Hybrid Saga 01 - Hybrid (52 page)

“Turn us around,” she ordered. “We’re not leaving yet.”

Sierra,” Kern pleaded. “There’s nothing we can do-”

“Just do it!” she barked, angrily.

“He’s right,” Jarred agreed, sympathetically. “Seeing it won’t change anything.”

“Maybe not for you,” Sierra returned. “I’m sure you could care less. But
I
need to see what they’ve done. I can’t leave until I have.”

There was a silent pause and Kern resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder. He could imagine the stare down that was taking place after the stinging comments. Sierra had always had a way with words.

“Bring us about,” Jarred said finally, the angry rebuttal Kern had fully expected not coming. “Heading one-seven-five. That should set us up for a direct pass over the area.”

There was no sense arguing any further. Sierra was his superior and Kern would follow her orders, though he had hoped Jarred might be a bit more persistent. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. It was just that, regardless of what had happened, there was little to nothing they could do about it. Seeing the carnage wouldn’t change that, though it
would
increase their chances of being spotted.

Taking a last look at the open space just ahead of them, he turned hard to stern and altered course to take them back along the moon’s equator. Trycon was on the satellite’s far side now and they would have to make nearly one full orbit to pass over it, which just meant more time flying under the scrutiny of the Sect blockade. The good news was the cloaking field seemed to be doing its job. They hadn’t been shot at yet, which was definitely a good sign. With any luck, it would stay that way.

Solta being relatively small compared to an actual planetary body, it didn’t take long for Trycon to come into view, the city appearing as a shimmering grey matte from their low orbital pathway. As they passed over it, Kern glimpsed a dark gathering of clouds on the horizon, collected above an amber glow he knew would have been the city’s core, or what was left of it. The glow quickly swelled in size as their approach brought them over the devastated area that must have spanned a nearly twenty kilometer radius, the sight causing Kern’s stomach to tighten with nausea. Hundreds of thousands dead would be a light estimate. The actual number he was afraid to even consider.

“Maybe you shouldn’t see this,” Jarred commented behind him. A glance back showed that the suggestion had been directed towards Elora, who was gazing out through the nearest viewport overlooking Trycon. Kern could understand that. She had experienced enough trauma herself with the loss of her brother, who they were now attempting to go after. The horrific site below would do nothing to calm her strained nerves.

“I’m fine,” she answered, distantly, keeping her eyes on the viewport.

The flight deck grew quiet then, and remained so, allowing their orbit to carry them over the scene in cold silence. What was there to say? The devastation defied description, as did the malice behind it. The
evil
that had caused it. That was something he did have words for.

“They’re saying we did this,” he nearly choked, with disbelief.

“We did,” Sierra answered, solemnly.

Kern turned to look back at her and arched his brow. “You can’t be serious.”

Sierra didn’t flinch. “We didn’t pull the trigger, but what happened down there happened because of us, because of what we’ve done . . . and what we’ll continue to do. This is just the beginning. It’s going to get worse. A lot worse.”

Kern shook his head, gazing down at the burning crater below. Was that truly the reality they were faced with? Their actions had brought this on all of those people? Kern couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t believe that his actions, his good intent, had led to this. If it was true, how could he continue, knowing what would happen.

“Then why are we doing it,” he asked, partially to himself, “if this is the result?”

“The Sect will stop at nothing to maintain their hold over this system,” she answered him, absently. “Even if it means destroying the very thing they’re trying to hold on to. That’s why we’re doing this.”

Kern glanced back to see the obvious self doubt in Sierra’s features, though the feeling must have been short lived as they were quickly replaced by a look of steely resolve.

“And it’s why we have to keep going,” she finished.

Kern wasn’t fully convinced, but he turned back to look out the viewport again. It was a lot to swallow. He had the blood of thousands on his hands, however indirectly, with the potential of adding more to the tally. That was something he wasn’t sure if he could handle, or live with.

The deck fell into silence once more, the seconds seeming to pass like hours, until finally, the smoldering patch that was once Trycon’s governing core, vanished beyond the edges of the ship’s viewports.

“Get us out of here,” Sierra said, finally.

Kern shook his head, now somehow hesitant to abandon the city that lay in ruins beneath them. Maybe that was why Sierra had needed to see it so badly. So that it
wouldn’t
be so easy to just turn away. So that she would remember. He had to agree on that point. He would never forget what he had seen here. The images would most likely haunt him for the rest of his days. He guessed that was the point.

“We can’t let them get away with this,” he commented, to no one in particular. “They have to pay for what they’ve done to these people.”

“They
will
pay,” Sierra answered him, reassuringly, the menacing tone returning to her voice. “They won’t get away with it. We’ll have our chance to avenge Trycon. It just won’t be today.”

*     *     *

Staring down at the scorched blemish on Trycon’s large city face, which was all that remained of the city’s governing district, Rho’uk could not help but feel uneasy. Death, even on such a scale as this, was not to be mourned. All life ended. How and when was in the hands of the Gods. It was his duty as a warrior to take life when so required, and to give his own when the Gods willed it to be his time. Blood was spilled and life was spent in war. This was the way of things. Though, it was the blood of warriors that was to be traded for glory under the watchful gaze of Turaus. Not that of . . . innocents.

In war, there was always collateral damage. This could seldom be helped and was a cost of doing battle. This was different. These innocents, as to say they were not warriors, were not simply caught in the cross fire. They were the intended target. Durak had initiated the attack as a means of gaining public sentiment against the insurrectionists, while creating the needed veil of cover that would be required to ensure that operations on the moon went unnoticed for the time being.

