Anthem's Fall (35 page)

Head still shaking, Darien’s lips moved inarticulately, unable to forge a question. Then he blurted out, “Who was it?”

“Lets keep moving,” Hoff turned and accelerated nearly out of sight into the storm.

Darien quickly soared alongside him. “Who?”

“Some Royal nobody,” Hoff said. “Pral Nerol’s son.”

Darien’s expression almost looked insulted as he pictured the old Pral Nerol and his research building in Municera. The Nerol’s were a disgraced Royal house—scholars and academics for many generations. They were no warriors. “
Who
?”

“Pral Nerol’s son.”

Darien shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to,” Hoff shrugged. “But it’s true.”

“The Nerol’s have amounted to nothing but useless thinkers. They’re a stunted and fallen Royal line. I mean for god’s sake, look at Pral Nerol: the son of one of the most immaculate Sejero bloodlines in history became a
scientist
. It sickens me. They’re no soldiers!”

“Evidently this one was.”

Darien scoffed in disbelief. “If this Nerol was so powerful, how come I’ve never heard of him?”

“Emperor Faris and the War Council exiled him from Anthem immediately after his dissension on Orion.”

“Exiled? Shouldn’t he have been executed? He assassinated the Lord General . . . that isn’t exactly a minor offense.”

“Are you really forgetting Imperial military protocol so soon? In no way should the kid have been exiled, or even punished for that matter. The young Nerol
should
have been awarded Vikkor’s position as Lord General. The security footage of the command deck was combed over for days after the incident. The kid did issue an open challenge to Vikkor before attacking him. Technically speaking, the Epsilon war treatise states that young Nerol was within his rights. But Emperor Faris intervened and issued a Royal mandate for the kid to be exiled. His word superseded military law. Vikkor had a lot of friends in high places—he was not someone the kid should have messed with.”

“The kid? What do you mean, the kid?”

“Nerol’s son. He was a teenager at the time.”

Darien glared through the rain. “A teenager?” he blurted out with rising contempt. “I will not believe a teenager bested the Lord General of the Imperial First Class.”

“I swear on the Blood Ring that I’m telling the truth. I saw firsthand the security footage of the Nerol kid taking down an entire command deck of some of the most highly decorated soldiers in the military. Three former Grand Arena champions were on that deck. He took them all on at once. To this day I’ve never seen anything like it, beyond sparring with Vengelis. Supposedly the young Nerol spent his childhood training with Master Tolland, which is why nobody knew about him. Even discussing the boy was a crime punishable by death, so no one did. But between you and me, the Nerol kid is what prompted Emperor Faris to have Vengelis trained by Master Tolland.”

Darien was in complete disbelief that a truth this substantial had been hidden so successfully. He—along with the rest of Anthem—had been under the impression that the venerated Lord General Vikkor died in the middle of space during the ship’s return journey. Darien remembered all sorts of theories on how the ship’s navigation system failed, and a call to increase the frequency of inspections. It had been treated as a terrible tragedy. If Hoff’s story was true, it was obvious why the War Council would keep it from public attention. If a teenager could defeat the Lord General and three other soldiers in single combat, how powerful really was the Imperial First Class?

“After the command deck fell, they called in the Royal Guard to take the Nerol boy down,” Hoff said. “You wouldn’t believe the mayday transmission that was sent out from Orion. Imagine receiving a transmission stating that the Lord General was dead.” Hoff shook his head, his gaze lost in memory. “We didn’t know
what
the hell we were in for, but expected the worst. Maybe the local civilization had some advanced weaponry we had been unaware of. Maybe some higher race had intervened and come to Orion’s defense. Maybe we had finally pushed too far and brought the hammer of the gods down on our heads. We had no goddamn idea. I’ll tell you this though, the last thing we were expecting was that a teenager had thrown a tantrum.”

“Unbelievable . . . ” Darien said. He tried to envision how strong this lone Nerol must have been. “How did you get him into custody? Did you fight him?”

Hoff shook his head. “We didn’t have to. Nerol’s son had locked himself in his quarters before we even arrived. I’d be damned if I was going to be the one to open the door and talk to him. We said to hell with it, and directed the ship back to Anthem with the kid on board.”

