Crimson Stars - 7

VII. Minotaur

Inferno System

Regaining consciousness was not the happy affair it normally was. I found that I had been chained to an ancient stone edifice, held well above the ground by manacles around my wrists. Every part of my body ached. The abuse I had taken was far past what would kill a human. My lungs were burning with especial ferocity, which I slowly realised was the product of my subconscious efforts to breath the vacuum that dominated Minotaur’s surface.

Consciously, I halted the pointless breaths. There was nothing to smell here, and so no need to cling to that now useless habit of the living.

Looking around, I could at least accept the location of my slow execution was stunning. Impetus hung in the sky above, bright enough to be painful to look at. It was larger and brighter than Minotaur was from its surface, and the stone moon was generally considered bright by the eyes of vampires.

Apart from the blue and green planet in the sky, streaked with white clouds as it was, I was also able to look over the empty amphitheatre around me. The surface was pockmarked with micro-meteor impacts, a testament to the age of it. Due to the minimal protection the now abandoned seats had from the eventual arrival of the scorching light of Inferno, I half wondered if it had been built while humans still held the planet. Perhaps a place where, during the war of the First One, the humans had executed prisoners for a morale boost.

There were so few records of the time before our empire. It was hard to say.

At the moment my audience was certainly human. A half dozen klivanions, dressed in imperial insignia were in position around the viewing area. Szlachta seemed to have wasted no time in settling into the throne, as much as she had protested dear father’s untimely end.

Pain shot through my lungs again when I had forgotten about not breathing. It was enough to cause me to slip out of consciousness once more.

-

There were cameras around. That was what I realised the next time I was grounded enough to study my environment. They did not seem to be for security, but rather to stream my eventual demise across the Inferno System. Recordings would no doubt also be loaded onto jump ships to other systems, slipping ahead of any regular broadcasts.

I wondered how many people were watching at the moment. Surely I was not very interesting streaming while simply dangling there, only half aware of my surroundings.

-

My spotty grasps of consciousness were too lacking for me to properly mark the days on Impetus as it revolved far faster than Minotaur’s tidally locked orbital rotation, but I knew I was seeing rather more of the night side of the home world than I wanted to. Inferno’s scorching rays would soon rise above the horizon.

At least there was no atmosphere to soften those rays. The cleansing irradiation would incinerate me with full and rapid force.

-

If they had fed me before the end I probably would have felt more fear. More sense of crushing defeat. As it was, though, I had nothing more than halfhearted acceptance to offer. When I was even awake.

My subconscious kept deciding to breathe, running on some irrational optimism that the moon had spontaneously developed an atmosphere in the few short minutes since the last time the primitive parts of my brain had exposed my respiratory system to the destructive force of hard vacuum. It was all quite annoying and the damage was making staying awake ever more difficult.

Just as I was starting to drift off again, unusual and sudden movement caught my eye. One of the imperial klivanions’ helmets had exploded in a spray of red and sparkling glass.

The others scrambled to their feet, raising their weapons as they did so. Further bullet impacts followed as they attempted to place their assailant. These seemed less well placed, most of the debris flying away from them being glinting glass and metal from their vacuum suits. Still, even that could be disabling. Klivanions handle a lack of oxygen worse than vampires did.

The remaining klivanions were returning fire in the direction of their attacker, only for a barrage of rockets to fly in from the opposite direction, striking the broadcast cameras.

Bits of regolith battered my face in the ensuing explosions, microscopic particles forming a cloud of dust around us. With no wind to disperse it and minimal gravity to pull it back down, the cloud hung in the air with an unnerving apathy. While there was no air to allow it to float, there had been enough static generated in the particle collisions to provide a similar sort of pseudo-buoyancy.

Despite the dust, I was able to make out muzzle flashes within the ancient amphitheatre. Then a spray of bullets shattered the chains on my left wrist. I fell limply, until the manacle on my right wrist halted my curving fall. Though my body did its best to continue to fall despite that, pulling painfully on my shoulder.

A few moments later another burst of fire broke the remaining manacle. I then plummeted the few metres to the hard ground, collapsing as I hit it.

There was simply no force left in my body. I was little more than a corpse, completely drained of any soul energies. All I could do was lay there motionless until a shadowy form emerged from the dust, grabbing my ankle. The unknown figure then began to drag me, moving quickly across the stone surface.

Soon enough they were climbing out of the depression, having shifted their grip to my collar as they pulled me behind them. Struggling with what little bodily control I had left, I focused my eyes on their face, and realised they were one of my klivanions.

Specifically the one who had shot me. She was quite recognisable due to the fact she was wearing only a breather mask over her face, having taken the pain of vacuum exposure over the risk of wearing a suit that could be depressurized by most glancing blows.

She was also quite definitely not the klivanion I had expected to be saved by. Though, perhaps it explained why she was treating me with so little respect.

