.”

  “Yes it did. That’s what’s known as a necessary evil. However, no matter how justified or necessary murder might be, it’s still evil. There’s something about taking another man’s life that tears at us like nothing else. Once murder is done, it can’t be undone and perhaps that’s what makes the act so traumatizing.”

  “I got used to it.”

  “Did you? Or did you just learn to suppress the effect it had on you?” he asked rhetorically. Oryan didn’t respond.

  “Do you believe evil exists?”

  “Without question. I don’t know that anyone can deny it,” Oryan replied, remembering the horrors of war and, more distinctly, the death camp he had seen firsthand.

  “Some don’t. They live in a world of moral relativism where anything goes based on what society deems good at the time. But in their complacency to follow the march of the popular and fashionable, they forget that some things aren’t relative.

  “If I told you that evil, as you and I know it, stems from one man, would you believe me?”

  “Probably not, but you do, so I’m willing to listen.”

  “That man’s existence is why I exist. Why the Archides exist. To keep him from getting to you, and every living soul.”

  Oryan had seen things he couldn’t explain. He was moved from one side of the world to another in a heartbeat, so he couldn’t entirely dismiss the man, but this seemed more like a delusion than a reality.

  “That all sounds very interesting. Assuming I believed any of this, what does it have to do with my father or me?”

  “As I’ve said, we guard the world from this evil. We watch for him and prepare for the day when he tries to take back what he feels was taken from him.”

  “Why not just hunt him down?”

  Sicari smiled an expression of great pride and hope. “Because, that’s what an Arkon is for. Your father was one of them.”

  Time to Act

  Doran Balsa walked between the rows of beds. Soldiers from all over the Empire laid around him in various stages of repair. He focused on a sleeping young man missing both legs. Balsa let his eyes follow the man’s frame up to his face, which was wrapped in gauze. To his right was another young man dotted with blood-stained bandages. Beside the bed was a bucket filled with watered down blood and small shards of metal that had been removed from the soldier. A medic had his back turned, removing his surgical gloves and washing his hands.

  The main door behind Balsa crashed open. A procession of soldiers fresh from the battlefield came in pairs, each carrying a stretcher between them. The hectic ballet of trying to save lives began playing again. Medics checked soldier’s pulses and inspected wounds, moving the ones who could be saved to the left and the ones bound for funeral pyres to the right.

  One of the men carrying a stretcher caught Balsa’s eye. As he passed, Balsa looked down to see the cause of the limp. The man’s boot was taped onto his leg and the leather was a dark shade of black from the blood seeping through.

  Balsa wanted to tell the man to stop and be treated but before he did, he caught a glimpse of the soldier on the stretcher. There was a ten-inch wound above his chest toward his shoulder. Small shreds of flesh near the armpit kept the arm attached. Balsa covered his nose with a handkerchief.

  He looked up from the wound to the soldier’s face. Dried blood and pale skin masked his youthful features, but he couldn’t be more than seventeen. He retreated to the exit where his military escort, Major Brand Wall, waited for him.

  The Major had been directing traffic for the incoming wounded as well as carrying some of them on his own. He was on his hands and knees, mopping up blood from the floor with already soaking rags, still barking at soldiers and medics on where to go. Wall finally stopped when he saw the Counselor walking to the door. Wall’s knees and palms were stained crimson, the same color now splattered on his uniform.

  “Mr. Balsa,” he saluted. Balsa did not reply but continued his steady gait outside of the hospital. Wall followed after him.

  The landscape outside was as jagged as the soldiers lying in beds. Days of bombing had laid the city to ruin. Intelligence reports confirmed Vollmar’s air force had moved on, which is the only reason Balsa was allowed to come. Combat pods and medipods still traversed the streets lined with piled debris.

  A few Imperial aircraft passed overhead while another landed not far in the cleared out hollow that had once been a building. Soldiers exited from all sides of the aircraft and loaded more wounded soldiers onto the waiting medipod.

  “Counselor,” Major Wall called. “We have to be on our way.” Balsa looked at Wall for a moment as if he was a complete stranger. “I disobeyed orders to even bring you here, and we’ve stayed too long.”

  Wall signaled for their transport. The medical aircraft lifted off, and was replaced by a much smaller aircraft.

  “Come on, Counselor. This is our ride.” Balsa looked back at the hospital, then to the aircraft, and calmly walked to it.

  Explosions decimated one of the combat pods only a block away from them. Wall tackled the Counselor, shielding him from the shower of sparks and debris.

  Balsa’s head swam. He could hear nothing over the intense ringing in his ears. He pushed up and shoved the Major off of him, a look of grim defiance flashed over his face. He stood to face the oncoming menace. Wall pulled at his arm, but Balsa slapped him away. Balsa saw more combat pods go past them, machine guns firing. He could even feel the concussion from the shots vibrate his chest but could only hear a single constant, shrill note.

