Capture Read online

  Capture

  The Relissarium Wars Space Opera Series, Book 6

  Andrew C Broderick

  Copyright © 2018 by Andrew C Broderick

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  One

  Fresh blood splattered the transparent belly of the Yasta cruiser. “Get up.” Karl snarled, at the young lackey he had just knocked on his backside. Again. Weakness was the one thing he despised, even more than the Carbonari.

  “C-can’t.” The boy’s arms shook from exhaustion. His lungs burned, trying to catch his breath. He tried to push himself up from the floor, but his strength failed him.

  Karl took a sinister step, towards the conscript he had been training. “Seems Batumah has blessed us with a variety of colors today: red blood, the green of the forest below, and your yellow belly!” He reared back one massive boot, and kicked the boy in the ribs. The crunch of his bones breaking elicited a disturbing smile from Karl. The young soldier crumpled, and coughed up more blood. If he couldn’t push past such menial limits as exhaustion and pain, Karl had no use for him.

  Two more underlings marched in sync, and hooked their arms under their fallen comrade. They dragged the defeated boy away. Karl cracked his neck, and rolled his shoulders. There was nothing like knocking some young pup down a few pegs, in the morning. It got his blood pumping. A light sheen of sweat coated his broad, exposed shoulders. Another trainee brought forth his deep yellow and green ceremonial robes. Karl held out his arms, as the cloth was draped over him.

  “We’re ten minutes from the drop off.” The trainee began to fuss with Karl’s robes, but the bigger man swatted him away.

  “Go make yourself useful somewhere else.”

  “Yes, sir.” The younger man bowed his head, and retreated.

  Karl finished tying his robes in place. He scowled at the monasteries, that held themselves so high above the forest floors. The silhouette of his large figure standing akimbo on the shielded, crystal viewing platform was intimidating. The young Yasta novices that ended up serving under Karl knew that they would either end up as some of the best fighters, or they would end up dead. He was known, even among the monks, as being intolerant of inferiority. A lot of young bucks thought they were tough enough, or that the rumors about his severity were an exaggeration. They soon found out the truth.

  The ceremonial robes of a Brother Yasta designated him as a warrior missionary, and rightly so. He had spilled more blood on more planets and moons than most people could dare to imagine. Karl had earned his spot above the common Yasta in the hierarchy, but the rank of Brother Superior still eluded him. Only those who Batumah had blessed with a Yasta gift could rise to the next rank, and become one of the monastery teachers. Above the gifted Brother Superiors was an Abbot Yasta that presided over each monastery.

  Karl ground his teeth, angrily. His inability to manifest a Yasta gift was holding him back, from gaining more power. However, he had to admit that being a roaming monk afforded him greater freedoms of travel. Always the opportunist, he used this freedom to pursue his own interests and objectives. If he couldn’t advance by serving Batumah, there was no reason he shouldn’t serve himself, as well.

  The ship began to make its descent, towards the base of Kinyah mountain. Four days. The miserable thought hung heavily, in his mind. That was how long it was supposed to take to scale the mountain, and reach the summit. The inconvenience agitated him. Humbling the acolytes was one thing. Making the monks who were already initiated relive the pilgrimage was something else entirely. He had made the journey many times. Each year he felt more and more outrage at the redundancy of it. Being a higher ranking member should have afforded him some privileges, such as being permitted to land directly on the mountain’s summit. Unfortunately, the Brother Superiors and Abbots disagreed.

  Kinyah mountain had the biggest climb of the main five monasteries on Mithuna. So, naturally, that was the one he had chosen. Of course, it wouldn’t actually take him four days. Karl smirked to himself. The trick to making it up the mountain alive was to not stop and sleep. Sleep was one of the mundane limits he had learned to bypass. He hadn’t been able to eradicate the need entirely, but he was able to drastically reduce the amount of sleep his body needed to function. The climb would still be arduous. He had a rough few days ahead.

