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Killian's Maze Excerpt

"You gotta give me something, Kada!”

Sethran Kada leaned back in his chair and propped a foot onto a crate. “Not saying more than that,” he said. “Didn't see more, anyway. Air Command was all over our tail, so I wasn't going to stick around with my ear to the door. Barely made it out of there.”

The Human beside him whistled under his breath. “Your luck's gonna run out some day, Centauri.”

“Yah,” Seth said comfortably, looking out from under the awning that sheltered them from the glare of the Magran sun. It was good to be back in the closest place he could call ‘home' — this crowded, noisy city where he and his ship could disappear for a while. Here was where he paused for refit, restock, repair, and a good scrubbing of the tracking devices that ships like his tended to pick up.

He lived his life aboard the Dutchman and he, too, felt restored here — Magra's fresh air, endless sunshine and the solid ground under his feet were a tonic for the soul. His oasis, he reflected contentedly, despite its chaotic blend of ancient traditions and the brute invasion of Union technologies. Some of that was currently flying overhead, shuttling from the private Southside airfield to the monstrous solar-paneled edifices rising above Terint's city center.

Seth scraped his chair farther under the awning, escaping the eye of cameras mounted to those shuttles. He scanned the cobbled roadway before them, looking for rebels or Air Command among the residents, shoppers, tourists, thieves and hookers. For the most part, he'd prefer rebels over Air Command. Taking in their language of body and interaction, he counted visible weapons, and assumed as many hidden under the loose clothing required here this time of year. A skimmer passed in the distance but most of the people out here were on foot.

“There's no way you didn't get a closer look at that, Seth,” a woman behind them scoffed. She was Centauri like him — tall, slender, with violet eyes that gleamed faintly in the shadows as they caught the light. “Out with it.”

Seth grinned at his companions, the sort of thugs most valuable to him on this planet. The locals, caught between rebel terrorist attacks and Air Command counterstrikes, tried to make the best of periods of uneasy peace here. The best, for this group, was a rich opportunity for profiteering, gun running, and smuggling as they plied their trade among warring factions, using airships instead of ocean routes.

“Fine, fine,” he said with dramatic capitulation to their demands. “I'm not a man who likes gossip, but I'll confirm the guy in the general's bed was absolutely the second lieutenant.”

The others laughed, their suspicions by the end of his story confirmed.

“You didn't hear that from me,” Seth said. He glanced at the man slouched beside him before returning his gaze to the afternoon traffic. Terint had a complex information system fed by both sides of the rebel wars that alerted the locals of impending incursions into their lives. He was pleased to see the lazy commerce taking place here, hinting that rumors of hostilities were not keeping people at home. “When's that ship from K'lar due, Phen?” he said, his voice low.

The man, dressed comfortably in breezy robes, looked at his data sleeve. “Not till the morning. Taking the long way here to avoid the Targon sector. They're bringing in four cases, at least. And your pal Broda.”

“Vacationing, is he?” Seth said, inwardly jubilant. They had spent the last four months searching for the rebel, finally tracking him to Magra. Phen, as a member of the Arawaj faction, welcomed handing over a rival Shri-Lan rebel to Seth, with or without the payment of idle gossip.

He'd leave the contraband to Phen, who knew how to smuggle it out again. A small payment for getting his hands on Broda and an excuse to spend time here on Magra. Of course, these little bounties kept his contacts in the mood to provide intel in places inaccessible to Air Command.

“Isn't that your navigator over there?” the Centauri behind him said.

Seth looked out over the square, feeling his own face light up when he spotted Ciela emerging from the throng. “Yep, that's my lady.”

“Multi-functional, I see.”

Phen chuckled. “She's just jealous. Your Ciela sure is a sweet piece of—”

“Keep your filthy eyes off her, Phen,” Seth said. “You, too, Anyel.” He squinted when he saw Ciela angle toward them, a subtle gesture of her hand signaling something urgent. He rose to his feet and walked along the row of shops to meet her.

She hurried across the roadway, seeming a little out of breath. He noticed that, although she had set out to indulge in some shopping while here, she had no parcels. His eyes moved over the crowd, seeing no one following, no one watching.

“What's up?” he said when she reached him.

“I think I just saw a mirage,” she said, accepting his bottle for a long drink. The tepid water brought a grimace to her face, quickly disappearing behind the brilliant smile she had for him. She pushed her black hair aside to cool her neck. Unlike him, she had had the good sense to wear a simple caftan and sandals today. “Hot enough out here for mirages.”

“What did you see?”

“Who did I see, you mean. I saw Caelyn. Over by the north tarmac.”

“Caelyn!” Seth exclaimed. “Down here?”

“In an air car. A Feydan was driving,” she said. “Why didn't he tell us he was home when we said we were coming?”

“Yes, odd.” Seth scanned the crowd as if to spot the blue-haired Delphian among the locals. The astrophysics team aboard the orbital research station maintained two of the long-range Explorer-class ships on which their friend Caelyn served as navigator. He rarely came down to the surface and certainly not to this part of town. “He should know better. What could he be doing down here?”

Caelyn's people's aloof isolationism kept most of them on Delphi and they did not often associate with people outside their own circles. A mix of their cold detachment, secretive traditions and superior mental capacities kept them insulated from most other populations. They did not sully their hands by association with rebels, whom they regarded, collectively, as some inferior species. To find a Delphian down here among the riffraff seemed eccentric at best.

“I think we should find out,” Ciela said, worried. She, too, scanned their surroundings for signs that not all might be at peace here today. “He's not safe down this way.”

