Timeless (The Cartographer Book 3) (4 page)

“
Hello Nathan, I hope I didn't disturb you. I apologize for running off on you, but being a ship's captain keeps a girl busy.
” She smiled warmly. “
We should be landing on Gliese in a few hours, but I wanted to issue a word of caution.
” Her smile faded. She looked around quickly and lowered her voice to a whisper. “
Vigil is on the warpath. I overheard his conversation with the Prophet. Apparently we will have to wait at the docking bay for a while before he is able to see us.
”

“The Prophet?” I asked.

“
He is the leader of the Order of the Sun
,” she replied. She must have noticed the concern on my face because her expression softened and her smile returned. “
Don't worry yourself. I have confidence the meeting will go well.
”

“It's not that, it's just—” I stopped myself and ran my hand through my hair. Thinking about Kedge's imminent demise was rather depressing and I really didn't want to dump my burdens on Lianne at the moment. She had enough to worry about between running the ship and calming Vigil. It wouldn't be fair to pile this on her. “Never mind, it's nothing. I'll be okay.”

Her smile faded and her eyes narrowed as they bored into me. Eventually she realized I wouldn't reveal anything further and her expression softened. “
Get some rest, Nathan. If Vigil is still furious when we land, you're going to need it.
”

The screen went dark. My thoughts were racing between Kedge, the upcoming meeting and everything Sam told me. There were so many thoughts swimming though my head that the room started to spin. I climbed into bed and closed my eyes. Even though I was exhausted, my mind was already engaged in overdrive. My body was hot and flushed, and it felt as if it were on fire. All I could do was toss and turn. Frustrated, I finally stood up and went to the window.

Space was a dark thing, especially if you have never seen it up close and personal before. Today, however, it seemed much darker than before. It was probably my imagination running wild, coupled with my dark thoughts, casting a shadow over everything. We were passing a dark, dreary planet, seemingly devoid of life. The surface reminded me of Earth's moon, but with more pock marks than a twelve year old suffering from a severe acne problem. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. Everything I looked at seemed to be through a pair of depression sunglasses.

I went back to bed. It was the only thing I could do short of jumping out the window in a fit of insanity. I closed my eyes and forced myself to think of happier times. I found myself thinking of a family vacation we took when I was eleven. In a fit of generosity, my father decided to take us to Disney World in Orlando, Florida. It was the first time in a long time we were together like a true family. My parents were all giggles and smiles that week, and it was probably the happiest time in my life. I smiled, but when I closed my eyes, the image of Disney World was replaced by Deena's corpse as they loaded her onto the transport skiff. I sighed with frustration.

It was going to be a long night.

Moro

The two figures stepped into the room and closed the door behind them. Moro clung to the wall and slid among the shadows, inching closer. Between him and the room stood an open doorway. The smell of cooking meat drifted into the hallway. As he approached the door, he could hear the sound of raised voices, and one of them was getting closer.

“There wasn't an ounce of fat on that meat. It tasted like charred cardboard. Someone should shoot the cook.”

A burst of laughter erupted from inside the room. Heavy footsteps approached the hall as the meat critic made his way closer. Despite Moro's immersion among the shadow, the person would have to be blind to miss a seven foot tall, winged assassin.
He had to think fast
. There was nowhere to hide in the open hallway. When he looked up, he spied an opportunity. The ceiling sat about six feet above him with steel girders running parallel to each other. With a scowl, he shoved his dagger into its scabbard and spread his wings. With a burst of wind, he was airborne.

The meat critic stepped into the hallway. The person was a heavily armed Drith-Nar. Two hand cannons were strapped to his waist and his hands fell to them as soon as he entered the hall. His smile faded and he scanned the hallway. With the exception of two maintenance droids, busy sweeping the floors, the halls were empty. Moro scowled and slowly removed the dagger.

