Alliance of Serpents (4 page)

Arus looked at him sideways. "You think
Terranias will go to war over me if I go back?"

Damien shrugged. "I don't know. But I've seen
similar things happen. Humans are easily frightened and even more
easily angered. I've had enough experience with your race to know
that many humans would sooner destroy something that makes them
uncomfortable rather than learn from it, accept it, and embrace it.
They fear the unknown, and they fear change."

"So . . . what happens to me now?"

"That's part of what I've been discussing
with my associates. We want to find the safest way to return you to
your people, but we don't know how that's going to be possible. I'm
going to call a meeting a little later on. You and Vultrel are both
welcome to come."

"I'll pass the message on if I see him," Arus
said absentmindedly.
If I can even get him to listen to
me.

"Good. For now, feel free to explore, but
don't leave this deck. Here," Damien handed him a small silver
device similar to Kitreena's communicator. "Take this. That way we
can contact each other if we need to."

Arus had no idea how to work the gadget, and
Damien well on his way down the hall before he looked up to ask.
"Thanks," he murmured.

The door to the left remained open, and Arus
could see Kitreena inside, sitting on a chair in the far corner,
lacing up her black boots. Her dark hair obscured her face as she
leaned down, working each lace through with a stiff tug that spoke
volumes about her frustration. Not that he needed any more examples
of Kitreena's anger. She glared at him when he approached. "Do you
always enter people's rooms without permission?"

Arus raised his eyebrow as he glanced around.
There was a desk in front of a cushioned red chair to the left, and
cabinets of polished brown wood lined the wall beside her chair.
Other than that, there was no much to the room except for an
assortment of documents hanging from the walls. It didn't seem like
a personal residence. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was your
room."

"It's not," she said, pulling the black
leather leg of her pants down over her boot. "But then, this isn't
your ship."

"I'm sorry," he said again. Was there nothing
he could do right around her? "I just wanted to see how you were
feeling."

"Well," she glanced up at him before pulling
the other leg down, "better than you, I suppose." When she stood,
she threw her hair behind her back and tied it with a red ribbon.
"You hungry?"

The question caught him off-guard. Kitreena
never seemed like the kind of person who would invite him to
dinner. "Well . . . yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

Her face seemed as hard as ever, but her
voice softened a bit. "Come on. Let's see if we can find something
at the cafeteria."

The cafeteria turned out to be a lot like the
Serving Hall for the elders in Keroko. Dozens of dark wooden tables
were spread across the floor, each surrounded by chairs with blue
cushions and armrests made from silver. A serving bar stretched
along most of the right wall where people lined up with trays to
assemble their meal. People filled the room sparsely, many wearing
the same brown uniforms Arus had become familiar with, others in
what appeared to be casual clothes of varying colors and design.
But it was the windows lining the far wall that really grabbed his
attention.

"By the Maker . . ." he muttered, staring in
disbelief as his feet carried him across the room. The vast abyss
of space, in all of its unimaginable glory and splendor, seemed to
swallow him up as he stared into the endless sea of stars.
Terranias floated silently before them, its calm blue aura
enhancing the beauty of the sight. Several smaller ships circled
the
Refuge
, passing the window periodically in tight
formation. Another cluster of larger ships sat a good distance away
near the right side of the planet.

Kitreena looked back to the serving bar. "I'm
going to get a tray before that line gets longer. You coming?" Arus
heard her, but his attention was fixed on the planet. "We can get a
seat by the window, if you like." Finally, he nodded, but it was
hard to pull his attention away.

The serving bar certainly wasn't lacking in
variety, though Arus couldn't recognize most of the offerings. He
slid his tray along the counter beside Kitreena's, scooping up a
little of every type of meat he could find and even more fruit. She
gave him a startled glance more than once—apparently certain types
of meat weren't well-mixed—but in the end she told him to get
whatever he wanted. After filling a glass with something called
"Rasmban Punch," he followed Kitreena to one of the smaller tables
beside the window and sat across from her.