“Too true,” Seth said. Ciela, as Delphian as Caelyn, had grown up among people like these and knew where to step. She kept her hair colored black and the sapphire eyes behind violet lenses. With these features looking like Seth's, they conducted their work as unremarked as any Centauri pair found on any planet in the Trans-Targon sector. The gun at her belt, more than anything else, set her far apart from her Delphian kinsmen. Caelyn, on the other hand, would be wandering around down here like a pretty pigeon among hawks. “Was he going to the airfield?”

“I think so. Nothing else down that way.”

They cut through the market that had evolved around the sprawl of the airfields, supplying anything from food and water to the thorium power packs required by most smallcraft, if one knew how to ask for them. Although she, as a Delphian, was nearly as tall as Seth, she had to hurry to keep up with his long strides.

“Did we hit a payday with Broda?” she asked, stopping for a moment when a colorful display of gauzy shirts caught her eye.

“Sure did. We'll try to isolate him tomorrow.” Seth grimaced when she regarded him speculatively. “I'm not wearing that,” he said, although he felt definitely overdressed for this climate in his usual combat trousers and boots. At least he had left his beloved flight jacket aboard the Dutchman in favor of a sleeveless shirt.

“We could just call in Air Command,” she said. “Let the colonel's people finish the job.”

He let his hand accidentally brush over her backside. “You have another job for us, then?”

She gave him a glance that suggested exactly that before nudging him onward through the tight alley between the merchant stalls. At last, the road ended by a tall fence that might have looked formidable if not for the wide open gate allowing traffic to pass.

Ciela looked across the single runway and the open spaces used by vertical-descent cruisers. Some low outbuildings ringed the tarmac to their left. A mechanic in coveralls, a local or possibly Human, paused near a hangar to stare at them from the distance, but then continued on his way.

“Over there,” she said, pointing toward a low building beside the hangar. “I think that's the skimmer he was in.”

“There? He's looking for passage, then?” Seth said, reading the sign near the door. A somewhat abused Corvette class ship parked nearby, likely waiting for cargo or fares. “Or maybe he's meeting someone.”

“Seems weird. He should be using the Southside airfield, not this dump. And he's got the use of the lab's ships if he needs to be somewhere. Much safer than this.” She hesitated. “Now I feel we're spying on him. It's not our business what he does here.”

“Spying is our business. We'll just make sure he's all right.” Seth checked the scanner at his wrist. “There are five of them in there. Close together. Plenty weapons sig.”

They walked past the skimmer and opened the door to the booking office like prospective customers looking for passage.

The office, like the airfield, did not cater to the more affluent travelers of Magra. Those who could afford it chose the main terminal or, preferably, the more strictly-ruled airdrome on the other side of Terint. This one served those wanting to remain unseen, unquestioned, or who traded their fare for labor aboard an outbound ship.

Two men in dark but lightweight robes faced the counter over which a gaunt Centauri presided, looking like he had never seen the brilliant sun outside his walls. Seth glanced around, seeing crates packed for shipping, dusty chairs that no one used and too many shadows crowding the space. Whatever conversation had been going on here had halted abruptly but only the manager looked up to see who had entered.

Seth tapped a short pattern on Ciela's waist, calling for caution in the oddly dense silence. She moved aside to put space between them and her back away from the door.

Standing between the two silent men at the desk stood Caelyn, his long blue braid, although tucked under his gray tunic, identifying him as Delphian.

He had turned to look at the newcomers when Seth and Ciela stepped into the room. They witnessed, as on other occasions, his command of Delphian composure when he showed not the slightest hint of surprise or recognition. The expression on his angular face did not waver from the bland, disinterested mien worn by his people to keep outsiders from invading both their physical and emotional space.

“Afternoon,” Seth said when no one spoke. “I heard this was the place to fuel up.”

The Centauri proprietor's eyes flicked to the crates by the door but he shook his head. “Thorium's available on the Southside field.”

One of the men beside Caelyn now also turned. A Feydan, the tattoos on his face and other visible skin proclaimed his deeds and family honors to those who understood the intricate script. At times, if one interpreted the design correctly, it identified rebels among them, but the light in this room did not give Seth that chance.

The man sneered broadly. “Kada,” he said.

Seth groaned inwardly, unprepared for this encounter. Air Command had recently placed this rebel and his group high on their list of search-and-destroy targets — a black ops directive that did not bother with niceties such as incarceration. The man's willingness to cause massive collateral damage was no secret in these parts. Finding him here, among more of his kind, was both lucky and potentially lethal.

“Vargo,” Seth said brightly. “Not seen you around for a while.”

“That is true,” the Feydan said. “Not been hearing much good about you.”

“Is that so,” Seth said with a glance to Ciela. She had not met this man before but her genetically-modified memory easily retained a roster of the most-wanted rebels. A quick shift of her eyes confirmed this.

Since they were still standing, Seth hoped Vargo assumed them part of his rival Arawaj faction, rather than Air Command's network of covert operatives. Their assignments and travel routes were regularly erased from Air Command records, but some of the more organized rebel factions kept their own notes. Shadows and disguises no longer fooled AI face scanners and DNA samplers, and Seth walked a fine tightrope among the Union's enemies.

Idly, Vargo's fingers tapped the gun at his belt. “You disappeared in that mess on Mrak. Thought you might have been taken down.”

Seth shrugged, ignoring the implied threat as he kept his eyes on the man's face. “Got lucky.”

A shadow moved behind the Centauri when someone stepped into an open doorway there.

The other man standing beside Caelyn faced them now as well, also a Feydan, but Seth did not recognize him. “Heard you're playing nice on the other side these days,” he snarled.

“Well, doing business with Arawaj is profitable,” Seth deflected. He pointed at Caelyn to shift their attention away from their suspicions. “Interesting company you're keeping.”