6. Tyrxie
Chapter 6
Tyrxie
Presence
M y heart pounds in my chest as I side-eye the weapon, floating tantalizingly close. If I appear too eager, the watchful Thalaxia will become suspicious. “Ah, good, my wrist console!” I feign excitement, attempting to draw her attention away.
I rush over, grabbing my wrist console, while stealing glances at the floating pistol. With a gentle bob, it hangs, flaunting my crime before Nebian law enforcement. But I remain calm against the stomach-churning suspense. Wrapping my wrist console around my aching left arm, a notification catches my attention. Opening it, I splutter with such loudness, Quad would be jealous. Written on the display is a receipt of payment for five hundred thousand credits from Kaanus. I blink at the device in stunned disbelief, an incredible glowing number I scarcely believe.
Kaanus must’ve transferred this to me after Xandor carried me away.
“Is everything in order?” Thalaxia inquires, her orange eyes watching and judging.
“Yep,” I blurt out, struggling to contain my surprise... and relief. “Everything’s very ordered.” I beam. Distracted by elation, I make quick work gathering my damning pistol and other weapons, nestling them all back to their homes.
As I’m tucking my small knife into my ankle strap, Thalaxia interrupts. “Wait!” she declares, crushing my elation with an icy grip of terror. I glance up from my kneeling position, my eyes drawn to the alluring exit. “Why do you carry so many knives?” she inquires, and I’m able to breathe again.
I straighten, a ton of weight lifting from my shoulders. “Oh, they’re handy for stubborn maintenance jobs,” I jest with a casual shrug.
And dangerous males.
“Is that so?” Thalaxia asks, frowning. “You’re a strange lass,” she declares with a shake of her head.
“The feeling’s mutual.” I smile at her, driven by a surge of relief and excitement that I stand on the verge of freedom with the wealth to guarantee it.
I thumb my locket more to calm myself than to ease fear as Thalaxia turns, beckoning me to follow her towards the exit. As we approach the translucent material, I see no mechanism to open the door. Gasping in wonder, I watch Thalaxia step through the undulating, warping shielded hologram. Extra glad I have credits now. I doubt I’d ever get a job maintaining this advanced tech with my limited understanding.
Stepping out of the wavey shield, a sudden rush of noise and strange smells assail my senses. Amazed, I watch the darting oval vehicles skim above the streets as numerous as the stars. The orange and blue suns beam down on us and the air, while cleaner than on the Mutalisk’s Hammer, carries a dry heat that already threatens to make me sweat.
We march down the broad, clean street, paved in simple brown brick. Buildings loom large, lining both sides of the street with large oval windows and sweeping tops. A few orb-shaped drones buzz through the roads, performing cleaning and maintenance. A little further on, I pass Nebians noting their grim faces, with eyes darting to the sky as if expecting some catastrophe to befall them. When their gaze falls on me, they stare with open-mouthed wonder, making me nervous.
“We don’t receive many visitors nowadays,” Thalaxia says, noticing my unease. “Especially pretty lassies like you,” she adds.
Am I really that pretty? They must think I’m strange looking.
A little further, a massive gun placement almost as tall and wide as the buildings juts out, pointed towards orbit. It gleams with a menacing black exterior and an undercarriage that glows a soft red—a giant version of my secret laser pistol. I grimace looking at it, knowing a cannon similar to this one blew the Mutalisk’s Hammer to pieces.
Glowing holographic projections high into the brown-tinted sky show more signs of the war, displaying advertisements of gleaming armored suits, crushing hordes of drones and monstrous twisted versions of Klendathians. It ends with the cockpits opening to reveal proud heroic Nebians bowing their heads, with a call to join their armed forces.
“I used to be a fashion designer, if you can believe it,” Thalaxia chimes in beside me, and I realize I’ve been standing still, observing the projection. “But what’s the point of fashion if everyone’s dead? So, I signed up.”
“You’re very brave,” I reply, feeling a fraction of the chilling weight the Nebians must carry, as my stomach churns, driven by the sudden urge to not linger on Nebia too long.
Thalaxia scoffs, “Brave would be fighting on the front lines on Argon Six. Not stuck here on the home front,” she adds as a group of Nebian children come rushing into view. They look cute, being so incredibly small. Holding toy weapons, they scream and shout, pretending to blast each other.
“You’d prefer to risk your life facing almost certain death?” I ask, glancing at her determined face.
