Chapter 11
TASK
SFS POLARIS
Task stands in the bridge’s control room, arms crossed.
Caelinus Castor, the Polaris’ Chief Engineer and part of the Nexarium Force, stands behind Captain Clairborne and Chief Officer Dobbs.
He watches as they flip various switches, speak into headpieces, verify with Lumarian ground control that the airspace above them is clear.
Voss is pacing back and forth, scrolling through a hologram that his Chronogram is casting in front of him.
Alexander Caden, one of Draven’s most ruthless High Council members, lingers near the back of bridge, eyes scanning the room.
Caelinus has already checked the engines and thrusters three times, but Task sees him confirm again with two engineers that the thrusters are working as expected.
They will need them to get through the thick Lumarian atmosphere before they can shift to the solar engine, which will feed off the star matter to carry them back to Nexarium.
Task wishes that these types of passenger liners could be equipped with fold engines, like the Hoppers, but it’s not possible on ships of this size.
“All systems are go,” Captain Clairborne announces.
Caelinus nods once, taking his seat behind Clairborne.
Task straps in next to him, ensuring his surge-saber remains within arm’s length.
He doesn’t like to be far from it. Voss sits just behind Caelinus and slightly to the right, sifting through information on his Prism.
Data about the ship’s shields, weapons, and holds all zoom past at a rapid clip.
Alexander slides in next to him, hand on his lumi-dagger and mouth set in a slight frown.
“Lifting off,” Dobbs says, pulling the throttle back. The thrusters kick into gear, propelling the ship upwards, out of Port Ro, and into the Lumarian atmosphere. The journey has begun.
“It’s good to see you, brother,” Voss says, clapping Caelinus on the shoulder.
Task, Voss, and Caelinus sit on one side of a round table situated at the far end of the bridge deck, across from the control room.
Claiborne and Dobbs have the flight in hand, which has allowed them to convene to discuss strategy.
“You too, man,” Caelinus says, leaning back in his chair.
He’s tall, lean, and blonde like Task, though his hair is more golden than platinum.
His face is all sharp angles, with a chiseled jawline and deep violet eyes.
He’s of the Castor line — Caelinus’s father sits on Draven’s High Council and boasts a mean enchanting power. Caelinus has inherited it.
Caelinus pulls up a holoscreen on his Prism of the life support functions aboard the ship and scrolls through them. All are backlit with green, indicating they are functioning as normal. He swipes it away, looking between the two men in front of him before lowering his voice. “Where’s Caden?”
Task glances around, realizing the Siphon is no longer in the bridge deck. “I don’t know.”
“Why’d Draven send him?” Caelinus asks, glancing over his shoulder, as if afraid of being caught.
Task doesn’t blame him. Alexander Caden is probably the second most powerful person on Draven’s High Council, after Task, and is merciless in his quest for influence.
On occasion, Draven has found it amusing to set him and Task against each other.
Once, when Task had failed at a mission, Draven had taunted him, telling him that he would make Alexander his heir instead, that he had what it took and Task simply did not.
Task knew it was a taunt, but it had the intended effect. It made him angry, and it made him work harder. He hadn’t failed a mission since then. Of course, it also had the added benefit of pitting the two men against each other in a very real way, the power struggle constant.
To say he was unhappy when Alexander Caden had turned up with the Polaris several hours ago — dark, curly hair tousled against his forehead, a glimmer of malice in his brown eyes — would be an understatement.
Caden had it out for Task, and Task was certain that confined on this ship together, Caden would do whatever he could to ensure that Task did not emerge in one piece.
“I’ve pissed him off recently,” Task says, the words falling from his mouth slowly. He says them casually, as if he doesn’t care, but he does. He feels the trust between him and his uncle splintering, each omission another nail in the coffin of their relationship.
“So he stuck Caden on board with us?” Caelinus asks, again casting a glance over his shoulder.
“A punishment of sorts,” Task replies, shrugging.
“Unnecessary,” Voss chimes in, “but very Draven.”
“I will ask about his specific role on board when we speak next. We have a call in an hour and a half.” Task continues flipping the lumi-dagger, careful to only catch it by the grip so he doesn’t laser off his fingers.
