Timeless (The Cartographer Book 3) (25 page)

“Seems to be a full house today,” remarked Cantrell. He stopped outside the front door and turned to us. “Nathan and I will go in here and figure out what the situation is. The rest of you remain vigilant.” He turned to Athew. “Try not to 'shoot first and ask questions later' around here, okay?”

Athew tapped on the side of his helmet with his index finger twice. “It'll be tough, but I will try.”

“It will be hard to win these people over if you go around murdering innocents,” Cantrell grumbled. “One confirmed kill of a local, and I will feed you a plasma grenade for supper.”

We stepped inside, leaving Athew muttering obscenities under his breath. As soon as the door closed, the voices in the bar stopped and several heads swiveled in our direction. The tension in the room could have been sliced with a knife.

“I've seen movies that started like this,” I muttered.

“Well how did it end?” asked Cantrell.

“Not good.” I scanned the many faces in the room. Some appeared curious, others uneasy. All were distrustful. I suppose I would be too if two armed men wearing full suits of body armor interrupted my social hour.

A voice cried out from the back of the room. “I can't believe it.” Bofor strolled through the crowd and stood before us with his arms folded across his chest and a wide smile splitting his face. “You didn't break your promise after all.”

“I told you I'd come back,” I replied as I matched his smile.

Bofor eyeballed Cantrell. “I hope you came back with more help than this, otherwise this reunion will be short lived.”

“Nice to meet you too,” muttered Cantrell.

“It seems you have gained quite a few customers since we last me,” I remarked. “Business is good I guess?”

A tall, barrel-chested man stood near the bar. He slammed his drink on the bar, spilling most of it. He looked as if he could qualify as a linebacker for most NFL teams. He scowled at us and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We're here 'cuz we see the ships. The Order is in full defense mode and we be paying the price for it!”

Several disgruntled murmurs of approval came from the crowd. “It's yer fault!” shouted a skinny female dressed in rags, sporting an eye patch. “If it weren't fer you outsiders sticking yer noses were it don't belon', we wouldn't be sufferin' fer it.”

“Where it doesn't
belong
?” growled Cantrell. “We came to save your sorry asses!”

“Well, lookie here,” mocked a mousy fellow who stood at the bar next to Mister Barrel-Chested. “The boy and his pet came to rescue us!” This statement elicited some laughs mixed with a few jeers.

Cantrell may not be the most diplomatic person in the universe, but he had been correct. We were here to save them—to
free
them. As I looked around the room at the mix of laughing and mocking faces, I found myself second-guessing our decision to come here. Perhaps we should have just snuck in, grabbed Kedge's body and snuck back out. Maybe we should let them rot under the tyrannical rule of the Order of the Sun. I was nearly ready to grab Cantrell and walk out when I saw the expression on Bofor's face. He never once suspended his disbelief that we would make any sort of impact on their current situation, but when I saw him at that moment, my thoughts of walking out the door vanished. Even though his face was serious, accentuated by a scowl, his eyes were apologetic and seemed to plead with me for help, despite his people's antagonistic mannerisms. That was when I knew, despite their stubbornness and reluctance, they
needed
our help whether they believed in us or not.

“Their lack of faith is disturbing,” I muttered under my breath.

Before I could explode with frustration, I grabbed a nearby empty chair and hoisted myself upon it. With anger in my voice I addressed the hostile crowd. I had no idea where the words came from, only that they came and once they did, there was no stopping them. “I can't believe you. Look at you!” I swept my arm across the room for dramatic effect. “Jori and Yori died for us. They died for
you
! They stood against the tyranny while the rest of you sit here and sulk in your drinks. I made a promise to them. It is a promise I intend to keep. Your world is being run by despots who have forged an alliance with a greater threat. Is that what you want? Do you want to sit here, in the shadows of Bofor's bar, drinking your woes away?”

The laughter died away and the heckling lessened. The people looked at each other, unsure of what to say. Mister barrel-chest picked his drink up, drained the glass, and set it down on the bar. He dropped into his seat and his arrogant look morphed into one of self-doubt. His eyes fell to the floor, and I knew my chance to make an impact on the crowd would never be greater.

“Blood has been spilled and will continue to be spilled. The most dangerous course of action for you right now would be to sit by and take no action. Continue sitting here, drinking your drinks, and musing over better days long past,” I looked every one of them in the eye as I addressed them individually. “That is the riskiest course of action. 'Those who stand for nothing will fall for anything.' ”

Several heads slowly nodded in agreement. Although a few remained unconvinced, I felt I was winning my case. I needed to press on.

“Someone told me long ago that no matter the cause it only matters that you fight. The Insurgents cannot win this battle for you.” I pointed toward the ceiling. “Up there, right now, we are dying for you. We have nothing to gain by any of this. Your rebel forces are too small to make a difference in our battle with the Consortium and there are no resources on this planet that we couldn't find on a thousand others.”

“If you have nothing to gain then why would you help us?” the mousy fellow blurted.

I looked around the room. All eyes locked on me waiting for an answer. I looked to Cantrell and noticed he had removed his helmet. His face held no emotion. When he noticed me looking at him, he shrugged it off, as if I had just asked where the bathroom was located. Apparently, mercenaries made for poor diplomatic support.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Because if we don't stand up for what's right, then what are we really fighting for?”

Silence blanketed the bar. You could hear a pin drop in the place. Mister Barrel-Chest stared at his drink. Even the mousy fellow had no retort. Bofor stepped behind the bar and poured himself a drink. Within the silent halls of the bar, the flowing liquid sounded like a raging waterfall. He set the bottle down, grabbed the glass and lifted it to his lips. He finished it in one swallow.