Thalaxia gives a solemn nod, her gaze shifting to the playing children. “I’d give anything to keep my people safe from the bloody Scythians,” she gestures to other passersby. “All of us would do the same.”
I find a new respect for Thalaxia, admiring her courage and desperate need to fight for others, a concept I’ve only just discovered. “Your people should take the Klendathians’ offer of an alliance seriously. It might be a way out of this,” I suggest, gesturing to the massive projection in the sky.
“Come on,” Thalaxia insists with a frown. “An alliance with the Klendathians?” she scoffs, before continuing, “Have you ever seen them in battle? Savage barbarians that only live to fight and die. Well, I intend to give them the death they desire, mark my words,” she finishes with a fierce sneer.
My heart sinks, thinking of Logarn and Noroth at her mercy. “I’ve fought alongside these barbarians against the Scythians you hate so much. They are proud, maybe even arrogant, but also honorable.” My eyes drift downwards. “Xandor was a hero. He fought a Mutalisk saving the ship, and saved me from slavery... that was until your people took him from me.” My words trail, carried away by sadness.
Now he’s dead, like Kaanus, like Triandale—victims of a doomed mission to a doomed planet.
Thalaxia’s sneer fades, and she studies me for a moment, her eyes narrowing as if weighing my sincerity. “I’m sorry, Tyrxie,” she offers with a solemn nod. “If my investigation proves the Klendathians came here for peace, then my people have committed a terrible crime. The more we speak, the more I begin to doubt our actions.” She lets out a sigh, adding, “But it’s not up to me to decide. The Consuls will have to make that choice.”
We continue walking in silence for a few moments, the weight of the conversation hanging heavily between us. Then, a blaring siren shatters the quiet. With frantic glances, I search for the source. Thalaxia grabs my aching arm and drags me towards a tunnel entrance that’s just slid open in the street. My heart races as we run, not knowing what’s happening, only noticing the projection in the sky shifting to portray alert messages.
I push myself to run faster, outpacing Thalaxia in our panicked haste. The ground shakes, and the deafening sound of massive laser batteries fills the air. Reaching the darkened tunnel entrance, I turn to beckon to Thalaxia, who struggles to keep up. My gaze shifts to the heavens, where countless streaks of red laser beams light up the sky, targeting a Scythian Voidbane ship bombarding the surface in a torrent of shimmering plasma.
The terrifying scale of the assault takes my breath away. Driven by fear, I plunge into the tunnel. “Don’t wait for me, silly lass!” Thalaxia urges, joining me inside the darkened tunnel, which leads to a large chamber filled with grim-faced but determined Nebians. Along the walls are laser weapons, each worth a fortune on other planets, but here a desperate means of survival.
“Bastards got one through,” Thalaxia declares between gulping breaths. I almost don’t hear her, my senses overwhelmed with all the chaos and new surroundings. “Welcome to Nebia,” she states with a laugh and a shocking slap to my backside. I jolt, frowning at her, attempting to rub yet another ache away. “Don’t worry, these bunkers are protected by laser shields. We’ve built them all over Nebia. If you hear a siren, find the nearest one and wait,” she commands.
“Being stuck in a bunker with you is almost as worrying as the Scythians,” I jest, grimacing as I try to soothe my backside.
Thalaxia laughs, “Good, you should be worried, because I’ll be keeping a close eye on you,” she promises, an ominous glint in her orange eyes.
One of the numerous holographic screens projects the events from outside, capturing my attention. It depicts a close-up view of the bulky Voidbane ship, absorbing a barrage of blinding laser fire. The ship’s shields blaze a bright blue as purple sparks erupt at each point of impact. It’s not long before the plasma barriers blink out of existence, and a torrent of laser blasts rock and impale the ship.
The Scythian vessel lurches, engulfed in roaring fires and breaking apart, yet it clings to murderous life, delivering its own barrage aimed at the city sprawl. I gasp as the projection shifts to show the city. Malevolent orbs of searing blue death hurtle towards the buildings. Wincing, I watch the screen, resisting the urge to take cover, anticipating the horrible destruction. Then, to my amazement, the plasma blasts stop midair, halted by a glowing red laser shield.
I glance at Thalaxia with shock. She stands with hands on hips and a confident smile. “Nothing we Nebians can’t handle,” she declares amidst the cheering Nebians.
Yet a churning unease eats away at my insides. My mind grows hazy, doubled over with sudden overwhelming intensity. “What’s wrong?” Thalaxia inquires, her voice growing concerned. I don’t know! My aches grow more intense, gritting my teeth as waves of nauseous agony tear through me.
