From the Ashes Read online

  Yosh pushed the front door open and popped his head outside. It was dusk already. He had slept the entire day. “Oh, I’m in a heap of trouble,” he said to himself more calmly than he felt. He expected ample punishment for missing an entire day, but something was very wrong. The smoke, screaming, and gunshots pointed to bigger issues. His stomach clenched as he turned and saw the sliver of black smoke rising from Shacktown.

  Yosh ground his teeth a few moments, then went to investigate. It was better than hiding at home, wondering and waiting for the guards to come. He wished his grandfather was home.

  The dirt path lead from home straight into Shacktown, but he thought it prudent not to take it. Whatever was going on, strolling into town seemed dangerous. So he slid down the hill, through trees and underbrush, taking the long approach that circumvented the main road to Shacktown. It was the same route he’d taken a few days before to avoid Skrill. The plume of smoke thickened, burning Yosh’s throat and making him cough. At first he thought it came from Obelyn’s ship, but the Troubadour was gone. Two flat nosed, rectangular ships now occupied the landing pad, each a quarter of the Troubadour’s size. The smoke came from a shack, reduced to a smoldering pile of wood, twisted steel, and blackened cement plaques. He weaved through the narrow streets, stepping on the balls of his feet, until he approached the landing pad.

  Two arkanians, tall, wrapped in assault suits and heavily armed, guarded the stairs to the pad. They looked odd. Yosh was used to the two guards living in Shacktown, who were smaller, their backs twisted and bent. Their eyes differed from those glaring out of these new arkanians’ faces. Mazak and Lorzak had cool green eyes and sour dispositions, but as long as you followed their orders and did what you were supposed to, they didn’t bother you. The two guarding the landing pad made Yosh wary. They had permanent snarls that emphasized their sharp teeth, and, most shocking of all, they had tails. Long, muscular, and scaly, whose tips whipped at the air every few seconds. Yosh never knew arkanians had tails. He knew they’d evolved from lizards, but there was never any mention of them still having tails. The worst thing about them though, was their eyes—red, bulging, with fire blazing inside them.

  “Halt!” one said, stepping forward.

  Yosh’s heart stopped in its tracks, but the arkanian wasn’t talking to him. How could he? He stood hidden three shacks away, but still too close for comfort.

  Another arkanian soldier approached the guards, dragging two bodies behind him. “Put them aboard. Their clans will want to burn them.” He dumped the corpses at the guard’s feet.

  The guards snarled, but they obeyed. “Was this necessary?” the one that grabbed the bodies to drag them inside asked.

  “Don’t question Lord Munov’s orders,” the third arkanian said, snapping his jaw.

  The other guard tried to divert attention from his comrade’s nosiness. “How goes the interrogation?”

  The soldier turned and hissed through his teeth. “Not well. Have any of the scouts returned?”

  “No,” the first guard answered, as he entered the nearest ship, “none yet.”

  “Tell them to bring everyone they find to the main slave pen,” the soldier said as he marched away.

  Yosh had recognized the two bodies, but it took him a while to process. Their eyes... their eyes were open. Green eyes, bulged in surprise at the moment of their deaths. Mazak and Lorzak. Of course they didn’t come after me, Yosh thought. They’re dead.

  Chapter Seven

  It took Yosh a minute to figure out what the main slave pen was. The new arkanians must have taken everyone into the mess hall. No one ever ate there, although it had tables and chairs, but it housed all the automated nutrient bar dispensers. It was the biggest shack in Shacktown and the closest place to the landing pad where all the slaves would fit.

  Don’t be stupid, Yosh, he thought. Just turn away. He chewed his lower lip raw. It was dangerous to stay, but he needed to find out what happened. Arkanian soldiers suddenly landing on a slave colony, killing the local guards, and rounding up all the slaves made no sense. Why would they do that? Who was this Lord Munov the guard had mentioned? Yosh’s heart raced. Despite the danger and fear of sneaking around and spying on the arkanians, he felt exhilarated—alive.

