The Reforged Trilogy: Book 1 — Crucible of Stars
Chapter 9
Lock & Key
“Our lives are only the last thing we give in the line of duty.”
– Prian police motto
Xyn’s shop was considerably further out from the landing crescent than Tiberius remembered. Orphia clutched at his forearm with her sharp talons, watching Gharib with remote disinterest. Grumbling, the old police officer turned down another vaguely familiar side street and shouldered his way through the crowd to get a better look.
“There it is,” Tiberius told Orphia, pointing to the shop. The hawk blinked her black eyes and resumed preening one wing.
The name Unbreakers floated over the entrance in blue holographics that contrasted jarringly with the sandy yellow-brown of Gharib. The doors hissed open at Tiberius’ approach and directed a short burst of air at him, trying to blow away the dust. Inside, shelves of machinery lined the store’s walls. The store was full of NI generator parts, FMS relays and more pieces of metal and flashing lights than Tiberius knew the names of, much less their purpose. Unbreakers’ ceiling was hidden, utterly obscured by blocky engines and generators too large for display cases. They floated suspended overhead on cloudy orange null-fields.
A bored-looking Lyran boy sat behind the counter, inspecting a small computer in pieces across the top. He frowned at a rectangle of black ceramic no larger than a fingernail. His ears swiveled toward Tiberius and he glanced up with golden eyes.
“Oh. Afternoon, sir,” said the Lyran. “Welcome to Unbreakers. What can I do for you?”
His tone suggested that despite his greeting, this intrusion on an otherwise quiet afternoon was anything but welcome.
“Is Xyn around?” Tiberius asked.
“Uh, I think so.” The boy pointed a furry thumb in the direction of a closed door in the rear of the shop. “Try the back room.”
Tiberius nodded and stroked Orphia’s graying feathers as he squeezed between shelves toward the indicated door. She tightened her talons around Tiberius’ arm and he grunted. The unfamiliar sounds and lights were agitating his bird, and an upset hawk was the first step on a short road to a lost eye or finger.
“Calm down, old girl. We won’t be here long,” Tiberius assured Orphia as he pushed the door open and stepped through.
The ‘back room’ of Unbreakers was twice the size of the shop and entirely given over to Xyn’s laboratory. The walls and floor were sterile white, filled with rows of steel tables covered in glass beakers and sample tubes. A pair of huge ceramic tanks dominated one wall, each of them aglow with flickering instrument panels. Those tanks held the phennomethylln protein, Tiberius knew, worth more than its weight in bright plastic color.
An Ixthian man in a pale green lab coat leaned down to scan the tank instrumentation. Like all males of his species, he was considerably shorter than an Ixthian woman.
“Get out of here!” Xyn shouted without looking up. “Chaith can help you with whatever you need. This batch is at a very delicate stage and requires special attention. Out!”
Tiberius snorted. “Delicate? Delicate was getting you a sample to make this blue sludge in the first place.”
Xyn straightened and spun to face Tiberius, grinning. The little scientist had gotten fatter, he noted. Business must have been good. Even the Ixthian’s short antennae were chubby. Xyn’s multifaceted eyes gleamed a pleased white that mirrored his pale hair and he reached up to clap Tiberius on the shoulder.
“Tiberius? Good God man, are you back on Stray already?” Xyn asked. “What did you do?”
“I burnt off my phenno, Xyn. I need a new batch.”
“Again?” Xyn asked. “What happened? Or do I even want to know? You would get into a lot less trouble if you would just dump that damned fairy girl. Mauve, Midge… whatever her name is.”
Xyn went to one of the tables and began measuring cloudy blue liquid phenno into a large pressure canister.
“Don’t start,” Tiberius growled. “Without Maeve, you wouldn’t even have a redprint for this phenno. She’s the only reason we got close enough to the Nnyth to take your sample.”
Xyn didn’t answer that. Instead, he poured the phenno into a metal drum and filled the rest of the container with another syrupy solution. Tiberius helped Xyn carry it over to a confounding knot of machinery, computers and tubes.
“What is this thing?” Tiberius asked.