  The Yasta religious holiday Dargani was still a little over two weeks away. Karl’s early arrival had been planned in advance. He was arriving under the false pretense of seeking further training from the Brothers Superior. Everyone at the monastery was under the impression that he would be trying to ascend before the holy day. Little did they know, that was never going to happen. Karl’s smirk broadened into a full smile. All of the pieces of his plan were coming together. Finally.

  His eyes twinkled maliciously. Karl wasn’t sure what excited him the most: the unveiling of the modified lasana blades, or the chance to use them in combat. He never felt more alive than when his blade was slicked with blood. He craved the rush of a fight. He could snuff out a life as easily as crushing a firefly. On the battlefield, he was a god of life and death, a force immortal and unstoppable.

  Images of the other monks, their faces painted with envy, solidified in Karl’s mind. He could see it now: awe, terror, lust. Jealousy would burn through them, until they were consumed by the flames—much like Relisse had been. The blades were far superior to anything they had seen before. A force wielding the lasana blades would be nearly impossible to defeat, in a widespread attack. Men would die. Cities would fall. The entire empire would feel the ripples of destruction.

  Karl could picture the old emperor’s face, when he saw the weapons in action. Emperor Aphilranius—the fittest of the fittest—would writhe with awe and avarice. The emperor was a fearsome warrior. Well, he had been two centuries ago. Undoubtedly, his time on the throne and away from the battlefield would have rusted good old Aphi’s reflexes. If he was rusty, then he was weak. If he was weak, then he could be exploited.

  Perhaps with the right social pressures, Karl could challenge the emperor directly. He might even be able to take the throne for himself. Who needed to be in control of a monastery, when they could be in control of an entire empire instead? If the emperor refused to fight, his people would see him as decrepit. Winning would gain Karl all of the glory he was owed. Losing would still serve his purposes. All he had to do was plant the seeds of doubt about the emperor’s capability. The rest would take care of itself. Karl took a deep breath. He was getting ahead of himself. First things first. He had to complete the part of the plan that was already in motion, before he made any more moves.

  “Sir, we’re landing at the base of the mountain now.” One of his aides approached, bowing in a show of respect. He made a point to not make eye contact with Karl.

  “Do you think I’m blind? I can see that through the viewing platform.” Karl snapped at him, and braced for the thud of the ship against the planet’s surface. The thought of the trek ahead of him soured any pleasure he had gleaned, from his daydreams of glory. The sooner he made it to the summit, the better. He was so close to attaining more power, that he could almost taste it. It was time.

  Two

  “Theo, are you paying attention?” Brother Aphano raised one arched eyebrow at the young acolyte in front of him. The Yasta teacher tapped the flat side of the blade he was holding against his palm, impatiently.

  Sighing, Theo rubbed his palms against his eyelids. His muscles ached from training, and lack of sleep. “Sorry, Brother. I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll do better.”

  “It’s been three weeks. I would think you and your new bride would be out of your honeymoon phase by now. Perhaps we need to tire you out in training more, to curb your desires.”

  The rest of the class groaned. The Yasta were steadfast believers that their warriors were only as strong as their weakest members. If Theo was going to be worked harder in training, then they all were. Even without turning to look, Theo could feel a dozen pairs of eyes staring daggers at him.

  “I will work on practicing more restraint. I’m sure my wife will be understanding.” Theo bowed his head in respect. Cierra would kill him, if she found out the Brother Superior he was studying with was discussing their fictional love life, in front of the entire class. They were still having to play the roles of husband and wife, as part of their cover while at the monastery.

  “Very well. Shall we continue our lesson, then? Kalari—the way of the blade—is the foundation for our armed defenses. During the past few weeks, you have all been trained in our spiritual ways, as well as hand-to-hand combat. Today, we will begin building upon that, with the addition of this!” The monk twirled his lasana blade in the air. The metal sparkled in the light.