There was a shuttle nearby. A utilitarian design, likely meant as a freighter.

I was left slumped in a back corner while my saviour, Seax (if my generally reliable memory was correct), hurried over to the control panel. She was frantic in her efforts to get us moving, having barely bothered to close the hatch and not bothered at all to fill the chamber with atmosphere.

The flight path we took was twisting and winding, but even the turbulent shifting was not enough to help maintain my tenuous grip on consciousness. There was barely even enough energy left within me to maintain my brain functions at that point.

-

“You’re damned ugly at this stage, you know that?” Seax’s voice said, drawing me back to consciousness.

There was air now. Being able to hear confirmed that, though there were also scents. I swore I could make out the faint smell of blood, even as I was barely awake.

“I almost pity you, being able to end up like that without dying,” she muttered, not in my line of sight and I lacked the energy to turn and look at her.

What I could see above me no longer seemed like the interior of a shuttle, however.

“You probably expect me to offer up my neck right now, but I’m not doing that. I also made sure the others know it’s tactically unsound. You’ll need more than one feeding to be functional and someone needs to be on their feet,” she explained. “Luckily, the port facilities are full of poorly lit corridors and tired employees.”

There was a thunk beside me, followed by something warm brushing against my hand. Instincts took hold, pushing my very last reserves of energy into rolling over. My jaw locked onto the throat of an unconscious body and I fed with a hungry desperation I had not felt since I had first been turned.

Slowly something approaching life returned to me.

Unfortunately the meal ended well before I felt whole, though I knew my system could not process further feeding for some time.

“Fuck that’s creepy,” Seax hissed behind me. “Hope the others appreciate what I’m doing for them.”

I was able to prop myself up to a seated position, holding myself with some shred of dignity. “Where are we?”

“Seninătate,” Seax muttered, before grabbing the drained corpse by the ankle and dragging it towards a corner.

I nodded. “Seninătate is good. Major port… how close behind are Szlachta’s authorities?”

“Can’t say,” she replied. “I kept low, off radar. Fried the avionics tracker on the shuttle. Managed to land on an abandoned pad. I doubt anyone noticed yet. So, maybe hours. Maybe days. Minotaur is big, but the new Empress has lots of resources.”

“Fair,” I muttered. “Another meal. I need to eat so that I can focus.”

“You can’t feed again this quickly,” she countered.

That was true, and I hated it. I was fairly certain that my legs had not repaired themselves nearly enough for me to walk to any significant degree. Running was definitely out of the question.

“I think I could manage a mesmerization,” I said, in a quiet voice. “Not for long, but just enough to get someone to get us off this moon.”

“And then? When you pass out again?”

“You knock them out and take over piloting. I’ll feed on the actual pilot when I can eat again,” I explained.

“And where will we go?” Seax asked.

“Irae. Specifically Dis,” I said. “There’s an old safe house there.”

Seax glared at me, looking ready to spit some further of insults, before something tempered her anger. Likely a comment from one of the other souls she shared a body with.

“Fine. I don’t have anything better,” she admitted.

Then she tightened her collar to protect her neck before leaning down to lift me under the shoulder. I was left leaning on her as I limped, ensuring we both moved slowly.

The industrial corridors of the large port facility were a maze of varying construction styles. Seninătate was one of the oldest settlements upon Minotaur, and the port facilities were likely the oldest parts of the city. Perhaps it was the hunger keeping me from focusing, but I had to wonder how employees kept from growing lost in the endless crisscrossing tunnels between various storage rooms that were just as variable as the corridors. Uncountable centuries of changing civic planning ideas and ever modifying architectural styles conspired to leave many parts of the Empire littered with excessive and redundant infrastructure. It was a good thing most of it had been built to last and so required little maintenance.

Eventually, though, we arrived at parts that were better lit and I could make out the distant scents and sounds of humanity. It left me wondering how far Seax had dragged my meal.

Still keeping to the shadows, we knew we had to find a small interplanetary shuttle. Something with minimal crew requirements, as there was little chance I could manage to dominate more than a single mind in my state of quasi-death.

Needing to move more quickly and with greater stealth, Seax found a dark corner to hide me in. She promised to return with further intelligence. I took the opportunity to rest my eyes and float on the edge of death-sleep. My reserves were still limited and needed preservation.

Thankfully I was undisturbed in the time it took my last klivanion to return, though they were wearing a different face when they did so. There was a different soul between their eyes. A male soul, obvious from the way his face was harder and his chest flatter. The healing nanites’ response to multi-souled individuals still fascinated me.

“We found a mortal businessman with a small personal shuttle. Nothing top of the line, but passable. Also, it means he’s definitely no one big enough to ruffle too many feathers by going missing,” the klivanion said as I placed his face.

Falx. He’d seemed loyal, if a bit of a traditionalist in combat, but also competent.

Perhaps Seax had tapped out before having to watch me feed again.