“Perpetuating protein folder,” Xyn grunted as they heaved the canister into place. “Perfolder. Who needs all those extra syllables?”
Together, the two men fitted the drum into the perfolder and Xyn turned it on, filling the lab with a loud buzz. The machine went to work propagating the phenno’s protein structure through the amino acid sludge Xyn had mixed in. When they were done, the stout Ixthian gestured for Tiberius to take a seat at one of the tables.
“How’s business?” Tiberius asked as he took a seat. Orphia fluttered to perch on the edge of the table, her claws screeching on the metal.
“It’s been good,” Xyn answered, wincing. “No one uses as much phenno as you, of course. But I don’t have a whole lot of competition, so anyone who needs to carry things discreetly or who doesn’t want their systems fried by an EMP pays me a visit sooner or later.”
“Emphasis on pays,” said Tiberius.
Xyn gestured at the tanks behind them. “This batch will be up in a week and should last me for about six months.”
“Do you still have the sample I brought from the hive?” Tiberius asked.
“Certainly not. The original genetic strand broke down a year ago. But naturally, I had the foresight to clone a few extras. I’m using the third generation now.”
They sat for a few minutes until the perfolder toned and Xyn nodded.
“There’s the timer,” he said. “Your phenno is up.”
Tiberius helped Xyn wrestle the canister out from the mixer. The phenno was heavy and sloshed loudly when they moved it.
“That should be plenty to lacquer your ship again,” the Ixthian wheezed. “Good thing for me you don’t fly anything bigger than that rusty junker.”
Tiberius considered arguing, but Xyn wasn’t wrong about the Blue Phoenix. Still, he tipped the phenno canister up and let the short Ixthian scientist take almost half the weight. Xyn groaned and staggered. Tiberius hefted the drum again with a grin.
“What do I owe you?” he asked.
They set the canister down on a steel table and Xyn rubbed his back, compound eyes fading from a pained red to pale blue. He shook his head.
“You know better than that,” Xyn said. “I wouldn’t have anything if you and your Arcadian hadn’t brought me that sample. I owe you my entire business. Not that I intend to give you the whole business, but I can part with some phenno from time to time. I really am grateful, you old bird-lover.”
“Thanks, Xyn.”
The Ixthian scientist pointed to his door. “Well, that’s enough generosity for one day. Go on, get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”
Tiberius hefted the canister of phenno up over one shoulder. The handle was wide, designed to accommodate an Ixthian’s extra fingers and probably comfortable enough for the walk back to the Blue Phoenix. Tiberius whistled for Orphia with one of his old police commands: come. The hawk pushed herself into the air with a single beat of her wings and glided over to land on her master’s arm. Together, they left Xyn’s store.
But the trip back wasn’t as easy as Tiberius had hoped. Weighed down by phenno, it took nearly an hour to return to the landing crescent. Maybe he should have hired a ride, but Tiberius had walked out to Unbreakers and he would sure as hells manage the hike back.
Sweating and cursing, Tiberius finally stumped up the Blue Phoenix’s cargo ramp and into the hold. He deposited the drum next to the airlock with a clang and sucked in a few deep breaths. The cool air of the Blue Phoenix was a welcome relief from the thick heat of Stray. Cool air? Gripper must have made some progress on the atmospheric recycling system. Good.
Once he caught his breath, Tiberius would get started applying phenno to the hull. If he could just remember where he put the be-damned compressor…
Tiberius was scratching his rough cheek and pondering when he heard footsteps on the catwalk above. Prompted by instincts born of fifty years on the Prian police force, Tiberius listened before calling out. The steps were too light to be Gripper’s, but too heavy and measured to belong to Kessa. No one else should have returned to the Blue Phoenix yet. Tiberius frowned. That left only one other passenger.
The footsteps were closer, ringing on the stairs. There was a soft clink of metal against metal — the sounds of illonium and steel. Somehow, Logan Coldhand had gotten out of his prison and now he was free on the Blue Phoenix.
Orphia sensed Tiberius’ unease and tensed on his arm. The old captain searched frantically around the cargo bay, but they weren’t hauling anything and there was no cover down here.