Thalaxia places a concerned arm over my back. “Tyrxie?” she insists. But I can’t answer, overcome with searing torture. Then my left eye erupts with blinding pain. I crumple to the ground, clutching my face, screaming in anguish. “Tyrxie!” Thalaxia shouts with alarm.
“My eye!” I shriek between throbs of agony. “It feels like it’s on fire,” I plead, racked by burning pain greater than even the brand.
“My scan shows nothing wrong with you,” Thalaxia declares as she kneels, taking my head in her thick, stubby hands. “Imperator’s balls!” she exclaims, her face full of shock as I struggle to keep my scorching eye open. “Your eyes are glowing.”
Glowing? What the void is happening to me?
Through blurry vision obscured by eye-watering pain and slight wisps of green, Thalaxia’s words ring true. Then, in an instant, all my throbbing aches disappear, washed away like a wiped stain. I gasp in shock as the crushing pressure of immense suffering lifts, leaving behind a churning anxiety.
Lingering within, I can sense something—presences of others, indistinct but real, fragments from countless distant pasts. They settle in the recesses of my mind, whispering, pleading, filling me with an urgent, gnawing dread. Unraveling my resistance, they draw me to the truth—the idea of a golden light, Xandor’s light, surrounded by darkness, a dying flickering flame lost in obsidian horror.
My heart twists to the point of bursting, the pressure building until it threatens to spill over in tears. I realize now that this overwhelming agony isn’t mine alone—it’s Xandor’s. He’s in terrible pain, and as I focus on his presence, the gut-wrenching sensation grows stronger. It’s so intense that I can only bear it in fleeting glimpses, each one an icy blade piercing my heart.
That strange dream—it was real!
“Xandor’s alive!” I shout, rising to my feet, my anguish transforming into furious resolve. “He’s being held by your people, isn’t he?” My eyes snap to the stunned Thalaxia. “Somewhere in that direction,” I gesture to my left, knowing without a doubt his general location.
“How...” Thalaxia stammers, her eyes downcast. “I only hold two Klendathians.”
Her words only stoke my righteous anger, “Don’t take me for a voiding idiot, Thalaxia.” I sneer, jabbing a finger at the uncertain Nebian. “You know where he is and what they’re doing to him. I can see it in your eyes,” I press, driven by a half-mad frenzy.
Thalaxia pauses, her mouth moving without a sound, while I silently urge her to speak the truth, to do the right thing. Her eyes snap to me, her face growing hard. “I cannot speak on matters of internal security.” She taps her temple before continuing. “The Praetorian Guard handles such affairs...you understand.”
This Praetorian Guard must have the darkest hearts.
My mouth twists with anger, whispering the ominous name. I thumb my locket in one hand and stroke the handle of my pistol with the other as my mind swirls with uncertainty. An insane, dangerous compulsion urges me to pull my gun on Thalaxia, to force her to take me to him, but with a deep breath, I relent, knowing such an action would only get us all killed.
“I swear on all the forces of the universe I will not stop until I see my Xandor,” I vow, meaning every word, knowing it may lead to my death.
Thalaxia’s expression softens, a flicker of empathy in her orange eyes. She glances around the bunker, then back at me, her voice low and urgent. “I’ve already said too much. The Praetorian Guards are ruthless and answer only to the Imperator. I won’t risk my life to help a Klendathian, no matter how honorable he is. I’m sorry, lass.”
The fear and concern on her face are palpable, promising immense dangers for the task ahead. But my determination remains strong. “This is more than saving one Klendathian. It’s a chance for peace between your peoples. Isn’t that worth the attempt? Look around you,” I gesture to the other Nebians crowded in the bunker. “Do you want to go on living like this forever? And what if your people can’t win? What then?”
Thalaxia stares at me, weighing my words with a critical eye. The tension hangs heavy as my heart thunders in my chest, hoping my plea has moved her. She sighs, glancing around to ensure no one is eavesdropping. “I can’t aid you directly. But I can release your crew, the non-Klendathians. I’ll arrange for you all to be housed together while my investigation continues. Let’s call it a clerical error.”
Will the crew even want to help?
It’s a start, but the crew is a self-interested bunch. Convincing Job and Mob, especially, will be difficult, since they are clever enough to understand that the odds are against us. Quad might be happy just to bash something. Hyanxa—maybe she can be persuaded to help, for Noroth’s sake, although is her commitment for him deep enough?
