“What’s the ship’s colour?” officer Vrrad
breathed into the z-com, his eyes straining to keep from widening.
“The ship which you just mentioned, which passed the invisible
hotspot and was found positive on mystical energy readings?”
He knew that with the Naxim having rigged the
spectrum with mystical energy detecting hotspots, any ship passing
through these hotspots would be detected if found carrying even a
trace of mystical energy. And one had now…
There was a slow rustle of breathing on the
line. And then the person delivering this report to officer Vrrad
replied in a hushed voice.
“It’s a deep orange ship, shaped like a
falcon. The hotspot had picked up its energy readings - there’s
only one person in it. And it’s a mystic.”
“Do you have its location right now?” asked
Vrrad.
“Yeah,” replied the man. “It just passed less
than a minute back. And we have its line of travel. We’ll have it
sent to you, and you’ll know exactly where the ship’s at.”
“Do it.” ordered Vrrad, his pulse racing. “Do
it fast!”
Disconnecting the line, Vrrad made a hurried
call to another member of his squad. The video call was answered,
and a holographic screen formed in the air over the z-com. The
squad member Vrrad had called stared out of the screen.
“Get the other members of our squad, all of
them!” barked Vrrad. “Suit up and get our ship ready.
Now.
”
The man lifted an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Surprise, surprise.” said Vrrad. “A mystic’s
just wandered right into our grasp.”
__________
A mild drowsiness settled over Ion. And the
alert state of his mind was beginning to waver. His gaze was firmly
fixed to the four holo screens hovering atop, and nothing but the
endless black chasm of space was seen on all four sides. And after
gazing idly at the pitless blackness for a steady stream of time,
he couldn’t blame himself for feeling sleepy.
His eyes wandered wistfully to the cozy sofa
like seats at the back of the hull.
Maybe I should set in on
autopilot, and just take a short nap.
Instantly, a part of him squealed in protest:
he was carrying the most important item in this universe now. His
eyes stalled over the plague crystal on the table before him.
Risking this was not a worthy endeavour. He had to stay awake and
alert. Even if it meant carrying the weight of many sleepless
nights.
So be it, then.
He submitted to his
higher reasoning, jolting himself back into alertness.
He kept his thoughts latched to the goal. He
could estimate that he would reach the planet in less than an
hour…
An hour…
he thought bitterly. An hour
of sitting here with nothing to do, and with nothing to stare at
save for the empty blackness of space all around…
The minutes trickled past, and his mind
wandered … Visions of escape fiddled with his focus … he felt his
eyelids grow heavy again… his straightened posture was beginning to
slacken … strange stirrings occurred at the back of his ears … and
then a blissful quiet had stolen over him, so that he couldn’t even
hear his snores echoing within the hull.
All worries, all pains were vanquished … put
well off reach. Bliss like nothing else cloaked the world. And Ion
along with it.
Slowly emerging from the warm layer of inner
peace, Ion awoke slowly.
His eyes fluttered open. Finding himself
through the grogginess, he decided to sit straight on the pedestal
he had fallen asleep over. And suddenly, the murkiness of his sleep
vaporised in an instant: he wasn’t sleeping on the pedestal at all,
he realised as he opened his eyes. He was sitting bound in iron
chains to a chair in the middle of a large empty room, with the
seal of the
Naxim
pasted over the door opposite to him.
For a moment, his jaw fallen open, Ion
wondered madly if he was dreaming … he could feel the steadily
rising
thuds
of his heart hammering in his chest, louder and
faster by the passing second.
What just happened?
he wondered,
feeling his throat go dry.
How in the world did I get
here?
He racked his mind for something that had
happened in between, which he must have forgotten. But it then
occurred to him that he had fallen asleep in Flamebird, and had
awoken inside of a Naxim facility’s room, bound. He had evidently
been attacked in the middle of his sleep. The officers must have
stunned him when they secretly boarded the ship, leaving him to
face a nasty awakening when the time came for it.
I’ve been captured by the Naxim!
His
alarm and panic spun out of bounds with the full implications of
the realisation:
Where’s the crystal? What’ve they done to
Flamebird?
He tried mustering every ounce of his will to
use his powers. To help him break out. But it was of no use: the
irons binding him were clearly made and welded for mystics. They
were far too strong, for him at least. He was trapped. And there
was nothing there could be done.
His breath now came in short, panicky gasps.
He tried to look about. But the iron chains bound his neck as well,
so that he couldn’t twist it too much without breaking it. Still
and helpless as the walls closing around him, he sat there watching
what felt like a few millennia soar by. The only sounds falling to
his ears were the incessant, loud drumming of his heart.
This can’t be happening!
Just when
everything was going on a direction, a steady path, Ion had brought
it all crashing down. He had let himself be led astray by one
foolish, pathetic impulse … he had lost it. Just when he’d found
it. If only he had kept himself awake at that dire time he was
needed to.
What are they going to do with me? Why isn’t
anyone here? What’s going on?
It took a long, panicky moment before he
could gather his resolve and force himself calm. He breathed in a
slow, rhythmic pattern for a whole minute, allowing the panic to
drain. As he stopped, finding a measure of control again … he heard
it:
Another slow, hiss like breathing … coming
from right behind him.
“So,” said a cold voice behind him, leaving
the faintest thud of his footsteps as he stepped forward. “Where do
we begin, mystic?”
