2.50 Just the Start

50 – Just the Start

According to Hector’s map, there were only ten meters separating the junction from the door to the captain’s quarters, so he approached the corner cautiously, careful to keep his steps silent. He still had less than twenty aura, but he didn’t think he had time to stall; he couldn’t hole up in the elevator, for instance, and let it regenerate. If Balus had a lieutenant guarding his quarters, he might be preparing to bolt.

Hector edged around the corner. He knew, thanks to the map updates Mae was sending to him, that the guard was standing near the door, but he didn’t know what kind of armaments he carried. With that in mind, he was ready to pull back if someone started shooting. When his eyes cleared the corner, though, he saw a man in a dress uniform with nothing but a ceremonial saber hanging from his belt.

He was trim and of average height, but his face was stoic; his eyes said he was ready for trouble. Hector wasn’t hiding; he wanted to save what aura he had for a fight. When the soldier—Stinson, according to Mae—spotted him peering around the corner, he lowered his center of gravity and lifted his hands into a fighting stance. “This is as far as you’ll get.”

Hector stepped into the open. He’s confident. The soldier hadn’t known who was coming or what kind of weaponry he’d face, but he didn’t seem to care. Dangerous. Hector stepped forward. “He’s worth dying for?”

Stinson shook his head. “But my honor is.”

Hector nodded, and then he moved. He put five of his precious aura into a Speed Boost. He closed the distance in a blur, and his body flared with crimson light and steam as his Aura Blade took shape in his fist. Stinson’s aura answered his—a canary yellow glow that erupted over his entire figure. Something began to take shape out of the aura in the man’s right hand, but whatever it was, he wasn’t fast enough to bring it to bear before Hector was on him. It wasn’t his only trick, though.

As Hector punched his blade toward Stinson’s chest, the man exploded with crackling yellow aura—a globe of force that expanded away from him. It hit Hector like a high-voltage line. His vision momentarily went white, his fist—the first part of him to encounter the barrier—burned and then a stinging lance of force ran up his arm and into his chest, stopping his heart, even as the barrier threw him back and up, slamming him into the ceiling.

As he thudded to the ground, Hector’s vision resolved, and he saw Stinson striding toward him. He couldn’t move; all of his muscles were contracting. His heart was spasming, trying to get back to a normal rhythm, and he couldn’t breathe. Still, Hector didn’t panic. He watched the man approach and waited, trusting in his massively enhanced vitality to overcome the jolt.

While he walked, the bright yellow aura in Stinson’s fist stretched out, hissing and crackling as it resolved into a blade—a curved knife that reminded Hector of ice as the surface fogged over with pale yellow steam. “How many are with you?” the man asked, assuming Hector would be in a talking mood.

Hector grunted, the black walls enclosing him fading away as his heart began to pump.

“You made that blade damn fast. I almost didn’t get my Pulse off in time.” Stinson squatted, his elbow on his knee, hissing blade just centimeters from Hector’s face. “Shame to die here. Maybe House Ventress could reform you. Just answer my questions.”

Hector inhaled softly; his body was under his control again. He glanced at his aura report: 12/56. It was no small feat to fire more than one aura ability at once. Practice made perfect, though, and Hector had decades of drilling under his belt. Once again, he pushed five aura into a Speed Boost and used another three to summon his Aura Blade.

As his body flared with crimson flames, he sprang into a crouch, ripping his blade in an upward arc toward Stinson’s face. To his credit, Stinson matched his speed—at least momentarily—drawing his blade up in a quick but sloppy parry. The Aura Blades hissed and screamed as they clashed, and Hector used the deflection’s momentum to bring his blade down in a scooping follow-up slash.

Stinson gasped as the mirrored edge cut through a rib and tore through his abdominal muscles. He backpedaled, pressing his hand against the wound, but Hector was still boosted—still on the attack. He pressed into the lieutenant, bringing his superior speed and experience to bear, weaving around Stinson’s desperate slashes to sever his arm at the elbow. Then, as the man’s hand fell and his knife faded into yellow steam, Hector drove his blade into his chest, punching it through his right lung.