But it had not been the insurrectionists that had struck, as the masses were being informed. It had been Durak, and by extension, the Dominion, which meant that he himself, as a loyal servant of the Sect, was also responsible. The lives that had been taken in the staged attack did not weigh on him, so much as the purpose behind the action. These terrorists, as they were being called, were attempting to undermine the Sect’s power, and in doing so, dishonored the will of the Gods. The attack on Trycon would be more proof of this to the citizens of the Dominion, yet it would be false proof.

Rho’uk understood the need for secrecy. For subterfuge. These were tools in his own arsenal. As the striking blade of Turaus, Rai Chi warriors needed to be skilled in a variety of tactics, with the ability to employ them all with deadly efficiency. Though, when they were employed, it was to be against one’s enemies. That had not been the case today, and it was this that was the source of his current internal conflict.

If the insurrectionists were the enemy, as they wished harm against the Gods, the Sect, and by extension, all of its citizens, and his purpose, as ordained by the Gods, was to prevent them from doing so, why was Trycon now burning as a result of their own actions? Was this not the very thing they were attempting to thwart?

Never one to be unsure of his duty, Rho’uk suddenly found himself feeling strangely conflicted. What was his purpose here? To extinguish the threat the insurrectionists represented? To Trycon,
they
had become that very threat. That was a thought that did not sit well with him.

Shifting his gaze, he looked from the moon to its looming parent world. Turaus. Was this what the War God wished of them? Was this His will? Were all things and doings not the will of the Gods? Perhaps that was where he should seek his clarity. With Them.

Yes, of course. How foolish of him. He needed to put his faith in the Gods where it belonged. Trust in Their wisdom and Their path for him. He would pray. Then the answers would come.

SPACE, NEARING RYZA

Appearing as only a minuscule dark speck in the massive shadow of its ringed parent world, Ryza looked as though it was sinking into the gaping maw of an horrific beast. The site left Jarred feeling unsettled, a thought in and of itself that disturbed him. He was hardly the type to be rattled by symbolic imagery, but he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that there was something ominous waiting for them here. Waiting for
him
.

Approaching the industrialized moon, he found himself reminded of the stairway he had climbed so many times as he’d made his ascent to the temple that was home of, what he could only describe as, an all consuming darkness. The dream had haunted him for all his life, or as much of it as he could remember. It had followed him, a dark companion in the shadows of his mind, but until now it had been only that. A dream. Upon finding the sword, it had suddenly become something real and tangible. Was it a vision of his future? He didn’t know, but the thought of truly being faced with whatever waited for him in his dreams made him uneasy. He never saw what dark presence dwelled within the temple. He had no clue as to what it represented. He never returned either.

Jarred scorned himself for letting, what he viewed as being, his childish fears get to him. He wasn’t a boy waking from nightmares anymore. He was a grown man and was more than capable of handling himself in any situation. The only thing waiting for him on Ryza was Ethan. If he planned on getting the boy out safely, if he was even there at all, he would need to have his wits about it.

Security would be tight, but not heavy enough to make entry impossible. It was an industrial facility, not military, its defenses geared more towards hindering acts of corporate espionage. Getting in would be the easy part. Finding Ethan and making it back out with him was going to be more challenging.

“Bring us in over the northern hemisphere,” he instructed Kern, while analyzing the three dimensional mapping grid on the display in front of him. Laying the last known homing beacon coordinates over the grid’s cross section allowed him to pin point the near exact area the signal had originated from, which would at least give him a starting point to begin his search. “Heading eight-three-one. And watch for traffic. A mid air collision will cut this rescue mission short in a hurry.”

Freighters and other commercial vessels cluttered the rain filled skies, as they descended into the lower atmosphere, coming and going from the numerous facilities on the surface and in orbit around the moon. Ryza was a very busy place, which would be of aid to them in completing their objective. Even without the cloaking field, he doubted they would have had any trouble on their approach, or even landing at any one of the many ports. But then, they did not intend on making port at any of them, and so they remained in stealth, which presented a higher degree of danger when navigating busy air space.

“Don’t worry about me,” Kern responded from the flight seat, his tone sounding only slightly annoyed. “You just focus on your part. Let me handle the-”

The ship jerked hard to port and Jarred had to grab hold of the computer console to keep himself from being thrown from his seat, the sound of a rumbling set of, all too close, ion engines reverberating through the hull as something large and bulky passed by. Righting himself, he turned to glare up at the pilot.

“Flying,” Kern finished, apologetically, while righting their course.

Ryza’s surface area was almost entirely covered in structural facilities. Buildings, factories, warehouses. There seemed to be little to no surface area not covered by an artificial structure of some kind. Without the homing beacon as, at least a general aid, this rescue attempt would have been an act in futility. It still might be.

As they approached the area which the beacon had indicated, Jarred became sure they were at the right place. Or as sure as he could be under the circumstances. The buildings and factories began to thin out, as did the transport traffic. He had expected to find as much from an area where slaves were being housed and utilized.

Looking from his monitor to the area directly below them through his viewport, he pointed down at the structure they were nearing. “This is the place. He was down there, at least at some point.”

“It looks like some kind of waste disposal facility,” Sierra commented.

“Which helps to explain its isolation out here,” he added, in agreement. A series of large pipes spread out from the facility in multiple directions, each bundle connecting to the heavily structured areas around it. They would be syphoning the waste that was produced at those sites. There would be numerous disposal facilities like this one all around the moon to deal with the high quantities of waste an operation of this magnitude would produce. “Low profile place to employ a slave workforce.”