The Gardens of Nibiru (The Ember War Saga Book 5) (9 page)

The ship rocked as it settled against its landing gear.

“We have 199 seconds of active cloak remaining,” Lafayette said.

“Get the netting up! Just like we drilled,”
Cortaro said over the IR.

The rear hatch fell open and hit the ground with a
whump
. Orozco and Rohen ran down the ramp, a heavy metal line strung between weighted plates carried by each Marine. They stopped just beyond the Mule’s tail and dropped the plates. Each Marine grabbed a handle in the middle of the plate and lifted up corners of a gossamer fabric.

“Ready?” Orozco asked Rohen, who nodded. “Heave!” The Marines reached back and threw the weighted corners over the top of the Mule. The fabric came out of the line on the ground, flapping as it unwound.

The leading edge crested over the Mule, then smacked into Hale’s turret. The fabric billowed in the air like a shaken sheet.

“Not the plan!” Hale shouted.

Hale hit the emergency release on his control console and the turret shell retracted into the Mule. Hale grabbed the edge of the fabric and hoisted it over his head. He ran for the nose of the Mule, carrying the fabric like he was trying to get a kite airborne.

He jumped off the Mule and mashed a carpet of knee-high midnight-colored ferns around the stalagmite-like flora. He pulled the sheet taught and pressed the leading edge to the ground.

“Secure the edges.” Cortaro jumped up, grabbed the long edge and punched it to the ground. He jabbed a stake through the sheet and stomped it into the ground. The rest of the Marines worked the edges, covering the invisible Mule in a tight tent.

“Activating,”
Lafayette said.

The gossamer fabric shimmered, then vanished completely. There was no sign of the Mule beneath it. Hale picked up a pebble and flicked it at the Mule. It bounced off thin air with a ping.

“Sir,” Bailey said. “I can see you.”

Hale pressed a button on his gauntlet and light rippled over his body as his cloak took effect. He looked around and saw the wire diagrams of his Marines superimposed on his visor screen. The short-wave IR in each Marine’s armor sent out a location beacon that the onboard computers used to show him the relative location of the others, with a foot or two of error.

The clearing was a field of tall grass with notched blades, the deep-blue ferns scattered about. The spires ranged from thin to so thick Hale wasn’t sure he could wrap his arms around them. Thin branches stuck out from the trunks at odd intervals and each spread a flat lattice of fan-shaped twigs at the ends. Hale pressed his fingertips into a spire, the spongy surface yielded slightly, like we was touching a fungus.

“I’d bit Standish’s hand off if I saw him doing that, sir,”
Cortaro said over his private channel to Hale.

“Even I get curious, Gunney. But you’re right. No touching,” Hale said.

Two moons, one a bare rock like Luna, the other an angry swirl of red and black of active volcanoes stuck out against a faint red lining beyond the blue sky. An avian creature the size of the Mule flew along the distant mountains, flapping its great wings every few seconds. Far from the mountains, a sapphire-blue sea stretched out to the horizon. Tall storm clouds billowed over the waters, casting shadows over the waves.

“This ain’t so bad,” Bailey said. “Nothing’s tried to kill us yet.”

“How’re we looking on the Mule’s cloak?” Hale asked.

“Batteries are basically zero,” Egan said, “but the photovoltaic converters in the shroud are working as advertised. We’ll have the cloak recharged to the point it can get us back to the
Breit
in…nineteen hours.”

“Was that good news?” Standish asked. “Did that sound like good news to anyone else?”

“Which one of you is trying harder to jinx this, you or Bailey?” Rohen asked.

“The next one of you that mouths off will clean a Toth latrine with your tongues,” Cortaro growled. “I will find one somewhere on this planet. I swear it.”

The edge of the shroud lifted up and Egan and Lafayette came out, both cloaked.

“Lafayette managed to land us on the right side of the mountains, too,” Egan said.

“Ten kilometers from our planned landing zone. My apologies,” Lafayette said.

Hale checked the map on the inside of his visor, pinned a waypoint on their current location and shared it with the rest of the team.

“Everyone remember where we parked. Let’s get moving,” Hale said.

One hundred and seven Toth overlords crowded together in the throne room, their proximity to the gold and platinum throne that stretched twenty feet into the air determined by the size of their last tithing to the doctor. Those closest to him enjoyed the knowledge that they’d live out the day; those against the far wall shuffled their tank arms and pawed at the ornate carpets in anxiety.

Statues of carved ivory ringed the upper level of the throne room, all blaring out some horrid dirge that Mentiq had written to please his guests while they waited—and waited—for him to arrive. Many of the overlords theorized that Mentiq knew just how bad his music was and took some sick pleasure in listening to the never-ending stream of compliments he would receive from Toth overlords as they petitioned him for financial backing and better tithe conditions.

Ranik, her spot in the second row of overlords a sizable improvement of ten spaces over the last meeting, hated the tribute gatherings. Hated being forced to share space with the other Toth overlords that competed with her for resources and influence on their home world. Hated the pomp and circumstance Mentiq demanded every time he went through the motions of reminding every Toth that achieved nigh immortality and ecstasy just who they owed their existence to.

She’d been one of the first to undergo the transition from her flesh-and-blood body to the tanks millennia ago. Mentiq had returned from some off-world expedition with technology that held the promise of eternal life, so long as one fed regularly on sentient minds and gave up a significant portion of their income to Mentiq.