  Major Wall touched him on the shoulder again, this time Balsa turned to his escort, bristling with frustration. “Get off me!” he shouted, though he could barely hear even his own voice. Every inch of him wanted to join the fight, not run from it.

  Wall took a step back and began to speak. His voice was barely more than a murmur, but Balsa could read his lips well enough. “We have to leave now.”

  The Counselor glared back over his shoulder at the burning combat pod and followed the Major to the waiting aircraft, which lifted off the moment they were aboard. It stayed low, navigating the broken city until there were only a few buildings left. Balsa tried to watch as things passed, but could only glimpse the battle that was now waging. One of Vollmar’s drones crashed down like a comet close enough to shake their aircraft. Balsa could feel the heat of the burning wreck even behind the closed hatch.

  Then there was blackness. Night enveloped them as they slipped out of the city into the plains beyond and away from the battle. Ripples of grass disturbed by the powerful engines of the aircraft flashed beneath them in colorless waves.

  Balsa could hear the dull thud of the aircraft’s engine, and aside from a torn suit, some scrapes on his palms and knees, plus what was sure to be a thunderous headache, he was fine.

  “I never knew you had a tattoo, Counselor,” Wall motioned his head toward Balsa’s hand.

  A small, intricate tattoo barely showed below his sh
irt-sleeve. It traced his thumb and disappeared beneath heavy make-up just before his wrist. Balsa chuckled. “A remnant of a much more reckless youth,” he reminisced. “Had I known public service was going to be my chosen profession, I probably would have made a different decision.”

  Wall returned the levity. “We all have those regrets.”

  “I don’t pay much attention to it except when my PR team covers it under inches of some thick cream that makes me itch later.”

  Wall’s smile faded slightly. “You handled yourself like a soldier back there. You were fearless.”

  “I take that as a compliment,” Balsa was pleased. “First time I’ve ever been in a battle.”

  Major Wall shook his head. “You’d never know it.”

  “Well”—Balsa leaned back heavily—“I guess that answers the fight or flight question for me.”

  “Why did you want to go there?” Wall asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m impressed, but the closest most Imperial Counselors want to get to that is the evening news, unless there’s a photo op involved.”

  “That’s a very accurate assessment,” Balsa admitted. “I had to see it for myself. Up front, in person, full-frontal nudity, if you pardon the expression.”

  “Yes, but that’s not a why, Counselor.”

  Balsa locked eyes with Wall. “We’ll all be corpses, Major. It’s an inevitable fact of life, but that’s a pretty rough way to go, don’t you think?

  “I had to go because I had to do something to convince myself that my next course of action is the correct one.”

  “And did you?”

  “You married, Major?”

  “Just. Said our vows on my last leave.” Wall’s face lit up at the memory.

  Balsa wagged a finger at him. “Exactly. Do you want to see your wife end up like those soldiers?”

  A shadow replaced the glow on Wall’s face.

  “I don’t either,” Balsa continued. “But that’s exactly what will happen if we don’t take action. There will be no discerning civilian from combatant when we’re all in body bags.

  “I thought replacing Kovac was enough but I was wrong. Kovac was a pawn.”

  Wall eyed him suspiciously. “This course of action you talked about. What exactly are you planning on doing?”

  Balsa’s jaw set. “I’m responding to the will of the people,” he said. From the look in his eyes, Balsa could tell the Major knew that meant the end of Navarro’s rule, and he approved.

  The Light that Shines in the Dark

  For two weeks, Sicari and Oryan were rarely seen apart. Sicari had begun the arduous process of altering Oryan’s disposition, and Oryan took to Sicari’s methods with enthusiasm. He found himself more inclined to laughter, quicker to put down his frustrations and more willing to accept correction.

  Sicari never lost patience with Oryan, even when the younger man lost control and reverted to his former habits. Sicari was always calm, always thinking and always confident. He laughed just enough, spoke just enough, demanded just enough.

  The lessons were tools. Sicari constantly gave Oryan tasks that were difficult to accomplish or problems Oryan wouldn’t be able to solve without a piece Sicari was temporarily withholding. Sicari taught him to recognize his frustration point and bridle it before it became anger.

  “It’s not about consequences, but choices,” Sicari explained. “If you’re always making decisions based on fear, fear will control you. Eventually, you will resent the fear and so resent your decisions. Ultimately, you will hate yourself.

  “Duty is a wonderful motivator. You feel that it was you who brought Celeste into danger, and so you’re trying to make up for that.

  “But, you forget that she chose you, as well. I’m sure she didn’t know what that would mean, but she made the choice. If you see her again, I’ll wager she still doesn’t regret the decision.”

  Oryan reflected on the heartbreak of losing Armay. He felt the pain of the loss again like an old wound reopened. He loved his father and missed him dearly but wouldn’t give up the memories he had. Oryan would endure the pain again if he could have a few more moments with Armay.