He held the soldier against the captain’s door, staring into his dark hazel eyes. He knew he could snuff the light out of them—drag his blade to the right, cutting through Stinson’s heart. Still, the man had been brave, and he’d tried to show Hector some mercy when he’d thought he’d had the upper hand.

He deliberated for all of two seconds, and then he opened his hand, and his blade hissed away in a cloud of crimson steam. Stinson gasped, coughing, and Hector shifted his hand, grasping Stinson’s throat. “You’re done,” he said, and then he triggered his system, drawing out the man’s potentia. Stinson choked, his eyes rolled back, and he convulsed as the hot, tingling potentia flowed into Hector’s palm.

//13 potentia gathered. Potentia available: 1,198.//

“Not bad.” Hector released the unconscious man, dropping his body to the deck.

Mae? Send someone loyal to Gladia here. Give this guy some nanites and lock him up.

//*I’ll send the bridge officers; they’re on the same deck.*//

Nodding, Hector turned to the door panel and punched in Gladia’s command code.

###

Flint Tenebrix stood on the ramp leading up to the main loading bay of Maidensong. There were half a dozen corpses around him—Balus’s soldiers. Flint knew, from careful observation over the last few days, that between those at the rift and those on the ship, there were forty troops loyal to Balus. How many had Hector killed? How many were scrambling, hunting for intruders? For a moment, Flint had to fight down the impulse to charge into the ship and join the hunt for the Ventress.

That was folly, though; he had to keep Lux at bay because if the monster caught him and Hector together, then neither of them would be able to pursue Balus. The klaxon had long since gone quiet, but that didn’t mean the alarm hadn’t been raised at the rift. It only took an instant, after all, and they wouldn’t have dropped the jamming field if they weren’t sending for help.

“Did you take care of everything?”

His AI, Tom, knew what he meant: //I’ve initiated your fail-safe protocols. Notes to Gladia, Frederick, Lindsay, and Arnold have been dispatched. Balance transfers are standing by. You’ll still have time to cancel all of that, though, assuming…//

“Assuming I don’t die in the next few minutes.” Flint scanned the sky to the southeast. Even several klicks away, he could see the violet glow of the rift. He hated the flutter in his chest, the sweat on his palms, the unevenness of his breaths. He was nervous, but then, who wouldn’t be? Lux may not have ever earned the title of Praetorian, but he’d killed one in a duel. “Wish I had my battle armor on.”

He was wearing armor, but it was a light infiltrator’s set. Still, it wasn’t like some fancy armor would stop most of Lux’s attacks. He glanced at his aura readout: 422/425. It was a hell of a number—something to be proud of. So why does it look so damn small right now?

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His helmet’s UI beeped, and he saw a blinking red dot highlighted in the star-speckled sky. The range-finder display was rapidly counting down—currently 3,822 meters. “Incoming,” he said, his voice resigned, as he lifted his rifle to his shoulder.

###

“Hector Finalis,” the man seated at the desk said. His smile spoke volumes: I know your secrets, it said. You underestimated me, it said. Cancel all your plans, it said.

Hector turned to the door and pushed the lock button, sealing it with Gladia’s code. His mind was reeling, but only so much; he’d known Balus Ventress had Grando. He’d known it was a possibility Grando would talk, and even if he’d resisted heroically, there were ways to drag information out of someone’s mind whether they liked it or not. So, on some level, he’d prepared himself for this eventuality; after all, it was part of the reason he’d decided Balus needed to die.

“Nothing to say for yourself, Guardian Primus?”

Hector turned back to the man, scanning the richly appointed suite for any signs of a trap before closing the distance by taking a few strides. “If you’re trying to bait me, that won’t do.”