“Oh shit,” Tiberius breathed.
Coldhand froze, surveying the cargo bay. He caught sight of the other Prian and burst into motion again, launching himself down the stairs three at a time. The hunter’s gun holster was hurriedly belted around his waist — liberated from wherever Xia had stored it — and the long-barreled Talon was already in his hand.
Common sense screamed at Tiberius to dive out of the way, that being between Coldhand and the open airlock to freedom was suicide, but he stood his ground. He swore loudly and reached under his arm for his NI gun. The Blue Phoenix was his ship and no filthy bounty hunter was going to cow him on his own bird.
Tiberius raised his hand and whistled to Orphia. Attack!
The hawk hurled herself into the air with a screech as Tiberius yanked his weapon free and fired a warning shot past Coldhand’s shoulder. The bounty hunter flung himself over the railing of the stairs, slammed hard against the floor and sprang back to his feet. Coldhand swung his Talon around to aim at Tiberius.
“Get out of my way,” he said in a flat voice.
Orphia wheeled and dove at Coldhand, talons outstretched. He threw his metal hand up to shield his eyes as she plummeted and caught the worst of her claws on the heavy illonium, but one scrabbling talon carved a red line along his jaw. The wound sheeted blood down Coldhand’s neck and stained his borrowed shirt crimson. His face was empty of anger, of fear or even pain. Orphia pumped her wings and circled for another dive.
“Stand down, Coldhand!” Tiberius shouted.
He intended to go on, pointing out that Coldhand’s Raptor was back on Axis, that Stray was a harsh world and surely hostile to a bounty hunter, but Tiberius was cut off by the sharp whine of laserfire. A burst of red bolts burned through the cargo bay and hot pain seared across his shoulder.
Too slow, old man, Tiberius chastised himself.
Most lasers were invisible to the naked eye and deadly silent. Weaponized lasers added visible spectrum light for aiming and were required by CWA law to be equipped with noise generators. For some heavy color, either mechanism could be deactivated by a back-alley chop shop, but Coldhand had done neither. Not that Tiberius was complaining, but why the hells not?
The bounty hunter was circling wide across the cargo bay, but never took his eyes from his goal: the open airlock behind Tiberius. He fired again, forcing the other Prian to press himself against the wall beside the controls. Tiberius tried to close the airlock, but Coldhand shot at his questing fingers as he reached for the button. The old cop snatched his hand back with an oath. How long could he stand his ground against a younger and fitter man?
Tiberius leaned around the panel and fired. Coldhand was on the move again, throwing himself to the side and narrowly avoiding the first few bullets. Tiberius tracked his movement and pulled the trigger, but Coldhand fell back with his cybernetic hand held defensively across his chest. Tiberius’ shot rang off the illonium armor and dug deep into the hunter’s forearm, which cracked with a scream of tearing metal and hissing of sparks. But it stopped there, buried in Coldhand’s cybernetics.
Orphia folded her banded wings, falling through the laser- and gunpowder-heated air, down at Coldhand. The other Prian swiftly juggled his Talon-9 into his metal hand and put his fingers to his lips. He whistled.
Stop.
Orphia responded to the command at once, beating her wings frantically to veer off course. The old hawk wheeled back toward Tiberius, trilling her confusion. The calls used by the Prian police for their birds were subtle by design, one whistle barely discernible from the next and intentionally difficult to learn. After all, weapons that could be controlled by criminals were of little use.
But Coldhand knew the calls. There was always a chance that he was just intelligent enough to have deciphered them on his own, but it was far more likely that Coldhand had been trained in their use. He was a cop, a Prian cop.
“What the hells?” Tiberius growled.
Coldhand didn’t answer. His blue eyes remained glacier-hard as he took advantage of the old captain’s shock to dash for the airlock. Tiberius raised his gun, but too late. Coldhand was close enough to jam his elbow into Tiberius’ arm and the shot went wide. The bounty hunter dropped his gun back into its holster and then his armored cybernetic fist struck Tiberius in the stomach.