With her old body failing to cancer, she’d taken Mentiq’s offer. After all, she couldn’t take the wealth to her grave and cutting her ungrateful spawn off from their inheritance appealed to her black sense of humor. Life in the tank proved acceptable, but the demands of the associated addiction was a never-ending itch at the back of her mind. She’d hypothesized that Mentiq increased the withdrawal symptoms anytime he decided he needed more wealth or some new species for his gardens.

She’d never shared that thought with another soul; to do so would risk antagonizing Mentiq’s humors.

An alien with dark skin and long quills, wearing long robes inlaid with silver, came out from behind the throne. Fellerin, Mentiq’s Haesh consigliere, raised his arms and the assembled overlords sank to the ground in supplication.

“Greetings, chosen,” Fellerin said, his Toth marred by an accent that would never truly master the many tones of his master’s language, “Dr. Mentiq is ready for you.”

Lights dimmed around the audience and a spotlight shone down on the enormous throne.

Please, no dancers this time
, Ranik thought. 

A portal opened in the ceiling and Mentiq floated down on a grand palanquin. Mentiq was of the Toth’s old leadership caste, six limbed and with a wide head and bulbous eyes. He lounged on the palanquin, a generous paunch to his belly that the old kings used to symbolize wealth and a life of leisure.

A glove made of precious metals and inlaid with the diamond of the Toth’s last god-king covered his upper right hand up to the elbow. Cords studded with rubies and onyx ran from the glove to the base of his skull. He enjoyed feasting on lesser minds as much as the overlords.

“Welcome,” Mentiq croaked, his voice brittle and cold. “And has everyone paid for my hospitality?” he asked Fellerin.

“The tithes are in order. All have paid,” the Haesh said, his eyes on the ground.

“Have they?” Mentiq floated over the overlords and hovered above Ranik. “I count two dreadnoughts in my skies. Where is the third I leased to the mighty Tellani Corporation?”

Ranik felt her tendrils wrap around what remained of her spine.

“Lord Mentiq, may you ever live in luxury, the expedition to the human world has only just arrived,” Ranik said. “The first batch of human product isn’t due back for many more days—well before the end of the tithing. Everything is on schedule, I assure you.”

“How can you assure me if you’ve no word from the fleet?” Mentiq lowered and ran his gloved hand across the artwork inlaid against the top of her tank.

“We sent more than enough forces to assure victory. Nothing can defeat one of your grand ships,” Ranik said.

Mentiq’s caress traveled down the side of her tank. Tiny filaments snaked out from his fingertips and rubbed against the reinforced glass.

“The amount of capital I risked to ensure your success…” Mentiq’s forked tongue lapped at the air. “You know the price to make me whole if your corporation fails.”

“Of course, my lord. I signed the contract myself,” Ranik said. She’d also inflated the value of her holdings somewhat as collateral to lease one of Mentiq’s dreadnoughts, the use of which came with several caveats and a larger-than-usual share of the profits to Mentiq. If Stix, one of her oldest and most able lieutenants, failed in his mission to subdue Earth and acquire the technology used to create the false humans, then her life was forfeit.

Mentiq preferred to consume debtor overlords in front of their peers, as a warning and a final insult.

“Yes, you do.” Mentiq tapped on her glass, an annoyance that Ranik hated, and rose back into the air and addressed the audience. “What wondrous morsels you’ve all brought me. What amazing new species we have to trade at the bazaar. These humans Ranik promises will be a fitting dessert once we conclude our business. Now…for your extensions.”

Ranik felt the other overlords shifting in anticipation. None of them owned the life-preserving tanks; they were leased from Mentiq. Mentiq could switch off the life-support functions on a whim, and each tank would automatically cease functioning after a few years…unless Mentiq reset the clock.

Fellerin stepped away from the throne and took a small box from his robes. He whipped out a gleaming slip of electro-paper and fed it into the tank of the nearest overlord, a sycophant who’d been nearest to Mentiq for hundreds of years. The Haesh moved down the line, feeding new codes into each tank. Sometimes there were enough codes for every overlord; sometimes the last few farthest from the throne were left to die unless they came up with a significant amount of capital to give to Mentiq. The chance to die due to one’s rank in the hierarchy proved sufficient motivation for some to increase their holdings…and give more to Mentiq.

Fellerin, or the consiglieres before him, were always the ones to distribute the extensions. Ranik’s tentacles twitched as she wondered just where he kept the codes.

“But how many of you will continue on after this?” Mentiq rose higher, his palanquin spinning lazily. He let out a dry laugh. “One of you…one of you has a lieutenant that promised to significantly increase her corporation’s tithe to me in exchange for their place by my side.”

Ranik’s mind raced. Could it be Kren? Did that sniveling little menial have the guts to concoct a scheme to undermine her just before the massive windfall he’d receive from Earth? Even if he wasn’t the one responsible for this coup, she’d deal with Kren as soon as he returned from Earth. Some Toth needed a lesson in the price of ambition.

“Chairman Howfin,” Mentiq said, touching a button on his glove as one of the overlords rose to stand on his tank arms, “your lease extension is denied. Your son will take your place at the next gathering.”

Howfin’s tank marched to the base of the throne, no longer under control of the overlord within. Howfin thrashed against the glass, the water in her tank sloshing against the top.

“Who will open the bidding for the Howfin’s meat?” Mentiq asked.

Ranik remained silent as overlords shouted out amounts of gold, ships for Mentiq’s fleet and promises of new slave shipments. To feed on another overlord’s mind was a rare treat, one Ranik didn’t have the taste for, not when she would end up like Howfin if Kren and Stix didn’t return with their cargo hulls full of human treasure.