  The guards had said they were interrogating people and searching the area. They’re looking for something or someone. Yosh was glad his grandfather wasn’t back yet. Judging by what lay beneath their home, Yosh had a pretty good idea who the arkanians were looking for. The storage of banned books, information, and equipment below his grandfather’s office meant swift execution for both of them. But everything had stayed hidden until now, so why did they start searching now of all times? Yosh scurried between the shacks, making his way toward the mess hall. Three times he almost came face to face with arkanian soldiers, but the smugglers had taught him well and the arkanians remained oblivious to him. I should go to Captain Dupont, he thought. He’ll know what to do.

  A scream came from within the mess hall. It was only forty feet away now, so Yosh ran forward and reached the wall in a few seconds. The light from the setting sun was scarce and diffused. Yosh’s skin and eyes itched like crazy. He’d skipped his last four doses of eye drops and ointment amid the excitement of all he’d discovered. Another boil burst on his forearm as he leaned against the wall. The boils had turned angry-red and bloated, on the verge of bursting. His rough overalls brushed against them when he moved, irritating the raw boils until the itching became unbearable.

  He covered the last few yards to the back entrance scratching his arms all the way. A peek inside told him it was unguarded, so he slid quietly into the abandoned kitchen. He’d never set foot inside it before. No one used it. It looked like a junkyard or a storeroom for leaky, rusted pipes. Yosh made his way across the room toward the door leading to the central chamber, careful not to bump into any of the abandoned meat hooks, broken pipes or rusty pots. The door was ajar. Yosh sat on his haunches, adjusted his uncomfortable glasses, and peeked through the inch of open space to the main chamber.

  Dozens of slaves were on their knees, hands above their heads, organized in rank and file. Three arkanian soldiers in black assault suits prowled among them. Yosh’s stomach churned when he saw the pile of twisted and bloodied bodies stacked in one of the corners. He pressed a hand over his mouth. Why was he breathing so heavy? Why was his heart beating so loud? The lizards would hear him.

  Yosh pulled away and leaned against the wall. They killed them. First, they killed Mazak and Lorzak, and now they’re killing the slaves. Why were they doing this? An old man with a roomful of outlawed material wasn’t worth it. What did they want? There had to be something more. Yosh remembered the sigil on the breastplate of the suit. A Protector of the Earth suit. Why does grandfather have it? Where did he get it? Why did he keep it? He shook his head to rid himself of questions that would lead him nowhere. Common knowledge—or folklore, depending on who you asked—told of a Protector who escaped the battle for Earth over eighty years ago. These were myths, legends that Obelyn had shared with Yosh, but the very idea of such stories being true was preposterous. Besides, grandfather is too young. It can’t be him, Yosh thought, shaking his head again. They must be after the suit. Any other reason is too outrageous. Then he realized. How do they know about the suit? It was Yosh. The beeping and the glove. He must have activated some kind of tracking device and now... now Mazak and Lorzak and all those slaves were dead.

  The sound of a door slamming open rang through the main chamber. Yosh breathed in deep, gritted his teeth, then peeked through the opening again. Another arkanian rushed in, growling something at the three already inside. He was taller, and the others seemed to defer to him. He had a green collar attached to his black suit. Yosh knew Arkanian, but he had seldom spoken it or heard it spoken. Still, he thought the arkanian guards answered something like “nothing” or “no one.”

  The arkanian commander didn’t seem pleased, but he nodded. He strolled through the rank
s of slaves, eyeing them in turn, now and then pausing to growl at someone. Suddenly, he leaned and grabbed one of them, a quarlan, then flung him on the ground in front of the others. Quarlans were small, furry, and fragile, only a quarter of the arkanian commander’s size. Yosh knew this quarlan—old Ghett. He had tended the dog herd before Yosh. He was almost fifty years old and his entire family—a wife, three daughters and a son—were taken as slaves ten years ago. Yosh steeled himself and glanced at the pile of corpses in the corner. There were two quarlan bodies already there. Yosh bit the inside of his cheek. They were dead because he had been a nosy fool. He wanted to punch his own stupid face in.

  “You lied,” the commander said in the common tongue. “The humans were not there!”

  They are looking for us. Yosh had hoped to learn or discover something to dispel his theory and ease the guilt mounting in his chest, but so far, the opposite happened. Coming to the mess hall had been a mistake. He had to leave, but his legs wouldn’t move and even breathing was hard. One loud move and the arkanians would know he was here.

