Sword of Dreams (The Reforged Trilogy) (6 page)

A slender blonde girl sat at one of the desks. She had large green eyes and a pretty, fine-boned face. She smiled at the three visitors and stood. "Good morning! I'm Panna Sul, Professor Xen's assistant." She offered her hand to each of them in turn. "You're probably here to see him, right?"

"Yes," Xia answered. "The kiosk said he was in."

"He should be, but Professor Xen is downstairs. He's covering Professor Stark's lecture. That should be over in about fifteen minutes. Can I get you anything? Coffee, fizz?"

"No, thank you," Xia declined. Tiberius and Duaal shook their heads.

"Well, have a seat," said Panna, gesturing to a row of chairs under one of the screens. She grimaced down at the computer on her desk. "Are you quite sure I can't get you anything?"

"I'm sure," Xia said.

Panna sighed and sat down. "Back to grading undergrad essays, then. They all quote the exact same lecture. I swear that it's the only one they went to."

Xia asked her a little about the college while they waited. Panna was more than happy to talk and answered the Ixthian's questions at length. Duaal stared out the window at the wispy white clouds racing over the campus. A group of students sat at a table in the quad below. One of them held a large datadex and gestured emphatically with it. The others nodded in agreement with whatever he said and scribbled down their own notes.

Even if I could go to a proper school like this, what would I study?
Duaal wondered.
Science? Literature?

Gavriel made me, raised me up to be a tool for his magic. That's what I'm good at. That's
all
I'm good at. And I can't study magic here.

Duaal was wondering if Arcadians went to school for their magic – Maeve often talked about the Ivory Spire, which sounded a bit like a fairy college – when Xen finally arrived. He was Ixthian, like Xia, with smooth silver skin and hair as white as the clouds outside. He was tall for a male of his species, but still stood as high as Duaal's shoulder. The professor's hair was cut close to his skull and his antennae were the longest Duaal had ever seen. He wore similar clothes to Panna's: dark gray slacks and a collared white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. There was a discarded vest tucked into the back of his belt.

"Xen!" Xia jumped to her feet and hugged him.

"Xia, you came," Xen said, returning her embrace. He sounded surprised, but pleased. "This must be your captain. Tiberius Myles, isn't it?"

"And our copilot, Duaal Sinnay. I got your message anteday, on Axis. We came straight away."

"I understand you're looking for someone to fly you out to Prianus," said Tiberius.

Professor Xen raised his white eyebrows at the captain. "Your homeworld, to judge by your accent. Yes, that's exactly what I'm hoping to do."

"Why do you need to go to Prianus?" Duaal asked curiously. "You and your lovely assistant seem to have plenty of work here."

Panna blushed and grinned. Xen sat on the corner of the other desk and flipped open his computer. He touched something on the monitor and then, with a flick of his spindly forefinger, sent it up to one of the large wall screens. It was a colorful topographical map. Xen pointed to a large patch of dark red in the center.

"Recent tectonic activity on Prianus has uncovered a new archeological site. It's located up here, in the Kayton Mountains. There's a local dig team up there now, but they lack the resources, equipment and manpower to do the job right. They've requested assistance from Tynerion."

"And you're volunteering to go out there?" Tiberius asked, clearly surprised.

"Prianus isn't exactly a popular site. It's remote, hostile and unstable," Xen answered. "No offense intended to you, Captain Myles."

"None taken. Prianus is a hard world."

"With hard people," the professor said, not unkindly. "The Alliance can't actually fund additional archeologists, but is offering a tax benefit to any institution willing to field a team. Vostra Nor owes the Alliance about three years back taxes at this point and could use the break. I've been given admittedly limited funding to hire and supply our part of the dig."

"Do you know exactly what's out there?" Tiberius squinted at the map, scratching his bearded chin. "Prianus is covered in mountains. I don't know this area."

"The head of the local team, Kemmer Andus, has disclosed very few details. I'm not quite sure what we'll find." Xen quirked a small smile. "It's made selecting my team and equipment an interesting challenge."