“He sounds like a good candidate,” I replied, not sure if I should comment on the trading of control or not.

It proved to have advantages, at least. Falx put more effort into ensuring the way he held me was comfortable, considering the height advantage their shared body held over me. The greater comfort seemed to result in us moving slower, unfortunately. We had to hope our mark wasn’t in any sort of a hurry.

When we reached a main corridor the shuttle owner was complaining to a port authority worker (whose eyes said he was not paid enough to deal with such petite bourgeoisie with delusions of grandeur). The conversation was moving in circles, and seemed at little risk of ending soon. We lurked around a corner, Falx keeping an eye on the situation.

Blinking at the lights around the docking point I realised I had lost my sunglasses. No wonder lights had been hurting my eyes so much. That would have to be rectified, though it could wait until we were aboard the small shuttle.

After several attempts to inform the businessman that his demands were irrational, the port worker promised to bring a superior to discuss the matter. Whether he had any intention to return or not was unclear, but he’d finally left. We were therefore afforded the opportunity to move in, finding the businessman alone.

“Hello,” I said, letting loose the various pheremones and layered subsonic influences of a mesmerization process.

The businessman halted, blinking and then turning to us with mechanical stiffness. “Hello.”

“You will let us board your shuttle,” I ordered.

A spasm ran through him, some part of his essence resisting the order. Likely due to the indignity of anyone giving him an order, even if he was otherwise weak willed. The resistance in him only lasted a moment, however. Then he entered his passcode into the door and led us into the small shuttle.

The interior was plush. Over decorated in what I could only guess was the latest local mortal style, but it seemed comfortable. Falx leaned me into a small couch before heading off to check the control panel.

“You’re nearly out of fuel.”

The businessman gave a blank eyed nod. “I need to buy more, but they are trying to overcharge. They say the recent coup has led to supp—”

“Shut up. Just pay whatever they ask,” I ordered. “You won’t need to worry about the money for long.”

A small sparkle danced in his eyes, the self centered mortal apparently choosing to understand my statement in a rather favourable way. That made him easier to influence, though, so I was happy to leave him with the delusion.

He left out the shuttle door, leaving Falx and I alone again.

“How long can we trust him alone for?”

“As long as no one asks if he’s let us aboard: indefinitely,” I replied, leaning against the plush chesterfield. It was so much more pleasant than cold stone floors.

“And if they do ask?” Falx added, worry in his voice.

“Then the noose is already too tight for us to sneak out. They’d be checking any shuttles leaving. Especially unscheduled private vehicles.”

It was clear Falx didn’t like that answer, though he chose to burn off his stress by drawing his sword and running through conditioning drills.

A few minutes later the businessman returned, happily informing us that the ship was being fueled up. Or, as happily as a mesmerized human could act, emotions muted under layers of influence.

I ordered him to launch as soon as we were fueled up, claiming it would be to his benefit. Which was true in some points of view. Many people prefered a quick death to a slow one, when there was no chance of rescue.

Oblivious to it all, the man radioed the control tower, asking for permission to leave. He happily gave all the proper registration numbers as Falx listened and memorised them. Perhaps half an hour later, once we were out of Minotaur’s gravity well, and moving away from the Impetus planetary system altogether, Falx slipped the man into a careful chokehold, pulling him away from both the controls and consciousness.

No longer having to exert my influence over him, I allowed myself to pass out as well.

-

When I reawakened I found the man had been tied up, while the navigational screen showed little more than a spread of stars against the blackness of space. We were clearly still a good distance from Irae.

The acceleration induced weight was heavier than Minotaur’s true gravity had been, but I only needed to cross a single room to reach sustenance and further strength. So I stood, determined to manage it myself.

“I could help you?” Falx said, starting to get up from the pilot’s seat.

I waved him off and crossed the shuttle in a limping shuffle. Still, the way I fell onto my meal was far from graceful.

-

The gas giant Irae, with its breathtaking rings, began to loom before us on the various navigational screens. I sat quietly, licking my lips and thinking that I was satiated, but not full. Still, Dis was a populous moon, the water of its subsurface oceans allowing for cheap and plentiful food for humans. Even needing to keep a low profile I could keep myself fed.

The Irae Traffic Authority contacted us a few minutes later. Falx navigated the call signs and registration numbers with flawless accuracy. I gave further information about our exact destination on Dis as we approached the icy moon. There was a small private landing point near the southern pole where we could touch down without questions and checks. Technically, I owned it through at least a half dozen shell companies.

Once we’d landed and docked with the automated boarding gate, I spent a moment giving orders to the shuttle’s basic flight computer. It would depart, point itself on a spiralling orbit towards Irae proper, and then fry every bit of electronics aboard it with an open pulse from the engines.

That trail covered up, I followed Falx down into the transit tunnels below the ice of Dis. There were electrical carts waiting in a parking area beneath the landing pad. Taking one, we set off towards the safehouse.