“Where they proceeded to exile him?”

Hoff nodded. “Where Emperor Faris exiled him, yes.”

“And he just . . . left? It sounds like he could have put up one hell of a struggle in the palace.”

“I have no doubt that he could have. It probably would have been a fight for the history books. But think about it. We would have simply threatened to kill his family to settle him down. Old man Nerol used as leverage.” Hoff chuckled at the thought.

“So this young Nerol just left Anthem?”

“He left that same day. The same day everyone involved took their blood oaths of secrecy.”

“How did the kid leave?”

“Darien, the kid was a pure blooded Nerol, not the son of some ragtag middle class family. I’m sure he was given some plush one-way transport somewhere.”

“Does anyone know where he went?”

“My guess would be Orion, since that’s where he lost his marbles. But no, as far as I’m aware no one knows where he went.”

A splitting crack of thunder boomed from just over their heads, deafening at their proximity. It startled Darien and he lost his concentration, falling for a brief moment into space before quickly steadying himself. Right above them, fierce dark swirls of storm clouds expelled ever thickening rain that pelted angrily against their upturned faces. To Darien it felt as though the very planet itself now sensed their unnatural presence and was roaring at them to leave, to go back to the war-pocked and ravaged Anthem and take their troubles with them. Yet the storm cloud’s command went unheeded by the two soldiers. Hoff merely let out a rumbling laugh at Darien’s brief loss of control.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little thunder? It’s the lightning you have to watch out for. It can singe your hair if you get hit by a big strike.”

Darien clenched his fists. “It just startled me. I’m obviously not afraid of thunder.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You should have seen the look on your face. You better not flinch like that when the humans bring the height of their firepower against us. I assure you it will be louder than that.”

“Enough!” Darien shouted, his tone dangerous. He wiped the torrential rain from his face and continued westward.

“I’m just giving you a hard time, don’t sweat it.” Hoff clapped a palm against his back, soaring alongside him.

“Why did the Nerol kid attack Lord General Vikkor? Was it a power grab?” Darien asked in an attempt to take the attention away from his display of weakness. Thunder continued to emanate from above them, and long purple-white forks of lightning began to illuminate them against the churning gray sky in sudden flashes of brightness.

“Eh, I guess that’s possible, but from what I heard it wasn’t a power grab. The soldiers on the command deck said the quarrel had started with a dispute over orders. I think it was the genocide order of the local aboriginals. The Nerol kid thought it was unwarranted.”

“Was it unwarranted?”

“Who cares? Bronson Vikkor wasn’t—how should I put it—
considerate
to inferior races. I have no doubt that Vikkor would disapprove of Vengelis’s caution at the moment with these humans. He would have descended on these people with fist and fire. So yes, it would not surprise me to find out it had been an unnecessary order. But it was followed by the Imperial Army regardless.”

“And the aboriginals? The Yabu?”

“They are as equal a part of history as Lord General Vikkor—and us, for that matter.” Hoff said.

“We’re not history yet. I still think Vengelis can defeat the Felixes and reclaim the Epsilon throne. Even now, in the midst of all the carnage back home, it seems to me like he has a clear head.”

“Maybe,” Hoff muttered.

“Master Tolland believed Vengelis could defeat the Felixes too,” Darien said. “Don’t forget that.”

“I’ll stick with maybe. Master Tolland also sent us here to find a weapon against the Felixes. What weapons do you see? I see nothing but pathetic indigents. I’m beginning to wonder if Master Tolland was not entirely coherent when we found him in that pile of rubble. He
was
at death’s door after all. At the time it made sense; it was an order to cling to, anything that could give us hope. But now that I’m here, I can’t understand why he sent us to this place.”

“No,” Darien said. “Master Tolland may have been dying, but he was alert. Even you thought so. His orders were
so
specific. There must have been a reason. Maybe Vengelis is right to think that the human scientists can deduce a way to defeat the Felixes. What if the answer is right in front of us and we can’t see it? I think—”

“Darien,” Hoff interrupted suddenly, “Look.”