__________
Officer Vrrad walked ahead of his captive,
whose orange eyes had gone wide as apples as he looked at him. It
had been too easy… they had taken a few battle ships, but had
needed none: as they approached the ship, a stealth team they had
deployed secretly dug into the majestic falcon shaped ship. The
boy, the sole passenger in the large and lavish ship, had been
sound asleep on the driving pedestal. Without breaking a sweat,
they had stunned him so that he stayed asleep as long as they
needed him to…
Vrrad walked ahead of the boy, wearing a
cold, triumphant sneer.
Ion saw that the officer was carrying a space
mask, a helmet with a glass covering upfront, by his hands. He was
wearing a full white suit that seemed puffed up and cushiony. This
was a space suit. What they were in now, was not a planet. They
were in a space station. This was a Naxim space station, and he was
being held there.
“Where’s my ship?” he demanded, not afraid to
let the menace show in his voice.
The officer bent down, his sneer vanishing
behind a more serious expression. “I’m the one asking questions
here.”
He sent his fist hurtling into Ion’s belly
and Ion gasped loudly, bending forward on his bound chair. Groaning
in pain, he felt another slice of agony as he accidentally bit his
tongue.
Coughing, he spat out a globule of blood,
eyes burning with tears.
“Good. I see you’ve picked up the vibe of you
stay here.” Vrrad gave a cold laugh. He sank his hand into his suit
pocket and pulled out a z-com. Dialing furiously, he barked into
the device, “I want all of you now. Our guest requires some
entertainment.”
In a short minute, the door opposite, with
the Naxim seal, burst open. Seven other men in puffy white suits,
their faces covered in space masks, stormed into the room. Two of
them stepped up by either side of the officer.
The officer turned and called, “Allow him a
glimpse of the
present
we’ve got for him, won’t you?” One of
the others strode forth from behind and handed the man what looked
like a gun. But Ion saw, as the officer turned, that it wasn’t the
Sparkler. It was the Stinger. The torture gun.
Vrrad watched the foreboding stir in the
boy’s eyes.
“I see you’re no stranger to the world of
interrogation,” he said, beckoning to the Stinger. “Now, I want you
to listen very closely.
He bent closer to Ion, his face now mere
inches from Ion’s.
“The spectrum is now at war. With your kind.
We’re now at a state of threat like nothing else because of you.
You’ve pushed us
well
over the edge, and the time has passed
where we show you any of the mercy we’d shown before.” He paused to
let the effect of the words sink in, and then said, “We are going
to hunt down every last one among you, and find the ones
responsible for the attacks. At
whatever
cost
necessary…”
His voice went softer. “If you co operate
with us and make our jobs slightly easier, you will have some
mercy. We want the details of every mystic that you’re in contact
with, who’re hiding in the outer spectrum. Spill it
all
right now. Or else …”
His eyes wandered to the Stinger, which he
casually held up in front of Ion.
Ion gritted his teeth, summoning all of his
willpower to keep himself steady.
The officer pointed the tip of the ghastly
gun to Ion’s chest.
“One chance, if you wanna live.” he breathed
into Ion’s ear. “Tell us everything. How many other mystics do you
know of? How many are you in contact with? We know countless of
your dear friends are still foolishly hiding out there. We want all
of their locations and details. Do us this favour, and we might
soften up on you just a little.”
Scowling, Ion watched the gun hovering in
front of him. And before he knew what was doing, he threw his head
back and laughed.
“Shoot me, then.” he yelled at the man, whose
expression, taken aback, was hidden quickly. “I’ve faced far worse
than
that
.” His eyes focussed on the gun tip sailing before
him.
The air seemed to tighten in the room. The
seven men’s postures suddenly grew stiff. They took a step forward
towards him. Some of them crunched their knuckles in menacing
gestures.
Vrrad watched him closely, no longer
sneering. He had the Stinger lowered for a moment, wondering if
this was going to work after all. Then, without warning, he
shot.
The yellow orb erupted from the Stinger’s
tip, smashing into Ion’s chest. Unbearable agony exploded all
through him. The scream of pain he released drowned the entire
room, bouncing inside its tiny walls.
“You still think you’re tough, huh?” laughed
the officer, the sneer rising to his face again. “You still think
you’re tough?”
Ion fixed the officer with his burning gaze
and spat, “Go on and you’ll find out!”
Vrrad’s mouth hung loose for a moment,
startled at his captive’s unfazed rebel attitude, even in the face
of the gravest of tortures. Now with the sneer completely wiped
from his face, he fixed the Stinger in aim again. “Enjoy this,
then, tough guy.”
The second bolt of yellow seemed to crash
into Ion with ten times the impact of the first, knocking his chair
back slightly. Ion felt his every pore scream in agony, ablaze with
a furied pain like no other.
God, make it stop!
He panted heavily for a few seconds. The
Naxim officers stood around, watching without mercy. The pain of
the second shot faded far slower than the first, seeming to sear
its impact right into his bones…
But the memory of Vestra flashed past him,
and Ion’s fists clenched. His teeth gritted.
“Kill me, then.” he whispered, finishing his
rasping pants. “I ain’t telling you nothing.”
The officer hid his surprise at Ion’s
continued resistance quickly, and rose the Sparkler again. But a
second later, as Ion braced himself for another seizure of agony,
the man lowered his Sparkler and turned to the two men standing by
him.
He leaned by and whispered to them, “I don’t
this one’s giving us anything.” A short pause. “There’s nothing
more to it. We’ll just have to dispose of him.”
The other two exchanged looks, and then
nodded.
Dispose of me, then.
Now with the
moment finally upon him, Ion felt a sudden, almost unnerving
calm.
“Well, you have your wish, mystic.” said
Vrrad. He looked from one man to the other, among the two uniformed
masked men standing by him. “Would you like to do the honours?”
The two of them gave another crisp nod
together.