Gaia stared in shock at the light transport descending slowly from the sky, and at Solomon standing at the rear hatch with that teasing grin on his face.
Hadn't this bastard already run off into the hive city?
"I told you, Captain Harlock wasn't going to stay on the ground and die with you lot. The sky is my turf."
He clearly read the confusion in Gaia's heart. His lips parted into a broad smile, showing a row of white teeth.
"Alright, get on. I spent quite a few Throne Gelt 'borrowing' this from an officer."
Solomon gave a crafty grin, then reached out a hand toward Gaia.
"You're the bodyguard Captain Harlock picked out. I wasn't about to let you die in a place like this."
"Oh, and as compensation, I was planning to pay you 40 a month... no, forget that, 30 Throne Gelt."
Gaia no longer had the energy to complain about Solomon's terrible timing.
Dragging her body to the edge of collapse, she struggled toward the transport, carrying the badly wounded Horne on her back while pulling Nia along beside her, rushing toward that aircraft that now symbolized their hope of survival.
Shells rained down around them. Fatal bursts of fire flashed across the battlefield steeped in death.
Gaia forced herself onward. The scene before her blurred and warped from blood loss.
In a daze, it felt as though she had returned once more to the garbage mountain of her childhood, a sack of scavenged junk on her back, a stick of saccharin in her hand given to her by Old Bill, chasing the footsteps of the setting sun toward that tattered sheet-metal shack that had once been so broken, yet so warm.
And there, beneath the distant light, a figure reached out a hand to her, and she found herself instinctively raising her own.
The moment their hands met, a sound like shattering glass rang out, and the scenes most precious in her memory began to collapse.
Panic seized her. She tried to pull free from that hand, to snatch back those drifting fragments of illusion.
They were unreal, yes, but they were still the memories she longed for most.
If only she could remain there one second longer...
Just as she thought that, a faint push came from behind her.
The force was almost imperceptible, but together with the pull of that hand, it made her take a step forward without meaning to.
Startled, she turned back.
And when she saw what stood behind her, her body trembled.
The countless broken fragments had become a doorway flung wide open, the lights of memory flickering within it like warm lamps beyond the threshold.
And standing inside that doorway, exactly as it had existed in her memory, was a hunched figure radiating golden light like a sun.
He drew back the hand that had pushed her, then gave her a slight nod.
"You have to leave now, child."
The silent murmur echoed in Gaia's ears, then struck her soul like thunder, shattering the illusion she had built for herself.
Like someone waking from a dream, she lowered her head and only then realized she had already stepped inside the transport.
Watching the battlefield below recede farther and farther away, she understood.
They were leaving Klaurund.
She stood there for a long while, then let out a quiet sigh and lifted her head to the sky drawing ever closer.
Yes.
It was time to leave.
"Goodbye, Klaurund."
"Goodbye, Oteanta."
She murmured the words in her heart.
The past had become memory.
And the future was waiting for her to carve it open...
...
All things in existence are threads.
Threads woven together become fate.
And at this moment, within the maze formed by countless threads, four of them were tangled together, stretching toward a distant place they were never meant to reach.
The Weaver's great hand tried to set them back in place, only to be thrown aside by the strange force field surrounding one of those fine strands...
...
On the battlefield drowned in smoke, Petrus slowly crawled out of the dust thrown up by the bombardment.
More precisely, half of Petrus crawled out.
His lower body had been torn away by the fatal shelling. Now only the upper half of him remained alive.
In a certain sense, that was a good thing. At least the gout that had troubled him for so long no longer tormented him.
He gasped for breath and dragged his ruined upper body across the ground until he reached the shell crater where the vox-operator had died.
A vox-caster was still giving off a steady beeping sound at the edge of the crater.
That brave soldier, before dying, had thrown out the communication device and preserved the one channel left for transmitting the message.
Petrus's pupils had already begun to unfocus. The pain that had been numbed by burning now surged back as his dying body reacted to its own collapse.
Agonizing pain shot up from the shattered remains of his spine, and sweat the size of beans formed on the forehead of this man, hard as stone.
Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself beside the device.
Sight, the first sense to fade before death, had almost entirely abandoned him.
He could only fumble by touch, struggling to find the connection point on the caster.
He no longer had time to confirm whether the long-wave signal was clear. He could only gather the last of his strength, recite the emergency code, and then rasp out the words:
"Klaurund... treason..."
After forcing out that final key phrase, he had no strength left. He collapsed helplessly onto the ground.
Just as he prepared to wait for death to come, a booted foot slammed down onto his back.
Then the cold muzzle of a handgun pressed against the back of his head.
Petrus could not see who had come, but anyone with half a brain could have guessed.
His stubbled mouth slowly curled into a smile, and a mocking voice leaked out together with blood.
"My soul... returns to the Golden Throne..."
"And you... are going nowhere..."
"Traitor..."
Warren Joguya stared coldly at the half-corpse beneath his foot, ignoring the man's taunt as he slowly lowered the snub revolver in his hand.
He glanced at the vox-caster nearby, his brow tightening slightly.
From what this man had just managed to say, it was clear he had learned the secret behind Klaurund.
Warren's eyes moved to the missing lower half of his body, and his expression eased a little.
But there had been no way he could have said much more than that in time.
The most likely outcome now was that news of treason on Klaurund had gotten out, but not who had betrayed it, nor how extensive the betrayal was.
That made things much easier.
Warren turned and walked back to the Planetary Defense Force troops cleaning the battlefield not far away.
Looking at them, he slowly let a smile spread across his face.
Each of these soldiers had entered service with his hand involved in one way or another.
They were either gang members he had personally selected, or the sons of Underhive workers who had benefited from his favor.
Every single one of them was bound tightly to him by利益 and by debts of gratitude strong enough to secure their loyalty.
They were less the private soldiers of House Joguya than the private soldiers of Warren alone.
After all, his cousin the governor had always devoted himself to enjoying his power, while Warren had shouldered all the tedious burdens.
Now it was time for that imbalance to be repaid.
There would indeed be traitors on Klaurund.
But that would merely be the governor's personal treason, while he, Warren, would righteously eliminate his own kin for the greater good.
Warren was certain that, with the tithe ships not due to reach Klaurund for another two years, the Adeptus Arbites would be more than willing to accept the explanation he provided.
After all, he had already made thorough preparations and could shift the blame onto his cousin while keeping himself entirely clean.
Still, the Cult of Gluttony had utterly failed in its plans on Klaurund.
At that thought, a dark look passed through his eyes.
"In the name of the Prince of Pleasure, you damned wretches will pay for this."
"You absolutely will."
(End of Chapter)
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