  “No, arkanian boss-man, no,” Ghett begged, shaking his round, fury head. “I tell you the truth. Humans on west hill. Ghett not lie.”

  The commander growled, stepped through the ranks of slaves again, and grabbed another quarlan. By the squeals and whimpers the quarlan made as the commander dragged it before Ghett, it was a female. Daughter or wife, Yosh thought. Great void, she’ll die because of me! His heart caught in his throat. He had to do something, but his knees shook and he didn’t think he’d be able to stand. He clenched his damp fingers into fists—they seemed so small and weak. Where was all his strength?

  “Where?” the commander said, pushing the quarlan girl to her knees. “Where are they?”

  “No, please boss-man, please.” Ghett kneeled with his hands clenched across his furry chest. “Ghett don’t know. The steel shack is where they live—”

  The commander pulled out a pulse gun, long and black and big. It gave off a sharp electronic squeal. He pushed it against the quarlan girl’s head.

  “No boss-man, no—”

  The commander pressed the trigger and the girl’s brains scattered across the floor. Yosh bit hard into his cheek. His mouth filled with the salty taste of blood and he struggled to keep his hands from trembling.

  Ghett yelled in despair and flapped his hands over the floor, trying to gather the remnants of his daughter’s mind. “No, boss-man, no,” he mewled and pressed his forehead on the bloodied cement.

  The commander still held the limp quarlan girl by the scruff of the neck. “You tell me what I want to know, quarlan,” he said from between sharp, clenched teeth.

  Ghett only shook his head and pressed bits of bloody skin and brains to his forehead. “Me don’t know, arkanian boss-man. Ghett don’t know.”

  The commander roared, stomped his foot, and threw the limp quarlan girl to her father. “All of you. Find me the humans and bring them back alive,” he said, turning to the three arkanian soldiers watching him. “We must find them before Lord Munov arrives. Move, get out of my sight!”

  The three snapped to attention, acknowledged their orders with some arkanian words Yosh didn’t quite pick up, and stomped out of the mess hall. Yosh clenched his teeth and backed away from the door, thinking only of escape. His shaky palms had left moist marks on the wall and the booming in his ears stopped him from hearing the soldiers’s footsteps in the main chamber. He moved backward, crouching and keeping his eyes on the door, not daring to blink. He knew he should turn and navigate through the debris of the kitchen, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the door no matter how hard he tried. The image of the girl’s brains being blasted out replayed over and over in the murky darkness. Brains as red as the arkanian commander’s savage eyes. Yosh brushed his hands on his overalls to get rid of the sweat. It felt sticky, like blood—the girl’s blood.

  His tunic snagged a piece of rusty pipe. It bent and creaked, and the sound echoed through the empty kitchen, rattling like a wounded animal. Yosh froze in his tracks. For a second he dared to hope the arkanian hadn’t heard. He waited—still as a tree, but the two feet of rusty pipe broke off and clattered on the floor. It seemed the noise would never stop.

  From somewhere behind the door came heavy footsteps and the sharp electronic squeal of a pulse weapon being charged.

  ◆◆◆

  Run or hide? Too late for both. He ducked to the side.

  The seven-foot-tall arkanian commander crashed through the door, as Yosh expected, in force and pulse gun firing. Pale blue rays burst from the muzzle, bouncing against the walls and glistening off the black pools of water on the floor. The first two shots seemed random and they missed, but they provided enough light for Yosh to spot the broken pipe at his feet. Yosh grabbed it just as the commander spotted him. He’d been through similar training with Assai a hundred times. He heard her voice as his hand tightened around the rusty shaft. “Close the distance between you and your armed assailant fast or not at all,” she told him. And so he did.

  The arkanian commander fired his next shots at the far end of the room, as if expecting the intruder to head straight for the exit door instead of charging him. In a flash, Yosh was at the commander’s side. His red lizard eyes widened. Yosh struck upward with all his strength. Assai had taught him that regardless of an opponent’s race or build, the chin is always a good target. The pipe connected and pieces of rust and jagged scales flew everywhere. The commander lurched back, dropping the pulse gun. A hit like that should cripple most opponents, but this commander only seemed dazed and surprised as he leaned against the wall.