He’s anxious to connect with Draven, especially given the latest reports about rebel activity on Nexarium.
It sounds like it’s getting worse, that the Revs have become better-organized and bolder in Task’s absence.
Draven has other assassins, other methods to keep people in line, but none as brutally efficient as Task.
Which he supposes is part of the problem, right now.
Without fear, it’s harder to maintain order.
When there’s one small success, the Revs are emboldened, more apt to latch on to that spark of hope.
Task has not been available to snuff that spark out, and it’s becoming clear that Draven’s other assassins are less than qualified to take on that job.
Task sighs, loudly.
Voss arches a brow at him. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”
“Just considering the latest intel on the Revs,” Task replies.
“They getting bold again?” Caelinus asks, shifting eagerly forward in his seat.
Task isn’t sure he should reveal the extent to which he understands the Revs are getting bold.
He doesn’t want to inadvertently suggest his uncle does not have things in hand.
Besides, they have to focus on the present task, which is developing a schedule to ensure that the Polaris is appropriately staffed around the clock by Guardians of the Nexarium Force.
“Just a minor incident near Solira,” Task lies.
The incident was actually near Highgate, where the desert Lowland becomes the peaked Highland.
Forty-seven Guardians were killed by the Revs.
They’d been somehow equipped with illicit surge-sabers, lumi-daggers, and other Oraxian military technology that they should not have been able to source.
He’ll share the information with Voss later, but for now, he decides keeping it from Caelinus is the right move.
Caelinus nods noncommittally, pulling up another holoscreen on his Prism. “Father mentioned an incident at the Tithe, but that would have taken place at Xaria, not near Solira.”
“You wouldn’t have heard about Solira,” Task says swiftly, setting the lumi-dagger on the table in front of him and locking eyes with Voss, as if to tell him to play along.
“It was one Rev with a small aircar bomb. The Guardians became aware of it before it was detonated and neutralized with EMP. No fatalities.”
Voss looks nonplussed, though Task can see a glimmer of confusion in his eyes and knows Voss will interrogate him about this later.
Voss is generally privy to all the information Task is, and this wasn’t something that came across either of their Chronograms today, or yesterday, or the day before that. Because it didn’t happen at all.
“Anyway,” Voss says smoothly, casting a glance at Task and looking at the holo displayed from Caelinus’ Prism. “Staffing.”
They talk through their departments, working through the list of Nexarium Force Guardians and assigning them roles, then turning to the Lumarian populace and also assigning them tasks across the ship to keep them occupied.
A good portion of the passengers on board are children, but the adults need to be entertained, made to feel as though they are contributing members of this floating society.
They’ve carved out duties for them, hoping this helps to quell any unrest that might result from being stuck on a ship for the better part of four months.
At last, they’ve finished the conversation and Task stands, sliding his lumi-dagger into the holster at his hip. “Nice doing business with you,” he says. He doesn’t reach forward to shake Caelinus’ hand, but high-ranking officials are used to it now. They know Task doesn’t touch people.
Voss clasps Caelinus’ hand between his two large palms. “Thanks, man.”
Caelinus grins. “Good to be back aboard with you two. Shall we aim to regroup once daily?”
“Yes, unless something more urgent arises,” Voss nods, sliding his surge-saber back into its sheath. Then, he nods his head in Task’s direction. “You, come with me. We’ve got to patch in to Draven.”
Voss and Task sit in front of the huge holoscreen in what Task would normally refer to as the war room, but which he supposes is simply a glorified conference room aboard the Polaris. There’s a long table running down the center, twelve chairs spaced around it.
Task sits at the head of the table, Voss to his right.
Task spins the silver ring on his pointer finger, waiting to see Draven appear in front of them.
He’d briefly explained to Voss the latest on the Low rebellion as they walked here, glancing around as he murmured the information, making sure nobody was in earshot to overhear him.
While Lumaria doesn’t necessarily have a stake, it also wouldn’t do to have outsiders hear about the continued uprisings on Nexarium.
Suddenly, Draven is before them, his image almost solid, as if he could be sitting at the other end of the table.
“Gentlemen,” Draven says. Task thinks he looks marginally worse than he did two weeks ago, but isn’t sure it’s noticeable to Voss or anyone else.