He cursed his luck as he looked down on the crew member. The planet Drith was covered in darkness eighty percent of the time. Because of the short days and long nights, they had highly developed senses. Out of all the races across the cosmos that had to walk out of that room at that very moment, it had to be a Drith-Nar.

“You feeling the after effects of the stew, Garl?” a voice called from inside the room. This brought a fresh wave of laughter from the rest of the crew.

Garl removed his hands from his weapons. “Could be,” he growled. “I better head back to my room to seek out the comforts of the toilet.” He smiled and the laughter intensified. He turned and continued down the hall, but stopped halfway to look over his shoulder. Once again, his hands fell to his weapons.

Moro knew Garl sensed him—perhaps even
felt
him. Shoving the dagger into its scabbard, he swung to a closer steel beam. Garl wasn't going to go away and his unease would eventually alert his buddies. That could not be allowed to happen. He removed a smooth metal tube with a trigger mechanism attached at one end. Garl had both guns in his hands and was almost underneath him. Moro pushed the trigger and a thin steel cable shot from it and wrapped itself around Garl's neck.

“What the—,” he was cutoff in midsentence. Moro yanked the cable and the man gurgled with restraint. He dropped both guns and pulled at the cable. Moro flicked his wrist and the cable tightened, resulting in a loud crack. Garl's head hung at an awkward angle.

Moro reeled him in like a fish. Once he had him in the rafters, he tied him to a nearby steel girder and drifted to the floor to collect the weapons. A waste chute was located nearby, and he jettisoned the weapons before wandering eyes could find them. Someone would eventually discover Garl's body, so it was important he completed the mission quickly. He hurried toward the door where Calypso and his companion entered. He scowled when he noticed the security keypad next to the door.

“They never make it easy,” he grumbled. Moro was an ancient assassin with several thousand kills notched on his belt. Many died easily, others tried to lock themselves away. Locked doors posed only a minor inconvenience. No one could hide once he had a target in his sights.

He reached into a pouch located on his belt and retrieved a silver metal object that resembled a small tarantula. It remained unmoving until he laid it across the keypad. Its tiny eyes lit up with a red glow, and its spindly legs moved furiously as it stabbed at the numbers on the keypad. Several minutes passed before it finally cracked the security code. With a click, the door unlocked, and Moro returned the code breaker to the pouch.

With his dagger in hand, he inched the door open. A corridor awaited on the other side. The clear, panoramic ceiling afforded a view of outer space which made the corridor feel more like a tunnel. Moro didn't like it. It made him feel exposed, which would make any of the Assassin's League wary.
An exposed assassin is a useless assassin.

He was halfway down the tunnel when the door opened behind him. He whirled, dagger in hand, to see two Umbral soldiers, adorned in the golden armor of the Defense Fleet, approach cautiously with rifles raised. Moro crouched low and was about to strike them down when a voice behind him caused him to freeze.

“Look what we have here, Hark-Kalech,” the voice cooed. “It seems we have an intruder among us.”

Moro turned slowly to see Calypso and Hark-Kalech standing side by side, both filled with smug looks. He silently cursed his luck and gripped the dagger tighter. With his free hand, he carefully removed a second dagger. This one wasn't as long or as narrow, but it would serve his purpose. He was caught in a crossfire, but he had one advantage they didn't have—flight. With a single flap of his wings he was airborne. He assumed the Defense Fleet soldiers would open fire as soon as he moved, but he was mistaken. They held their fire and instead, looked to Calypso for guidance. It no longer mattered. Moro's target stood directly in front of him and he flicked his wrist, sending a dagger hurtling toward Calypso.

Calypso watched the dagger with a cool, calculating gaze. His eyes never wavered off the weapon, even as it flew within inches of his throat. Moro never missed, his precision was unmatched. However, there is a first time for everything. The dagger was caught in midair by Hark-Kalech. His hand darted forward with such speed that Moro would have missed it had he blinked. The handle of the dagger stuck out from his closed fist while bluish blood trickled down his hand and across his wrist. Despite the obvious discomfort of having a razor sharp blade embedded in the palm of his hand, Hark-Kalech had a venomous smile painted on his face. Calypso remained with his arms folded across his chest. Not even a wrinkle showed in his ebony suit. His blood-red tie wasn't even an inch out of place. Moro drifted to the ground, scowled and gripped the other dagger in fury.