The Lord General’s eyes were wide. He raised an arm and pointed into the discernible expanse before them. They had pulled through the storm and out of the rain. Situated along the bank of another huge body of water beneath them, a gargantuan city ascended into the clouds through a thick cover of fog. Countless dark structures rose through the dreary mists and into the tempestuous sky. The shrouded metropolis extended for miles and miles up the coastline. In the center of the cluster of larger structures, a colossal black building ascended like a citadel above all the others; it was nearly as large as the very Imperial Palace or the Sejero Tower. The city sprawling out of the fog before them looked nothing short of Sejeroreich itself.

“I . . . I can’t believe it,” Darien stammered.

Hoff shook his head in disbelief, his mouth open. “I had no idea these people were capable of feats like this.”

Darien was staring down at the tiered roofs of the immense towers rising out of the mist. “Do you think we should make contact with Vengelis?”

“Yes. This is the place.” Hoff pulled out his ship remote and on the screen carefully examined the map he had previously consulted. In a moment the remote connected with Vengelis’s, so far east of them.

“We have found an appropriate city, my lord,” Hoff said at once.

The voice of Vengelis responded somewhat grainy and distorted. “How many people are congregated there, and what is it called?”

“The remote says three million, my lord. We’re looking down at it now. It will definitely suffice for a spectacle. The map says the city is called . . . Chicago.”

T
he sunlight danced on Madison’s flawless complexion and the dark waves of her hair as she turned at the street corner and watched him jog after her. Vengelis shouldered past a few passersby and halted before her, meeting her gaze with an expression bent in conflict.

“Look.” Vengelis gazed wearily into the busy intersection as cars and taxis veered by. “This city . . . this city isn’t a safe place to be today. You need to get as far away from here as you can.”

“And why would that be?” Madison reached into her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

He dismissed her curiosity with an agitated shake of his head. “It’s really too much to get into. But you need to get out of this city. Go anywhere but here.”

“Like Jersey? I’m all set.”

“I don’t know what Jersey is, but if it’s far away from New York City, then, yes, go there.”

“Hmm.” Madison tilted her head as she lifted a cigarette out of the pack with elongated fingers. She put it to her lips, lit it thoughtfully and took a long drag. “Nope. That doesn’t feel right. No offense, but I think I’ll stay.”

“You really need to listen to me. This entire city is in imminent danger. Your
world,
collectively, isn’t safe. I’m formally asking you to leave.”

Amusement surfaced on her lips as Madison regarded him, her judgment of his character obviously vacillating. He watched her eyes move to his body and take in his uncanny, though unmistakably valuable attire. The obscenely massive Blood Ring on his hand surely looked elaborate and genuine, even to her untrained eye. Perplexity passed across Madison’s face as her attention paused on the Blood Ring. A seed of uncertainty surrounding the man before her had taken root in her mind.

“Where are you from?” she asked, her tone abruptly intrigued.

“Far.”

Madison cast him a doubtful look. “Like Europe? You sort of have a European look to you I suppose. Your . . . clothing . . . and that ring definitely scream un-American.”

“No, much farther than Europe.”

“So, like . . . where?”

Vengelis took in an extended breath and let it out slowly, both his frustration and his nerves growing. Time was running out, and he knew he was past due to check in with Hoff and Darien. “Are you going to leave the city or not?”

Madison shrugged. “I don’t see why I would.”

The traffic light across from their intersection signaled walk, and Madison stepped out onto the crosswalk along with a few other pedestrians. As she turned away from him, Vengelis reached out and held her shoulder. Madison turned back to face him, insulted by the gesture. Vengelis regarded her coldly; he was about to tell her more forcefully to evacuate when a beep sounded from within his armor. With his left hand he pulled out the
Harbinger I
remote.

“What the hell is that?” Madison asked, staring at the extraordinary contraption.

“A remote control to my ship,” Vengelis said simply.

Madison visibly thought over his nonchalant statement. Then once more she tried to casually pull her shoulder away from him, but found his grip to be implausibly strong. A concern began to surface across her face, as if it suddenly became clear to her that the man before her was not entirely stable.