  A ripple of awe and whispers passed through the students. Cherish elbowed Theo harshly in the ribs. They were supposed to be as excited as the rest of the acolytes. Part of their cover involved pretending to not be familiar with the lasana blades. Of the five remaining members of the Strike Force Retaliation team, only Theo and Cherish were in the lower level classes. Makram, Cierra, and Irane were promoted to an advanced class. The only reason Cherish was still in the beginner classes was because she had been hiding her abilities. They had decided that leaving Theo alone in the novice classes was a poor st
rategy—especially after they had lost three of their members on the climb up the mountain.

  The Brother Superior continued with his lecture. His voice quieted the hushed discussions that had erupted, at the flourish of the blade. “Just as we are an extension of Batumah, so is the blade an extension of us. Your body and mind must be flexible. Batumah guides the tall grasses with his breath. Each blade of grass sways, but does not break. If you allow him to guide you in the same way, your body will flow, and your blade will stay true.”

  Aphano swirled the blade in a series of fluid sweeps and stabs. He moved so effortlessly, and with such precision, that the blade almost became invisible. His body seemed to be a feather on a breeze. It was so elegant, that Theo wondered if it was really a series of fighting stances, or just a very deadly dance. His eyes couldn’t follow the path of the blade. The Aphaian’s swordsmanship was entrancing, but almost familiar somehow. Applause erupted, as the instructor swept his blade to one side, and took a bow.

  “It will take practice before you are able to wield your blade like this, but that is what you are here for. If you are willing to learn, then I am willing to teach. Everyone, take your positions for warm-ups.”

  “His fighting style looked very familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen it before.” Theo whispered to Cherish, while they took their places. He wracked his brain, trying to place it.

  Cherish’s face was grim. “Hojae. He fights like Hojae.”

  Suddenly, it clicked. “I guess that makes sense. He was a Yasta, agent after all.”

  Theo knew that he was supposed to hate Hojae for betraying them, and putting the entire team at risk. Even knowing all of that, the most vivid memory he had of Hojae was when Theo had first been initiated into the Carbonari. Hojae was the one that had taken the time to show him the ropes. The Josti was the one who had taught him to wield a sword properly. If it wasn’t for Hojae, Theo was certain he would have died a long time ago.

  Aphano stood, in the center of the room. “Good. Everyone, place your right foot in front, and your left foot behind. I want thirty percent of your weight on your front foot, and seventy percent on your back foot. Practice your lunges. Remember that with each lunge, you will want to pivot your hips to allow for more reach. Keep your body sideways. If you face the front, you make yourself a bigger target. Complacency will make you sloppy. Sloppiness will get you killed. While Batumah can help guide you, you must take responsibility for your own actions. You must be calm like the soil, steady like the orbit of the moons, and fluid like the current of the sea. Listen to your body. Let the sword become part of you.”

  The air around them was filled with the singing sounds of swords slashing through empty space. Some of the acolytes were breathing heavily within a few minutes. The air was thinner on top of the mountain. It was easy for those who lived at lower altitudes to lose their breath so high up. Theo thrust his blade like Aphano instructed them. His body felt stronger than it ever had before. Lately, it seemed that physical exertion had no hold on him. He could train all day, and never truly tire. As his muscles started to ache, he was filled with a tingling sensation. Theo could feel his torn muscle fibers knitting themselves back together. A residual ache still persisted, but for the most part any major damage was taken care of.

  He still wasn’t completely used to his new Yasta gift of healing. While the gift seemed to work on physical injuries, it did nothing to help with his mental exhaustion from lack of sleep. Theo chewed on the inside of his cheek, to keep himself awake. He could feel the pain for a few seconds, before his gift took over to mend the damaged tissue. Even though he healed quickly, he still endured the pain from any injuries he received.

  “Now move to your next position. Blades up to block, back to neutral, and then thrust. As you get more comfortable, begin increasing your speed. Your body will develop muscle memory over time. Remember, it is better to something slowly and well, than it is to do it quickly and poorly.” Aphano walked slowly around the room, helping his students to find the correct positions. After what felt like hours, they were eventually dismissed for warm-down stretches, before meditation.