"Manue doesn't mix with rufen," she was
saying, pointing at the green-glazed meat on his plate. "If you're
going to try them both, I suggest rinsing your mouth between
bites."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said through a
nervous laugh. "What is manue? For that matter, what is rufen? What
is
any
of this stuff I've got here?"

It wasn't something he expected, but Kitreena
grinned through a bite of food. "Well, you wouldn't be familiar
with any of them. They're from assorted animals from the homeworlds
of crew members. Every cycle, the kitchen accepts votes for a new
meal from the crew. Everything offered is from the home planet of
one of us. That red meat in the blue gravy there is from my
homeworld. It's called Kraktouis. It's a bird that lives on the
ocean, feeding on the fish near the surface."

Arus took a deep breath and bit down on a
fork-full of Kraktouis. After rolling it around in his mouth for a
moment, he nodded and smiled. "Good choice," he said after he
swallowed. "Tastes a little like chicken with a sour sauce on
it."

Kitreena nodded and took another bite of her
food. "I think they have chicken up there. When your people
migrated across the galaxy, they brought a lot of their livestock
with them."

With every word, her attitude seemed to be
cooling down. Was she finally beginning to let go of her angry
demeanor? "
My
people? The doctor said that you descended
from humans, too."

The grin vanished. She stared at him for a
moment before responding. "I'm not supposed to talk about that.
There are dangers—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Arus groaned, shaking
his head. "But let's be realistic for a second here. I'm here, in
this ship, talking to you about food from the distant planets of
the universe. I know that you're not from my planet, and looking
around at these soldiers, many of them clearly aren't human. I
mean, even Damien isn't human! I don't know what more you intend to
protect me from; the damage has already been done."

Her lips formed a sympathetic pout, but her
eyes were still filled with suspicion. "But if you return to your
planet—"

He slammed his fist down on the table, a
gesture he certainly would've avoided had he thought twice. "I
can't
return! I don't know if you've noticed or not," he
knuckled the implant with his cybernetic hand, "but I'm a
mechanical freak now! I'm stuck here, or wherever you people decide
to send me to, whether I like it or not!"

Her mouth didn't move, but he heard her
voice.
I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Arus! I don't know how, but I'll
make it up to you somehow!

And this time, there was no mistaking it. It
was no hallucination, no figment of his imagination. "And why do I
keep hearing your bloody voice in my head?"

Her eyes grew with surprise. "You . . .
what?"

Caution hit him; the wrong words here would
make him seem like a madman.
Maybe I
am
a madman.
"I
keep thinking I'm hearing your voice," he said, lowering his voice.
"Maybe I'm just hearing things because of this bloody implant, I
don't know." He knew that wasn't what it was, but for the sake of
appearing sane, it seemed like the best story to give.

Kitreena's gaze was distant now. "Maybe . .
." she said, almost whispering.

The next several minutes passed in silence.
They ate quietly, carefully avoiding eye contact with one another.
Arus searched for what to say to smooth the situation over; he'd
never meant to explode like that. But he suddenly felt like a
homeless orphan with no one who wanted him, and that made it
difficult to stay calm.

"You're not an orphan," she said, her eyes on
her food. "You'll find your place. Everyone does sooner or
later."

Arus' human eye grew. "I didn't say
anything," he told her. "How did you know that's how I felt?"

"Yes, you did," Kitreena nodded as though it
was the most obvious thing in the world. "I heard you say it. You
said you felt like a homeless orphan with no one who wants
you."

"Kitreena," he said, waiting until she looked
at him before continuing. "I don't understand it, but you somehow
heard what I was thinking. And I get the feeling that I've been
hearing what you're thinking."

Now her face went pale, and she nearly
dropped her fork. Her mouth worked silently, trying to coming up
with some kind of response. Finally, she jumped from her chair.
"I'm sorry, I have to go."

Before he could protest, she was off, running
for the door as fast as she could. Arus rose to follow, but thought
better of it.
Don't intrude on her space. Whatever is going on
with her, she'll figure it out. Better to leave her alone, for
now.
With a sigh, he sat back down and went back to work on his
food. The next bite left him sputtering and grabbing for his drink.
"I should've listened to her," he groaned between gulps. "Manue and
rufen certainly do
not
mix."