  Oryan wanted to find Celeste, but he wanted to give her the best possible version of himself he could. That meant giving her hope and love beyond just saving her from the Quarter. He felt as though he was capable of giving that to her now. He was far from perfect, but he was ready. Sicari had given him a foundation to build on. As Sicari was fond of saying, the rest was Oryan’s choice. Choose to revert back to what had brought him down or choose to rise above those things. It was time he left his friend to find her.

  On this morning, the sun was just beginning to break through the trees. Oryan followed the long corridor to the entrance. The door stood open. The smell of fruit mingled with freshly cut grass carried in on a cool morning breeze. As he stepped onto the wide porch, he could see the fog across the lawn caused by the evaporating dew. Sitting on an elegant white chair was Sicari, who made no sign of acknowledging his pupil. He simply continued to gaze at the peaceful scene before him. Sicari’s hand rested on the wolf’s head.

  “Beautiful morning,” Oryan said without changing his focus.

  “Yes, it is.” Sicari nodded. “You’re a lot like your father.”

  Oryan kept watching the rising sun through the branches of the trees. “Whenever you mention him, it means I’m about to hear about something else I probably won’t believe.”

  “Not so this time. For now, my part in this is over.”

  “So, you’re leaving again?”

  “Not quite. This doesn’t mean I have nothing more to teach you, it simply means you’ve had enough for now.”

  Oryan looked at his feet, smiled and quietly laughed. “Good! I was getting tired of you anyway!”

  Sicari returned the smile. “You’re stuck with me for a long time!”

  Oryan made eye contact with Sicari. “What happens now? You’re not leaving, but I get the impression I’m not staying. Are you letting me go?”

  Sicari rose from his chair and stood next to Oryan. “Today, my friend, you get to meet her.”

  ***

  “There’s a long walk ahead of you, my friend. I hope that you’re ready,” Sicari said to Oryan.

  “I’m always up for a good hike.” The wolf came to his side, tail wagging.

  Sicari punched a few patterns on his vambrace and Oryan heard the sound of several locks being released. When the sounds stopped, Sicari effortlessly pushed the door open.

  He gestured Oryan to go in and then he followed. The room was dark, especially when the door behind them closed and locked again. No sooner did the door seal, then lights all around them began to come to life.

  They stood in a vast open room. Unlike the rest of Sicari’s home, this one was more like what Oryan was used to. It was featureless except for the lights above them that looked as though they were a part of the building material. On the opposite side of the room were three tunnels, each some thirty feet tall and another thirty across at their base. A single metal rail stretched from the mouth of each tunnel into the great room. Oryan and Sicari were on a massive platform that was set at least six feet from the ground. It was reminiscent of the train station that he and Armay had used in the Quarter.

  “What do you think?” Sicari asked him.

  “What is it you’re moving and where?”

  “We affectionately call this place ‘the garage.’ It’s the staging area for sending food to the city.”

  “The city?”

  “Where did you think all those people who’ve been helping you, live?”

  “I thought they lived here.”

  “You’ve met a handful of the people who are under our direct protection. Through those tunnels is a city where some six thousand people live. What you’ve seen so far is just the garden.”

  Oryan looked back over his shoulder. “That’s one hell of a garden.”

  “Those who live here have no access to anything outside of t
his place. We can’t exactly leave here to get our groceries, now can we?”

  “How do you do all this?”

  “The garden is the last real remnant of the ancient world the Archides built. The technology that governs all of it is something even I don’t fully understand. Trying to explain it to you would require a science lesson I’m not qualified to give. Just know that the Archides were excellent terraformers.”

  Sicari pressed a pad on the wall behind them and the platform lowered to the same level as the rest of the floor. “When we transport the harvests, this platform lowers even more. That way, we can bring all the food and supplies from the garden to here with minimal effort and without having to go through my home. The whole thing is splendidly simple!”

  Their footsteps echoed off the high walls as they walked to one of the tunnel entrances. Once they reached the large archway, Sicari gestured him into the opening. “There’s only one way to go. You can’t get lost.”

  “How far is it?”

  “About two miles.”

  “What about the…” Oryan gestured to the rails on the ground, “the trains…or whatever they are?”

  “Those aren’t due back for another month when the next harvest is ready. However, on the off chance you hear one of them coming back…well…you’ll be fine.”

  Oryan raised an eyebrow. “That’s reassuring.”

  “I’ll let them know you’re coming. They should be waiting for you on the other end.”

  Sicari reached a hand out to him. “Thank you, Oryan.”

  Oryan slowly returned the gesture. “For what?”

  “There were a lot of people who doubted you. They didn’t think you could get over…yourself. I couldn’t let you beyond the garden until I proved them wrong. There’s too much at stake. Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

  Oryan adjusted the pack on his shoulders and stared into the dimly lit tunnel in front of him. A strange feeling crept over him. He felt like a kid getting ready for one of the sporting events in the Quarter. It wasn’t a negative feeling, but rather an anticipation for what was coming, even though he had no idea what that might be.