He's been left to die on an inhospitable world, surrounded by criminals and enemy forces. Enough is enough, and Walters doesn't care who knows it.
jueves, 2 de junio de 2011
El Juego - Sudden Dearth Book IV Chapter 2
Kermadec Island Macaulay Disputed Zone
“How are they doing?”
Viker sprawled nonchalantly across his Command Chair, wings trailing across the ground. Even in apparent untidiness he looked at home. His chest was bare, the power surging through him gave both heat and sustenance. More followers appeared every day, swearing undying devotion to his banner. With each new convert came a further trickle of energy. Now he knew how Walters felt. For a brief moment, he wondered where his former mentor was, but soon dismissed the thought.
“Do we have enough ships?”
“We will have. More flock to your banner, some bringing their own off-world transport. Confiscation of material is done more as a donation. There is no problem.”
“Private yachts,” scoffed Viker, “will be of no use to us.”
“I disagree, My Lord,” replied Johns, “Their mere presence attracts others. We have sent these yachts and their crews out recruiting. Two new transports arrived today.”
“How long must we wait?”
“Give me two more weeks,” said Johns, “and your fleet will almost be as good as new”
“Very well,” said Viker, “now what can I do to amuse myself in the meantime?”
Johns watched as Viker gazed at a pair of his female servants. He was uncomfortable with the changes he was seeing in his former section member. There was a gradual shift in his determination of right and wrong, and Johns was unhappy with the new direction.
Alana watched Viker from the shadows. He knew she was there but did not care. This self-indulgence rubbed raw; an Angel was bright, luminous, a beacon to all. His winds spread wide, enfolding the weak and helpless. What he did not do was take advantage, sneer at lesser folk, and it galled.
She met his eyes as he looked over the girl’s bare shoulder. There was no need to say a word. Death hung as a promise in the depths of his once bright orbs. It was time and Alana knew it. She turned away, his laughter following her down the corridor. Once outside the building she continued on, looking for her section members and ignoring Johns’ call. They had spoken about this moment in whispers and it was time to act.
“Let them go,” Viker said wearily, the thunder of the yacht’s thrusters ringing round the chamber.
“They are traitors,” snarled Johns, his own love for Viker blinding him to the obvious.
“That they are, and we will deal with them in our own time. They are, however, of no real consequence to our current plans.”
“We are leaving?” Johns eagerness was apparent.
“Yes. I have sated my curiosity for this world. Pick out the healthy and apt, we leave in the morning.”
“And the rest?”
“Not my concern,” said Viker waving him away “they were dying before we came, and that won’t change when we leave Forget about them.” Johns’ conscience did awaken for a brief moment, but he shrugged it off. He almost mentioned to Viker the need to clean his wings; red streaks mixed with the normally white feathers, but again it went from his mind as quickly as it had arrived.
Viker smiled as Johns left. The power which suffused hs body needed an outlet and there was none to be had in helping people. Well, there was, but it was not the power he was looking for.
Private Yacht Princess Marie Outer System Limits Macaulay Disputed Zone
“Now where to?” asked Shin, one of the seven members of Alana’s squad who had lifted with her.
“We have the courses already plotted which we were intending to follow. I suggest we skip a world. That will give us a breathing space.”
“Alana,” said Shin, “these worlds are burnt out. We’ve got a yacht full of refugees here and don’t expect to find anything better along the way. What’s your real plan?”
She couldn’t put it into words, but she had felt a familiar tug, a presence still watching over her. Alana was not a Eyatolian. Luther was her world and she had followed one man off planet. He would know what to do, if he would have them back. A self-deprecating laugh escaped; the mirror showed her how much they had changed, their fine features and high foreheads mimicking the change in Viker. Their armour’s ceramic wings did not belong with their former unit. That though could change.
“We’re going home,” she said, “and I want this...” she pointed at the Angel’s emblem, “..removing straight away.”
“Our mission hasn’t changed. I’ve just woken up.”
The pilot called out a warning for entry into Fold Space and Alana gave a sigh of relief. They had gotten away. At least for the moment.
Kermadec Island Macaulay Disputed Zone
In his room, Viker toyed with the doll in his arms. He had made it himself. His act of nonchalance was only that. This mutinous behaviour on Alana’s part was a betrayal which could not allow to pass. There were things he would have let go in the past, not now. Each day he carried the burden of power stole away a little of his remaining humanity. Marius had received a virulent present from Shan which had warped his mind. The remnants of Marius sat within Viker, a disease which slowly ate its way through his subconscious. Soon, there would be little left of the young man, in its place an old and pestilent evil.
Giggling insanely, he twisted the last of the doll together, feathers from his own wings giving his creation the semblance of one of his followers. Gently he blew life into the doll, waiting until it quickened into consciousness before he snapped its neck and cursed his ex-followers. Energy burst forth from between his hands and reached out for the yacht, just as it entered Fold Space.