"How many on your team? And how much equipment?"

"There are five of us in total and about two tons of equipment. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Some of you might need to bunk together," Tiberius answered. "There are only three spare rooms on the Phoenix."

"I'm sure we can deal with being a little cozy. Accommodations on Prianus aren't likely to be plush, either," Xen said.

"If Vostra Nor is funding you, then why did you call me?" asked Xia. "There are thousands of ships on Tynerion."

"Maybe I just wanted to see you again." Xen gave Xia a charming smile.

She laughed, but was not convinced. "You think I can get you a better price," Xia said.

"Discerning as ever, my dear. I always mourned that you didn't remain in research." Xen spread his hands. "Yes. The board of regents wants to spend less on my venture than they will save on the taxes. I'd like to use most of the color on the dig, not flying out to it. But the starships available on Tynerion charge criminally high fares. And the cargo space for my equipment… Yes, I would like something a little less expensive."

"I appreciate your position, professor, but I'm not getting tax credits out of this," said Tiberius, shaking his head. "My bird needs fuel and my crew needs to eat. What kind of colour can you actually offer?"

Duaal flinched and Xen pressed his shiny lips into a thin line at the bluntness of the question. Xia watched the exchange with amusement on her face. Had they wasted their time flying to Tynerion? She did not seem worried about it.

"I can pay four thousand cenmarks for the journey," said Xen. "I can also get you the university discount on any supplies or parts you might need while we're on Tynerion."

"That's twenty percent," Panna elaborated.

Duaal scuffed the toe of one boot through the carpet. Four thousand cenmarks was a lot of money, but it was a
long
trip out to Prianus. Fuel alone would eat up more than a quarter of that.

"You can part with a little more than that, Xen," Xia said. She put her elbows on his desk and gave the other Ixthian an arched look. "The regents probably charted out ten thousand for transport. Give us half of that and you still leave another five thousand for yourself."

Xen blinked slowly and curled his long antennae. "I have missed you, Xia. Very well, if Captain Myles will agree. Five thousand cenmarks."

"You've got yourself a ship," Tiberius decided. "When do you want to leave, Professor Xen?"

"Panna?"

Xen looked at the blonde girl, who checked her computer. "Arno has a lecture at noon," she said, "but he'd be more than happy to hand it over to someone else. We could be ready by seven tomorrow morning. Unless you need more time to buy anything else on Tynerion, Captain Myles?"

"Just basics for the trip," said Tiberius. "We'll need to feed all of you and pick up some extra recyc' scrubbers and air filters."

"I can order those now, if you like," Panna offered. "I think we can get them delivered later this afternoon."

"Let us talk to our mechanic before you order anything," Xia said. She nodded to Panna. "But I can probably get a list to you in about two hours."

"I guess I need to finish these papers, then," the girl sighed, tapping her computer with one finger.

"You had better. I'm not doing it," Xen said with a smile. He stood and held out his hand to Tiberius, who shook it firmly. "I'll see you tomorrow at seven, captain. I'll transfer your fare this evening, after I speak to the deans."

"About what?" Tiberius asked suspiciously, perhaps wondering if Professor Xen would somehow betray the Blue Phoenix to Alliance authorities.

"I simply need to let them know that I'm finally leaving. I'm sure they will be thrilled. I think Charne is tired of my students digging up his quad. Tinkay already has my lesson plan and can take care of my classes for the rest of the semester."

"We'll see you tomorrow, then," said Tiberius.

He gestured for Duaal and Xia to follow him and left the office. They made their way back out of Xol Hall and back toward the Blue Phoenix.

Once outside, Duaal whistled happily. "Finally, some real work! Things are looking a little better."

Xia agreed, but Tiberius only shrugged. "It's work," he said.