Tiberius doubled over and staggered, wheezing obscenities. He straightened and tried to bring up his gun, but Coldhand was already lashing out again. The NI pistol tumbled from Tiberius’ suddenly numb fingers and he flung himself back into the hunter’s path, between Coldhand and the airlock. If the man escaped now, he would only come after the Blue Phoenix crew again — armed this time. How many of Tiberius’ people would this bastard hurt or kill to catch Maeve?
But Coldhand was a cop. Or had been, at least. How the hells could he have become… this?
Coldhand was on Tiberius once more, fists and feet flying. The old Prian barely saw the flurry of blows, but he heard his ribs crunch and felt the sickening pain. A high kick caught Tiberius in the temple, slamming his skull into the orange- and black-striped frame of the airlock. He slumped and fell to the floor of the hold, dazed. Coldhand leapt over him and through the hatch.
Tiberius grabbed clumsily for his fallen gun and rolled onto his stomach, ribs protesting painfully. Coldhand was close enough that his wavering aim wouldn’t matter much. The bounty hunter was on the cargo ramp, boots ringing off the metal with each pounding step. Tiberius squeezed the trigger and fired. The shot tore a hole into Coldhand’s shoulder and blood sprayed down the back of his shirt. But he didn’t stagger or slow as he ran away from the Blue Phoenix, out into Stray’s faded sunlight and clinging dust.
Tiberius lurched to his feet and gave chase, but his vision swam with spots of blistering red light and every bellowing breath made his broken ribs scream with pain. He was too damned slow to catch up with Coldhand, even injured. Orphia raced out of the ship after Tiberius, struggling to alight on his shoulder and keening in frustration when her perch swayed again.
He needed backup to catch Coldhand, Tiberius thought wildly. He tried to grab for the com on his belt, but he was holding his gun and Orphia was still trying to land on him. Tiberius could only see Coldhand in staccato bursts between the frenzied flapping of her wings. The bounty hunter ducked beneath the nose of a shiny silver Hyzaari transport and vanished.
“Hells take you!” Tiberius shouted after him. “You took a vow! Come back and face me!”
But Coldhand was gone. Panting, Tiberius shoved his gun into its holster again and held out his arm for Orphia. She sank her talons into his leather sleeve, then settled her wings against her back. Tiberius leaned heavily on a pitted fueling pylon to stroke the old hawk’s ruffled feathers. His pulse and his thoughts raced.
Logan Coldhand was a Prian cop…? But that made no sense. Prian police had integrity and honor. They weren’t the kind of people who would hunt bounties, who would sell piecemeal justice to the highest bidder. And Coldhand was far too young to have retired like Tiberius. Why wasn’t he back on Prianus, serving his planet?
Tiberius was already tired and sore from a long day chasing a Pitch dealer through the alleyways of West Oak. The chase had gone on for nearly an hour before finally making the arrest, but the pain and fatigue didn’t matter right now. What mattered was the young woman standing in front of Tiberius in the precinct office, holding up her left hand. It was shaking.
“Here before family and friends, peers and God himself, do you swear yourself to the service of the world and people of Prianus?” Tiberius asked. “To protect the innocent, to help those in need, to be merciless to the unjust? To serve Prianus with devotion and honor?”
The young officer swallowed hard. Today was her very first day in uniform, but the cloth was already worn, handed down from a fallen officer that was about her size. The Prian Police Force just didn’t have the money to buy the uniforms new. But every cop wore their threadbare blues with pride.
“I do so swear,” she answered. Her hand may have been shaking, but her voice was steady. “I’m ready.”
“Then by the authority entrusted to me by the Prian Council,” said Tiberius, “rise as Constable Ren Norris of the Prian Police Force. You are assigned to Oak District.”
He handed Ren her gun and badge. The old Talon-6 was scuffed and battered, but well made. The gun looked just like the one Tiberius himself carried on his belt, issued only to the police and forbidden to be removed from their service. Seven generations of cops had worn the badge before Ren and it would serve many more until it was smoothed unrecognizable by years of use. Perhaps even longer than that.
“Carry these well,” Tiberius said. “Remember those who wore them before you in service to Prianus and bring another generation of honour to them.”