Draven is sitting at his desk at Xaria, the torches flickering behind him.
“Governor,” Voss replies, as Task says, “Uncle.”
“You’re en route?”
“Only one-hundred and twenty days away,” Task deadpans.
Draven nods curtly. “Where’s Caden?”
Task shrugs, petulant. He’s not in charge of keeping track of Alexander, nor does he especially want him to join this call.
The door slides open, and Alexander strides in, dropping into a seat next to Task. “I see you’ve started without me.”
“Caden,” Draven says, nodding his head. “Good to see you. Thank you again for taking on this mission last minute.”
“My pleasure as always, governor.”
Task has to refrain from rolling his eyes. So sycophantic.
“How are things on planet?” Voss chimes in, sensing the tension in the room between Caden and Task.
Draven sighs, tapping his fingers on his desk. “The Revs have seen fit to launch a minor insurrection, and they’ve blown up one of the pink salt mines.”
Voss presses his lips together, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. “Lieutenant Colonel Balbas should have things well in hand.”
Draven twirls the signet ring on his pinky finger. “Balbas is failing. The Consortium grows unstable.”
Task can tell Voss is tense. Balbas failing reflects badly upon him as the colonel of the Phantom Wing. And of course, Draven is missing Task’s particular brand of structure. Coupled with the fact that House Dormius rules the Consortium, unrest on Nexarium has a ripple effect throughout the galaxy.
“What can we do?” Alexander interjects, and Voss looks miffed. He’s not used to being cut off. He’s used to men respecting him, listening to him.
“Nothing,” Draven replies. “We will get it under control. I’m preparing more Force troops to send to Solira tomorrow. It should be enough to overwhelm them.”
Task is uneasy, but doesn’t express it. The Revs haven’t been this bold in awhile. Task thinks they might be seizing on this moment, when three of Draven’s enforcers are away, when the one usually responsible for quickly putting them down is out of commission.
“And Ambassador Remulus?” Draven’s voice floats through the room.
“Still infected,” Task replies. “Luminary Hart is overseeing his care aboard the ship, though.”
Task sees a flicker of recognition cross Draven’s face as he says her name, his lips tugging into a smile. “Luminary Hart. I’ve heard she’s one of the best.”
“Indeed,” Task verifies, saying nothing more about her. She’s his target, but he also wants to keep her to himself, for reasons he can’t entirely explain. Certainly not anything he’d want to share with Caden.
“Very well,” Draven says. He looks to Voss. “You will ensure this ship makes it to Nexarium in one piece?”
“On my honor,” Voss replies, saluting Draven.
“Major Canmore,” Draven’s eyes swivel to Task, and Task cringes hearing his uncle use his title.
It feels so detached, even though Task understands why he does it.
They’re in a professional setting, not one where Draven can speak to him as if he’s his nephew, his blood, his family.
“A cable will come through soon regarding the other mission. See to it that you execute as soon as possible.” A coded message, but one Task immediately understands.
“Of course,” Task replies, glancing down at the silver ring on his finger, his mother’s laughter cutting through his mind. He inhales sharply, pushing it away until he can unpack it alone, sift through his memories to try to organize this fragment with the others that sometimes come to him.
“Good, then. I’ll be in touch in three days’ time.”
Draven’s image flickers away, and Voss turns in his seat, rubbing a hand along his bearded jaw. His eyes flick to Caden, before he asks quietly, “Other mission?”
Task closes his eyes a moment, recentering himself.
“Classified,” Task says, though Voss generally knows the nature of the missions that Draven sends him on.
Sometimes he’s even privy to them, as the colonel overseeing the Phantom Wing.
Other times, Task is on his own, and usually, he’s glad for it.
He can’t imagine Voss willingly taking on missions to assassinate Draven’s enemies, doesn’t think he’d have the stomach for it in the same way he has a mind for space battle.
“I see.” Voss pushes himself up from the table, looking at Task with what he thinks is regret. “Good luck, then.”
He strides to the door, Caden on his heels, leaving Task alone in the room with his memories, his mission, and a feeling of dread in his gut as he thinks, I’ll need it.