“Bait you? Why would I do that? I’m just struggling to figure out why you’re here. Of course, I’m surprised to find you still live, but knowing what I know, I can’t help but wonder why certain others are still breathing.”

Hector wanted to know what Balus knew; he couldn’t deny that. Even so, he had to consider the possibility that he didn’t know anything—that he was stalling to give his killer time to return from the rift.

//He doesn’t know you don’t remember what happened.//

Evie’s reminder, while unnecessary, helped Hector to choose from the many responses dancing at the tip of his tongue. “Maybe I’m biding my time.”

“Quite a long time to bide it, though. To think you’re helping Gladia and her boy after what our family did to you!” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. Hector was close enough to the desk now to see beyond it, to see through the glass. He scanned Balus for weapons and didn’t see anything except for a silver-inlaid autoinjector on his thigh. He shifted his gaze to the man’s face, taking in the wide, dark pupils surrounded by a narrow band of golden iris.

He’s high.

//Perhaps just something for his nerves. He’s exhibiting signs of extreme stress.//

Hector knew what she meant. Balus’s thin, feathery mustache was beaded with sweat; his hands, clutching the arms of his chair, were clammy and white at the knuckles. His brow was similarly damp, and the veins at his temples throbbed with a rapid pulse. “So? You have something to offer me?”

“Ah, right to the point. Ready to capitalize on this position you’ve put yourself in. Maybe it wasn’t so strange that you infiltrated Gladia’s household. So, you want to know who did it? Who took your corpus vivum?”

It took every ounce of Hector’s willpower not to react to those words. He’d assumed that Balus thought Hector knew about the betrayal—that he had his memories of the events that led to the slaughter of House Conti. This was new, though. Someone used my body?

//It would explain why you don’t remember the events. It would explain how people thought you were the killer, even though you and I both know you could never do something like that.//

“Speak.”

Balus smiled again, but now that Hector could see his sweat, it rang false. “Some assurances first.”

Hector shook his head. “Maybe after.”

“Well—” Suddenly the ship shuddered—enough that Balus’s chair rolled away from the desk half a meter, and Hector had to take a step for balance. “Ah! Perhaps that means Lux has come home. I do hope he doesn’t damage my new ship too severely in his haste to reach me.”

Hector’s shoulders bloomed with crimson aura that flowed into his fist, taking the shape of his gleaming, mirror-like Aura Blade. He sidestepped around the desk. “Don’t count on him.”

“W-wait!” Balus held up a trembling, well-manicured hand, and Hector narrowed his eyes. Was he truly so weak, or was this a show? Was he attempting to lull Hector into complacency so he could try to fend him off with a desperate aura ability? Balus was a Royal, and Hector was sure this wasn’t his first “life.” He had to have some ability to defend himself. “I’ll talk! You’ll see: I’m not the one you should be trying to kill!”

Despite himself, Hector’s tongue came to life, and he spat a name: “Alistair Ventress-Dane.” History said that was the man who’d killed Hector—put a stop to his rampage. He couldn’t be innocent—

“Alistair? He was involved, true; he stopped ‘you’ but we both know that wasn’t—”

“Me.”

“No, Alistair was in the right place at the right time by design; our family benefited greatly, but we weren’t the only ones—”

“Lautrec!”

Balus nodded, his eyes wide as they stared at Hector’s hissing blade. It was an intimidating sight, Hector was sure; it was a show of strength that he could keep it active so long, but he knew he probably only had a minute or two of aura left. It would serve as a deadline; Hector knew he needed to hurry. “Yes, the Emperor was involved, but the one who wore your skin, the one who slaughtered the Contis and pinned the murders on you was—”

The ship shuddered again, and for just a moment, Hector thought he was going to suffer one of the greatest clichés in history—Balus would nearly name his betrayer only to be interrupted at the last instant. He was so sure of it he snorted in derisive, grim humor, but then Balus regained his composure and finished his sentence:

“—none other than Lucien Vigilant, Guardian Secundus of the Conti family.”