"Aren't you happy to be going home?" Duaal asked. "I would love to see Hyzaar. I haven't been there since I was a baby…"

Tiberius did not look at Duaal. He stared up into the fluffy white clouds. "Prianus is a long way out."

Duaal was not terribly excited to be going back to the cold, craggy planet. He had been on Prianus far too long with Gavriel… Still, Duaal could not fathom why Tiberius was not grinning like a schoolboy to be going home.

Is that just a saying? Or do schoolboys actually do that?

Duaal studied the Vostra Nor campus. It was full of young men of all the Alliance races, walking and reading in the warm sunlight. An Axial man with burnished auburn hair and a square jaw caught his eye, lounging in the shade of a well-trimmed oak tree. Duaal whistled and Tiberius shot him a warning look.

"Don't attract attention," he reminded the boy.

"I wouldn't mind getting that guy's attention…" Duaal said with a grin.

"You're going to get us arrested."

"I wouldn't mind getting arrested by–"

Tiberius grabbed Duaal by the arm and hauled him back to the Blue Phoenix.

"A man who fears his past does so for fear of his future."

- Devon LiMalle, Sunjarri consul (136 PA)

Logan Coldhand stood at the window for a long time, rhythmically drumming his fingers against the reinforced glass. The hotel room was expensive, huge and stylishly furnished. A single long window spanned the entire wall and looked out over the shining, glittering city skyline. Logan's bare feet sank into the deep, soft carpet. Sipho's pale blue dwarf sun was setting, filling the sky with silver fire. All across the sky, stars glittered like bubbles in a glass of wine.

Finally decided, Logan went to the bedroom and dressed quickly. A black shirt over gray pants so dark that they were almost the same color. He considered the Talon-9, wrapped in its holster on the neat, unused bed, and buckled it around his waist.

Coldhand took an elevator down to the garage and climbed into his rented car. It was the fastest model available, procured in case Barnes decided to run. The sleek red car hummed on its NI field and raced out into the street. A freight truck honked thunderously as Coldhand cut him off. The bounty hunter glanced down at the car's computer. What he was looking for would not be marked there, but it would at least get him to the right part of town. Sipho had a good reputation as a staid, stately planet. It was peaceful, a jewel of the Alliance. But Coldhand knew better. Every light cast a shadow.

He drove through the bright-lit, holographed commercial district, past restaurants and cafes, and then out through the quiet suburbs. Coldhand came at last to a darkened industrial zone, shut down for the evening. Factories loomed up on all sides, slumbering metal beasts that would only wake when the sun rose once more.

But they were heavy sleepers. The shadowed street was not silent. When Logan stopped the car and climbed out, he felt the bass notes reverberating up through the soles of his boots and thumping against his ribs.

Coldhand found a close alleyway that smelled pungently of fuel and melted plastic. At the end stood a tiny concrete shed with a sloped roof with a closed and rusted gate. He yanked it open on creaking, flaking hinges and ducked inside.

He was at the top of a worn stairwell. The steep steps were worn and cracked by more than age. Logan had to keep his head down as he descended. Water ran in crooked rivulets from the arched ceiling, down the walls and pooled at his feet.

Underground, the music was louder and Coldhand could hear voices. After a few sharp turns, the stairs opened out into a circular concrete tunnel. Mottled water spots stained the walls and a string of work lights glared along the ceiling, clamped to the support ribbing. The air beat with music, too, echoing and muffled to make out, but already filling the tunnel with a thrumming anticipation.

A huge Dailon lounged against the wall beside the stairwell. It was usually difficult to tell the muscular Dailon apart by gender, but this one wore shiny purple plastihide pants so tight that they left little question as to his masculinity.

He chattered animatedly with a pair of young human women. One of the girls, a Mirran, had painted her stripes with dark makeup that matched her tiny dress. She stopped in the middle of her sentence and stared at Coldhand, at the bared illonium below his scarred elbow and the gun on his hip. She whispered something to her friend and the two girls retreated down the tunnel. The Dailon sighed and turned to face Coldhand.