  “Every human part of me aches.” Cherish rolled her neck from side to side, trying to loosen the tension she felt building.

  “Really? I feel fine.” A mischievous twinkle lit up Theo’s eyes.

  “Shut up.” She rolled her eyes, and put up her practice blade. “Come on. Let’s go find the others, before we have to be in the meditation chamber.”

  The two of them exited their practice room, and wandered into the center of the monastery. The classrooms where new acolytes were trained were set up in a circle, facing the heart of the complex. When he had first come to upon arrival, Theo had heard one of the monks explaining that circles were part of their faith. Circles symbolized gradual change, the cycle of life, and inner peace. It was considered to be the most sacred shape. After he had heard that, Theo began to notice circles interwoven into the architecture, of the monastery. Round windows looked out onto circular gardens. Linking chains of overlapping circles were carved into the stone, where the walls and the ceiling met. Once he noticed them, it was hard to stop seeing them everywhere.

  “There they are.” Cherish nodded towards Cierra, Makram, and Irane. The three team members were already huddled along the wall, away from the other students.

  “Hello, darling. How was class?” Makram placed a light kiss on Cherish’s forehead. He had really gotten into his role as her husband.

  “Nothing too terrible.” Cherish leaned her head on his shoulder. From the corner of her eye, she had seen one of the Brother Superiors glancing their way. The cover identities seemed to come so naturally to them.

  “And how was your day, sweet—” Theo tried to follow their example, but Cierra glared at him.

  She held up her hand to keep him an arm’s length away. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Careful, Cierra. The Brother Superior leading our class thinks that you and Theo are a couple of honeymooning space bunnies.” Cherish didn’t seem to notice Theo, desperately miming for her to shut up about what had happened at the beginning of their lecture.

  “He what?” Cierra rounded on Theo. Her eyes were blazing with fury. “And tell me, dear husband, just what would have given him that idea? Hmm?”

  Theo swallowed hard as she took a slow, calculated step towards him. He was suddenly very thankful for his gift of healing. At least whatever she was planning to do to him wouldn’t be permanent. “I was falling asleep in class. He assumed it was because we had been spending our nights doing things other than sleeping. What was I supposed to do? Tell him that I wasn’t sleeping well because I’ve been crashing on the floor, while you take up the whole bed like some sort of snoring Yasta princess?”

  “I do not snore!”

  “Oh, I beg to disagree. It’s like trying to sleep in the same room as a sputtering cargo ship engine. Ow!” Theo held his arm, where Cierra had just punched him.

  “Oh, hush, Mr. Gifted. You’re fine.”

  Theo mumbled under his breath, while still massaging the spot on his arm. “Just because I heal, doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain.”

  “We don’t have much time before meditation. Why don’t we get back to the main reason we’re here?” Makram lowered his voice. Since they were divided into classes of different skill levels, there weren’t many opportunities to discuss the plan.

  Irane’s face was pensive. “Most of the visiting Yasta won’t start arriving for a few more days. We won’t know how many targets there will be until Dargani. With such a large variable in play, it’s a bit hard to plan appropriately.”

  Theo’s heart was pounding in his chest. His mouth was dry, but there was no stopping the words. “Are we still sure we even want to do this?”

  “How can you say that?” Cierra hissed the question at him, accusingly.

  “In the last few weeks that we’ve been here, have you seen anyone that you would honestly want to kill if you met them on the street? Face it, the only reason they are targets is because of their religious affiliation. Is it really fair to condemn all of the higher-ranking monks because of the actions of a few corrupt members? We don’t even really have proof that the brutality we’ve seen was endorsed, by the Brother Superiors or the Abbots.” Theo tried to catch Cierra’s eye, but she had walled herself off. There was no getting through to her. Her mind was made up.