Tiberius stood and limped heavily back into the Blue Phoenix, every labored breath making his cracked ribs burn with pain. Xia had said something once about broken ribs puncturing lungs, but Tiberius couldn’t remember what kind of advice his medic might have given on the matter.
When he was inside once more, Tiberius sealed the airlock and coaxed Orphia off his arm to perch on the railing of the stairs, then pulled out his com. Before Tiberius could turn it on, though, it beeped in his hand. He frowned and keyed open the channel.
“Tiberius here,” he said.
“It’s Xia. We’re on our way back to the Blue Phoenix. We have some answers and a couple of new questions.”
“No,” Tiberius said. “Stay right where you are. Coldhand got off the ship and he’s somewhere out in Gharib.”
“I will find him,” Maeve replied at once. Her voice was barely audible over Xia’s com channel.
“Like hells you will, princess,” Tiberius told her. “You’re the one Coldhand wants and I’m not about to just deliver you to him.”
There was a moment of silence on the line before Maeve finally answered. “You have never involved yourself in the quarrel between myself and Logan Coldhand. I do not know why that has changed, but I swear to you it is not necessary.”
Tiberius snorted. “It changed when you brought Coldhand onto my ship and when I found out he was a cop. A Prian cop.”
“What?” Xia asked. “What would a Prian police officer be doing out here? Do you think Coldhand’s working undercover on some kind of investigation?”
That hadn’t occurred to Tiberius. Could it be? Tiberius squinted at his com. He didn’t like to hope, but…
“Maeve, are any of your crimes on Prianus?” he asked.
“I have never been to your homeworld,” Maeve answered.
“And there are no Prian colonies,” Tiberius said. “No money for them. Damn it. That means Coldhand isn’t a cop anymore.”
“Are you sure?” Xia asked.
“The force is stretched thin as it is, and they wouldn’t dispatch someone off-world just to take a few bounties,” Tiberius answered. “I’m moving the Phoenix. If Coldhand comes back for Maeve, it won’t put him off the scent for long. But it might buy some time if we’re not where he left us.”
“Call us when you’ve landed again, captain,” Xia said.
Tiberius ended the transmission and whistled. Orphia fluttered to his arm again and he carried her toward the cockpit, but Gripper waited in the corridor, Kessa cringing behind him.
“What’s going on?” the mechanic asked in a shaking voice. “We heard shots.”
“Coldhand got out and made a dive for it,” Tiberius said. “The bastard got away.”
Gripper pointed one big finger at the captain’s shoulder. “Are… are you alright?”
“Fine,” Tiberius growled. “I need to move the ship.”
“Don’t you think you should have Silver take a look at that?”
“After we land. Get down to the engines and make sure nothing falls out.”
Gripper squeezed past Kessa, going back the way he had come. The Dailon chewed her blue lip.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Go to your room and lock the door until we know it’s safe,” Tiberius told her.
Kessa nodded hastily and then retreated. Tiberius hurried to the cockpit and keyed Duaal’s frequency into the communications panel. He drummed his calloused fingers on the metal until his copilot picked up.
“Duaal, where are you?” Tiberius asked.
“Just leaving the market. Why?”
“Don’t come back to the bird, Duaal. You hear me? Don’t come back yet,” Tiberius ordered. “Coldhand escaped and he’s out there somewhere. I shot the bastard, but I don’t think it’s slowed him down much. I’m moving the Phoenix in case he decides to circle back. I’ll call you when I know it’s safe.”
“Wouldn’t I be more useful on the ship? I can fight if Coldhand comes back,” Duaal protested. “I’ve got spells and a new knife. You can’t ask me to just sit this out when you might need help!”
“I’m not asking,” Tiberius snapped. “This is an order, Duaal! Stay put until I tell you otherwise.”
Duaal cut the transmission and Tiberius sighed. He sagged into the pilot’s seat and drummed his fingers across the console again. He hurt like hells, but not enough to want Duaal back on the ship if Coldhand returned. Damn the boy and his pride… Tiberius jabbed at the controls and fired up the Blue Phoenix’s engines.