“That wasn't very nice,” Calypso purred. He glanced at Hark-Kalech's bloodied hand and frowned. “Someone is gonna have to pay for that.”

Moro could feel the two soldiers creeping closer.
Seven feet away. Five feet. Three.
He heard a metallic clicking sound, like a set of handcuffs opening. As soon as they were upon him, he turned so fast he was nothing more than a blur. A scorpion hilt hung from the neck of the closest soldier. The blade was buried deep into his jugular. With a croak, he dropped the handcuffs and fell to the floor while the other soldier lifted his weapon. He never stood a chance. Moro placed both his hands around the unfortunate man's neck and twisted violently, resulting in a sickening crunch.

Moro felt a stinging sensation in his back. He turned to see his own dagger sticking from his right shoulder. “I can't have you going around killing my men,” Hark-Kalech warned.

Moro ripped the dagger out and tossed it aside. With a snarl, he advanced on the two men. “Do not weep for them for they will not be travelling the realm of death alone.”

Hark-Kalech slipped a metal band around his bloodied wrist. A square energy shield formed in front of him, and he advanced slowly on Moro. With a smile, Moro bent down to retrieve his dagger.

“I'm happy to see you volunteered to die first,” Moro growled.

Hark-Kalech removed a long slender dagger from his belt with his good hand. The handle, carved in the image of a daggerfish, was a ceremonial weapon bestowed upon senior officers of the Aquanauts. He held it tightly to his side as he carefully advanced.

“Is that the weapon you used to murder your own leader?” Moro sneered. “What a
brave
act that must have been. A traitor to your own people, you are no better than a sand roach.”

Hark-Kalech rolled his eyes. “Is that how you kill your prey? You blabber until they are bored to death?” His raised his dagger.

With a blood-curdling roar, Moro lunged. His dagger struck the shield with such ferocity that it knocked Hark-Kalech back several steps. Calypso jumped out of the way, hitting the door with the back of his head in the process. Moro cursed his luck. He was an assassin, not a brawler. Having to fight two foes head on in such a narrow corridor was going to create difficulties. Judging by the look in Hark-Kalech's eyes, he realized that as well.

Hark-Kalech thrust his dagger forward, which Moro easily dodged. He knew a feint when he saw one and easily blocked the shield bash that followed. Moro landed a vicious backhand which sent Hark-Kalech reeling. He advanced on the two men, but before he could strike again, he felt a pinch along the base of his skull. He stopped his advance and reached back, pulling a small, metallic needle from his neck. He looked at it inquisitively before spotting the man standing at the other end of the hall. He had been so focused on his two adversaries that he failed to hear the stranger enter the corridor from the other side.

The one-eyed figure clutched a tranquilizer gun. “Good work, Noz,” Moro heard Calypso cheer behind him.

“Crocolisk poison,” Noz explained, looking down at the gun. “It won't kill ya, but it sure won't make you any prettier.”

Moro tried to move toward his newest foe, but his legs felt like they had been filled with concrete. His tongue felt like it was covered in sandpaper and he found it difficult to breathe. Unable to control himself, he fell to one knee, dropping his dagger in the process. Calypso and Hark-Kalech moved in cautiously, not taking their adversary for granted.

“We don't plan on killing you yet,” Calypso assured him. “We have some questions that need to be answered.” Hark-Kalech uttered a menacing chuckle.

Moro collapsed to the floor. The Insurgents had rolled the dice in the hope they could end the conflict before it blossomed into a full-scale war. They gambled on his ability to infiltrate the most difficult of areas and assassinate his targets with discrete precision.