“Lucien?” Hector’s mind reeled. How many battles had he and Lucien fought together? How many laughs had they shared? He’d known him since they were both Invicti—

“And he now wears the skin of a Ventress! He sits at my cousin’s side, watching him. Hah! Loyal doesn’t even know! But I do! I have it straight from Alistair! He serves the Emperor, just as I do, and that is why this little rebellion was doomed from the—”

The lights in the room began to flicker and pulse—red-white-red-white. Hector leaned close to Balus, lifting his hissing, gleaming blade close to his throat. “Which Ventress does he wear?”

Balus leaned away, but he shook his head, forcing a quivering smile. “No, no. I’ve shown you enough of mine. Now I’ll need some assurance—”

“Who else knows about me?”

Balus’s smile solidified as he nodded. “Only the one person here you can’t threaten.” It wasn’t much of a leap to realize he was talking about Lux. “So, put your little blade away and accept facts; you work for me now.”

At that moment, it became clear why Balus hadn’t tried to fight. Maybe he had a high-end aura system. Maybe he knew a trick or two, but he’d placed all his confidence in Lux, or rather, the idea that Hector would balk, knowing that the Praetorian-grade killer held his secrets. He’d been so confident that he’d let Hector get within a centimeter of him with his Aura Blade.

“So, only the two of you?”

“Yes, and we can keep—”

Balus’s words died on his tongue as Hector drove his blade up through his chin and into his brain. For good measure, he sliced it through, bisecting the neurodeck implanted in the base of his skull. Hector let go of his blade and pressed his hand to the man’s blood-soaked shirt, drawing in his potentia.

//11 potentia gathered. Potentia available: 1,209.//

Shaking off the brief rush, he turned and hurried to the door. Mae, please tell me the fight’s not over. Is Flint holding out?

By way of answer, a camera feed appeared on Hector’s AUI, and he focused on it as he slipped out the door. It showed the area outside the ship, near the base of the loading ramp. The ramp was mangled—bent, twisted, and blackened by the forces Lux and Flint had brought to bear. Likewise, the parade ground outside was pitted and blasted. That was when Hector saw the two fighters.

Flint was surrounded by a globe of flickering orange aura, and Lux was floating before him, awesome and huge in a sheath of black flames. He pounded at Flint with his fists, each blow cracking and denting the orange barrier a little more. Energies flew from them—little balls of black and amber aura that sizzled as they burned into the ground.

Hector stepped onto the central elevator, and as it descended, he zoomed in on Flint. The man was battered and bloody, his eyes like crimson pools—every vessel must have burst. “Aura overload,” he said.

//It would appear that he’s nearly out of reserves.//

“Come on, get this thing moving!” Hector wanted to save Flint, but that was only part of his urgency. More desperately, he wanted to eliminate Lux—a dangerous enemy who knew too much about him. He refused to examine that impulse too closely. By any measure, going to Flint’s aid was suicide, but he wasn’t thinking like Hector Valerius just then; he was operating as Hector Finalis—a man who could not abide Lux’s continued existence.

Maybe to keep himself distracted, he said, “Evie, talk to Mae. Make sure every record of Grando’s memory download is thoroughly deleted. Use Gladia’s command codes if you have to.”

//Understood.//

While he’d listened to Balus Ventress, Hector had come to realize something: he’d already, by sheer luck or perhaps the intervention of fate, found a way to get quite close to some of the people who’d betrayed him. Surely there were more members of House Ventress who deserved to taste the edge of his blade, but the ones with the dirtiest hands were Alistair Ventress-Dane and Lucien Vigilant—whatever skin and name he was using now.

“But they’re just the start,” he growled, clenching his hands into fists.

//Hector, surely you don’t—//

Damian Lautrec—

//The Emperor!//

—needs to die.