  Yosh peered after the gun, but he didn’t get enough time. The commander regained his balance and whipped his thick tail around, smacking Yosh on the calves, and sweeping his feet from under him. He hit the floor hard, and the pipe flew from his grip. Pain exploded blue and green in front of his eyes and he couldn’t see where the pipe skittered to. In the blink of an eye the commander was on top of him, his huge hands—like thumbscrews—clutching Yosh’s forearms.

  “Human,” the commander said, grinning at Yosh, blood oozing from between the chipped scales on his chin. The commander leaned in to smell him. Cool blood dripped on Yosh’s forehead. His breath stank of rotten eggs and raw meat. Yosh looked into the intense redness of those arkanian eyes, but all he saw were the quarlan girl’s brains scatter across the floor again. Fire roared in the pit of Yosh’s stomach, building to an inferno of anger until it spread through his veins to every corner of his body.

  “Murderer!” Yosh said and pulled hard on his aching forearms. The sudden jolt and Yosh’s scream made the commander recoil, but it was too late. Yosh drove his forehead into the arkanian’s stubby nose. The grip on his arms loosened and Yosh wrenched them free. He grabbed the dazed commander by the collar and bashed his face with his forehead again and again.

  Yosh’s anger subsided after his face went numb and cold with the commander’s blood. I need to get away, he thought as he pushed the bloody commander away. He wiped the arkanian’s slimy blood with the sleeve of his overall. A few drops trickled inside his mouth as he rose. Combined with the never-ending memory of the quarlan girl’s execution, Yosh’s stomach churned and tumbled and he spewed out bitter green bile. The commander rolled on his side groaning, and spat out a tooth and globs of blood.

  Time’s running out. Yosh rubbed bile off his chin with the sleeve of his overall, as he looked around the kitchen for the pulse gun. He kicked piles of scrap metal aside, searched through nicks and cracks in the wall, under the sinks and broken cupboards, but he didn’t find it.

  An electronic buzz came from the commander. “All units… converge on the main slave pen… the human’s here.” The commander spoke into a small triangular device in a wreck of the arkanian language.

  Yosh rushed over and kicked the commander in his bloody face. The lizard’s head flopped back and bounced off the concrete floor. Yosh wrenched the communicator from his han
d, retrieved the pipe from underneath him, and scurried out of the kitchen.

  “Commander Kagos,” a voice buzzed through the communicator. “Commander Kagos, come in!”

  Yosh ran like never before. The shacks flew by, one by one, until he reached the landing pad. He slowed. The arkanians guarding the ships would notice if he made too much noise. Yosh wanted to circle around Shacktown completely and head to the smuggler ship, but he needed to get home first and get that suit inside the secret chamber. There had to be weapons there. If nothing else, he could use the sword on the wall. The commander said they just searched our house, so there won’t be anyone there for now, Yosh thought, but I need to get there soon. Once the commander recovered, Yosh’s head start would be meaningless. After he got the suit and whatever else he could carry, he would go to Captain Dupont, where he would be safe. The captain had no more reason to refuse him and his grandfather passage off-world now. Leaving them here meant condemning them to death.

  “Everyone switch frequencies,” a voice buzzed. “The humans stole commander Kagos’s communicator.” There was only static after that, so Yosh turned it off and shoved it into one of his pockets. The constant static hurt his head.

  He was almost past the landing pad when he noticed the guards were gone. His heart beat faster. “Chance favors the bold,” Assai had told him. His calf ached where the commander’s tail hit him and his running turned to limping. They’ll never expect me to take their ship. I’ll fly it home. I’ll get there and leave before they even realize what happened.

  It was easier said than done. The guards had left Mazak and Lorzak on the ship’s bridge, if you could call it a bridge. Nothing separated it from the main corridor where there were several seats along the walls. The ship was a troop transport—a small one. Yosh had hoped for a fighter or anything with weapons. From the number of seats, Yosh estimated the transport carried twelve arkanians, including the pilot and copilot. That meant twenty four arkanians roamed around Shacktown looking for him right now.