The little egg in the incubation chamber
captivated Kindel. Not only had it been created from a single of
the Lephadorite's cells, it had such an incredible growth rate that
it had gone from a microscopic cell to the size of a pebble in only
a few days. The death of Lady Almatha's second assistant was
regrettable, but the price had been well worth it. The reproductive
properties of the new
baharinda
had fed on the lephadorite
perfectly, allowing Barrine's team to create the egg. The
researchers had given no real explanations for its incredible rate
of growth, only stating that the stone was indeed a living organism
and one of the most basic forms of matter they'd ever had the
privilege to study. They theorized that, with the right tools, the
lephadorite could be used to create anything from living tissue to
titanium plating for a starship. How that could be possible, Kindel
didn't understand, but science had never been his forte.

Behind him, Barrine was babbling on about the
cellular makeup of the stone and how intriguing it had been to
study such an unusual artifact. Kindel waved him away with a
dismissive hand, and he was quickly replaced by Lieutenant Petreit.
Scimitar and Kalibur had been ordered to keep all unauthorized
personnel out of the Research Laboratory during his visit, so
whatever Petreit had to say must've been important enough for them
to go against orders. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I've searched every lead I could come
up with in an attempt to hunt down the origin of the stone. So far,
I've been unable to come up with a clear answer. However, a few
comments made by some of my colleagues set my search in a different
direction. Given what Dr. Barrine has found regarding the cellular
structure of the lephadorite and the infinite possibilities it
seems to possess, a few of my contacts at several biological
research outposts suggested that I research something called
Lifestone."

Kindel's ears perked at the name, and he
faced Petreit with renewed interest. "Go on."

The soldier cleared his throat and flipped
through several pages on his clipboard. "As I'm sure you know, of
the thousands upon thousands of religions scattered throughout the
universe, several have striking similarities in their mythology.
The fall of a great city, the duel between an angel and the fallen
one, the Maker's victory over evil, the taint of darkness that
remained upon his Creation; all of it is described in similar
fashion, different only in trivial ways. One of those stories deals
with the initial forming of the universe itself, from the stars,
planets, comets, and meteors, right down to the plants, animals,
and people that inhabit them."

"The origin of matter itself," Thorus nodded.
"The stories vary in how it was all done, but in the end, they each
claim that the Maker began by creating an enormous stone, and it
was from that stone that he formed every single planet, star,
quasar, plant, animal, and everything else we see around us."

"That's right," Petreit said, smiling.
Obviously, he was proud of himself, though he'd proven nothing thus
far. "He took pieces of that stone, called Lifestone in the human's
version of the story, and molded each piece into another planet or
tree or rabbit or whatever he wanted to make. Everything is derived
from it, or so the stories go."

"And I suppose you expect me to believe that
the lephadorite is, in fact, Lifestone?"

The Lieutenant's smile vanished. "Well, Sir,
you have to admit, it is certainly an odd find. I mean, you said
yourself that many historical stories hold at least
some
 truth to them. Perhaps this is an example of
that?"

Kindel purposely narrowed his eyes. It wasn't
that he found Petreit's suggestion to be unbelievable—quite the
opposite, considering the other artifact he kept covered on his
cabinets—but if it was indeed true that the lephadorite was a
fragment of unaltered Lifestone, then he could allow
no one
to know about it. For now, Petreit had to be driven away from the
possibility. "Or perhaps this is an example of a man with no
answers grasping at straws?" Petreit took a step away from him,
whether he'd realized it or not mattered little. "What I see,
Lieutenant, is a soldier who has failed to complete the assignment
I've given him, and instead has offered me a flimsy excuse of an
answer that only a fool would believe." Regardless of whether the
lephadorite was Lifestone or not, it still had to have come from
somewhere.
And Kindel was determined to find out where.
"Now, you get back to your station, Lieutenant, and you are not to
leave it until you have found the answers I'm looking for! Have I
made myself perfectly clear?"