I hide my uncertainty with a forced smile, “Thanks, Thalaxia, you—”
“Don’t thank me, I’m most likely sending you all to your deaths,” Thalaxia interrupts with a stern expression. “And if you get caught, I will deny all knowledge.” She grimaces and shudders before adding. “Take it from me—it’s better to die than to fall into the hands of the Praetorian Guard.”
My poor Xandor.
My chest tightens at her words, and I reflexively probe Xandor’s presence, which now lurks in my consciousness. Searing pain whips through me, causing me to gasp and recoil in shock, breaking the strange connection. I can’t leave him like this! The raw heartache hardens my resolve, filling me with an impatience that borders on madness. “I’m the only one who knows of your involvement, and I’ll die before letting those bastards have Xandor,” I vow.
Thalaxia gives a solemn nod. “I believe you,” she intones, her eyes shifting to one of the floating holographic projections. “Let’s go. The all-clear has been announced,” she declares.
Thalaxia leads me back to the streets. The city, though shaken, begins to return to its usual state of vigilance. Nebians go about their business with a renewed sense of purpose, their eyes flicking to the sky every so often. We walk in silence for a while until Thalaxia stops before a grand building with sweeping arches and intricate designs.
“I forgot you don’t have a NeuroLink. Here, let me see your wrist console,” she gestures to my device.
“What’s a NeuroLink?” I ask, eager to learn anything that might help my desperate mission.
Thalaxia smiles, taking my device and inputting some coordinates into the nav menu. “NeuroLink is the latest feat of Nebian engineering genius. It functions like a wrist console, but interfaces with your thoughts directly. We’ve even started operating battlesuits remotely,” she finishes, standing proud.
I frown, looking at my device, “A wrist console in your brain? That sounds painful,” I reply, rubbing my head.
“The procedure is painless. Almost everyone has one now. It’s been a huge leap forward for my people. Many believe it’ll bring us victory,” Thalaxia continues, undeterred, full of pride and hope.
“It does sound amazing,” I concede, although the idea of having a device attached to your brain makes my stomach queasy.
Thalaxia lets go of my wrist console. “I’ve entered the coordinates of the Praetorian Guard’s primary facility, though it seems you might already know its location somehow,” she states with an inquisitive look, to which I shrug, as mystified as she is by my sudden knowledge. “Anyway, it lies in the heart of the Imperial palace, heavily fortified. I’ve no idea how you’ll succeed.”
Neither do I.
Then something Xandor mentioned resurfaces in my mind—his Nebian contact. “Do you know anyone named...” I pause, struggling to remember, “Felixus? Yes, Felixus.”
I examine my wrist console as Thalaxia scoffs, “Felixus is a common name. Do you know his family name or his citizen’s number?”
Crap, I should’ve paid more attention.
Scrunching my face, I grasp at the faded memory, desperate for any nugget of information. Then, like a bolt of inspired lightning, I remember something. “He’s an engineer, who failed on a peace mission to Klendathor,” I finish excited, having remembered.
“A peace mission to Klendathor? Doesn’t sound right.” Thalaxia frowns before continuing. “Let me check my NeuroLink.” Her eyes become vacant for a moment. “Bloody Scythian dung. A top-secret mission, sealed by the Imperator himself. Even I don’t have full access. But there’s a name attached—Felixus Remus, the Magister Machinator to the Imperial court, no less.”
“That must be him!” I exclaim, feeling hope blossom in my chest.
“So, the Dominus sought peace? Incredible.” Thalaxia shakes her head, taking my wrist console again and with deft hands enters the coordinates. “He lives in the capital. I’ll add his address.”
I inspect the new coordinates, glad to have some leads. “Thank you so much, Thalaxia.” I smile and bow to her, mimicking the way I’d seen other Nebians greet her.
“In this building on the fifth floor, you’ve been authorized a tenancy,” she gestures to the massive ornate sand-colored building beside us. “This is where we part ways,” she says, her tone heavy. “You’ve given me much to think about.”
Overcome with gratitude, I give the diminutive Thalaxia a hug, which feels strange, having never hugged someone so small before. “I won’t forget this,” I say, filled with genuine appreciation.
Her light blue skin turns a deeper shade as she blusters, “Just be careful and may the stars guide you, lass.” Her eyes linger on me for a moment longer before she turns and walks away, her red cloak fluttering behind her.
Careful left the spaceport ages ago. Now is the time to rescue my Xandor!