“What are we fighting for?” he echoed. Everyone focused their attention on him. “It is a sad day, indeed, when an outsider shows more spirit than a roomful of self-proclaimed 'rebels'.” He stared at the bottom of his empty glass before slamming it on the bar. “I'll be damned if I let a bunch of outsiders take the glory if the Order falls. I stand with ya!”

“If?” Mister Barrel-Chest roared. “No…it will be
when
they fall.” He stood up, towering over his mousy compatriot. “I choose to fight!”

Soon the chants began to pick up steam throughout the bar. Eventually, all fifty men in the bar cried out in unison. “FIGHT!”

“Not bad kid,” Cantrell leaned over and whispered.

They continue to chant and slam their fists on the bar and tables. Bofor and I exchanged smiles. I had won the moral victory, now it was time to win the physical one. The chants increased in intensity, but were silenced by a single sound. A gunshot, followed by a second. Then more came in quick succession.

Tat. Tat. Tat.

I turned to Cantrell, who removed his rifle from his shoulder and turned toward the door. For a moment, he was unsure how to proceed, the eruption of gunfire seemed to have caught him off guard. I knew what it meant, however.

The Order of the Sun was here.

A Council Broken

Scribe wandered the halls of the Akropolis as he tried to sort through his thoughts. Recent events coupled with disturbing revelations had deeply troubled him. Communications with The Timeless had been limited since he returned to Caelum. Calypso was planning something and Scribe did not want to risk getting caught at this critical moment in the conflict with the Insurgents. He needed to find out more information so he could relay it to Ibune. Scribe slipped into a nearby stone bench and dropped his head in his hands. His fingers caressed the smooth glass surface of the bowl helmet and cursed the damned thing. He longed to feel the touch of his own face, but the mission required him to maintain the Kale farce for a while longer.

“Sacrifices for the greater good,” Scribe muttered.

The sound of boot heels tapping against the cobblestones rang throughout the hallway. They were getting closer. Scribe looked up to see Hark-Kalech approaching.

“When I saw you weren't in your room, I figured you'd be roaming the halls like a ghost,” he remarked.

Scribe stood and stretched. “Should I be flattered you are stalking me?”

Hark-Kalech chuckled. His deep voice resonated throughout the halls like thunder. “I always admired your dry sense of humor, Kale. Unfortunately, I can't take credit for seeking you out. You can thank Calypso for the honor. He has called a meeting.” His laughter died out and his expression turned serious. It was eerie how quickly Hark-Kalech could change emotions, which made him difficult to read emotionally. Calypso kept him as a close confidante for a reason.

“I see,” replied Scribe. “Did he happen to mention why?” Scribe suspected the reasons. He just wanted to hear Hark-Kalech's thoughts on the subject.

“Apparently, the prisoner has escaped.” His hand fell to the handle of his dragonfish dagger. “The warden found his guard dead. They say he was nearly decapitated by one of the legs from the bed. We found the weapon outside the exit ramp of the ship.”

“That's terrible news,” replied Scribe.

Hark-Kalech tapped his index finger against the hilt of his dagger. Scribe took a step back and nearly fell over the bench. “It is indeed,” replied Hark-Kalech. “It had to be an inside job because there was no way Moro could have released himself.” He stared at Scribe through icy, unblinking eyes.

Scribe grew uncomfortable under his gaze.
Did he know?
Moro was long gone. His Timeless colleagues were engaged in a fight over Gliese. Scribe was defenseless. He would find no allies here. The halls were empty, but even if they were full of people, he doubted anyone would rush to his aid. Kale was not well-liked among his peers.

“Are you positive?” Scribe asked. “Moro was a crafty assassin so a jail cell may not pose as much of a test to one of his caliber.”

Hark-Kalech stopped tapping the handle of his weapon. “Perhaps,” he replied cryptically. His stone-cold stare lasted for a few seconds longer before he broke out into a wide smile. He held up his hands and shrugged. “But who am I to say? I'm just a soldier, Calypso calls the shots now. Let's see what he wants to discuss, shall we?”

Scribe nodded and followed him to the council chambers. Already seated on one side of the rectangular table was Varooq. Calypso stood on the opposite side of the room. His back was turned toward the door as he gazed out the window at the view—the terrarium located in the main courtyard. Varooq had his feet on the table and his furry nose buried deep within a book. The cover had
Ancient Astronaut Theories
written across the front. When he heard us enter the room, he looked up and grunted.

“What is that saying they have on Earth?” Varooq placed the book on the table and rubbed his hairy chin thoughtfully. “Oh yeah…'look what the cat dragged in.”' He bellowed laughter.

“I never understood that saying,” grumbled Hark-Kalech. “Then again, most of what the humans pass off as humor is droll, at best.” He took a seat and pointed at Scribe. “What do you think, Kale? You are our resident diplomat. You have encountered humans before. What's your opinion?”

Scribe took a seat across from Varooq. “I don't think my opinion on the subject matters,” he replied dryly.

Hark-Kalech sighed, clearly disappointed. “You underestimate your importance. You have traveled the cosmos as the diplomatic arm of the Consortium and have met countless leaders across numerous worlds. Surely, you have an opinion.”

Scribe turned to Calypso who remained with his back turned to the group. “I'm not quite sure what this has to do with the meeting that has been called here. I assume, I wasn't summoned for my opinion on diplomatic matters of the past, which have no bearing on our current situation.”

“You would be correct,” Calypso replied without turning around. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “The reason I called this meeting was based on some very disturbing events currently happening. Are you aware that Gliese is under attack by the Insurgents at this very moment?”

Scribe had a sneaking suspicion that Nathan would successfully convince Embeth to attack the planet. After all, one of his closest companions had been killed by Calypso's men. He needed to probe Calypso to see how much he actually knew. “I was not aware. That is a pretty bold move, even for Embeth.”