The Acolytes of Crane (Theodore Crane, #1)(69)

A high-pitched static-ridden voice suddenly seized my mind. It was Nezatron, frantically sputtering through the nanocom, “My Lord, my Lord. We are losing Theodore. We are losing him….”

A spasm, really, a bolt of red hot pain, seized my mind. Shrieking, I passed out.



I do not know how long I was out, but the next thing I heard was a jumble of shrieks and shouts of alarm. A woman’s voice rang out.

‘Put the sword down now! My king! He has Wrath and he is right outside. I will be awaiting your orders,’ she said, speaking in and out of transmission with Zane.

Her next words were unmistakably directed at me. ‘I will fire on you! I am going to count down from ten, and if you don’t drop the sword, you will be killed. You are within the zone of termination.’

Then, the woman shouted out away from my direction. ‘Zane, please! He has already destroyed two Ophanims and a Sepheran Imperial Guard.’

Now I recall thrashing away, heavy with perspiration. It was as if I was fighting in my sleep, but the intensity was just as profound.

‘Theodore, snap out of it!’ cried out this woman, whom I now recognized to be Shazal, a female Bromel. She was in charge of protecting the forbidden Garden of Odion, where Zane on occasion roamed.

I next heard Zane’s booming voice over the nanocom. ‘Terminate him; he is too much of a liability now!’

Dazed, I looked around and saw all that was destroyed. What had I done? It was destruction—by my hands, my rage, and my Wrath. I stood confused and I heard, ‘Ten, nine, eight. . .’

The Bromel in front of me was counting down from behind a mounted turret cannon: an endgame weapon that fired controlled bursts of plasma at their targets. Chillingly, there was no switch set to stun. Cannons of that sort sent people packing on a long trip to nothing. I would say hell, but it didn’t exist—not now, anyway. An aura of charging energy accumulated around the cannon’s muzzle.

A voice rang out over my nanocom. It sounded like King Trazuline. He said, ‘Don’t ask any questions, run to the west wing, and use your lifters to get there fast and invisible. Now go!’

I bolted, and didn’t look back. The command to escape was the only shot I had at survival. I didn’t know why I attacked the Ophanims—or even if it was I who did it. I was worried that Odion had somehow captured my subconscious, and Zane was furious. He wanted me dead.

I sprinted, with Ophanims tailing me. The ship was in high alert. Sirens were out in full force, howling with enough intensity to awaken the dead.

My heart quaked inside my chest, and fear gripped my limbs so tightly, even as I ran. My labored breathing echoed through my mind, leaving behind no capacity for thought.

Now at the end of the west wing, I arrived at what looked like an escape hatch. It led to a two-person scout ship, one of many that dotted the docking bay. King Trazuline’s voice—if that was him, betraying Zane—told me to get in this tiny spaceship, and I did. Upon my hasty entrance into the cockpit, the ship went active and that brought about another delicate situation, because I knew that waiting for me in space were ten Dacturon Destroyers, with weapons hot.

I was the traitor and there was no escaping it. There was no escaping danger. It was like being chased from a bear cave to a wolf’s den.

I was wedged in an impending shootout between Urilians and Dacturons. I glanced at the control screen in front of my seat: on autopilot setting. Quickly, I mentally ticked off what I had with me in the cockpit.

Wrath, my gun-blade, was still in my grasp, and my other battle gear was still on my body. A vial of some sappy substance—dephlocontis mucilage, the liquidlike substance that nearly drowned me the first time I had been transported to the Uriel—sat on the floor, jammed between my seat and the wall. It could be useful later should I experience severe injuries later on, alone and unassisted. Looking at a belt around my waist, I noticed a series of steel balls chained to it. Rolesk—check.

Lastly, and highly useful, was a holster for Wrath. The gun-blade was heavy, and I finally had a place to hang it up.

The ship, having severed itself from the Uriel, had blasted off with such force that my head jerked back to my headrest. It was now zooming toward the breathtaking Cliff of Divinity. Such a majestic natural phenomenon was extremely dangerous for even the most massive battle-class destroyer space vessel, but I had no choice. It was either the Cliff of Divinity, or a vengeful and all-powerful Zane on the Uriel on one side, and a formidable army of mysterious Dacturon destroyers on the other side. It was an easy choice to make.

King Trazuline’s voice blared over my nanocom, tinged by a note of panic, ‘Press the bright blue button in on the side of the panel. Press it!’

As my eyes widened in fear, I saw a Dacturon destroyer ship loom into view. It was as if the Dacturons had found out about my escape and now were eager to get their phasers on me. Meanwhile, the alarm on the dashboard beeped, ‘Uriel now charging weapons.’ I saw the iridescent glow of the cannons accumulating power upon the Uriel.

Oh, great. Just what I needed. Two mortal enemies with a joint target: me.

I lunged for the blue button, just as my ship received incoming fire from the Dacturons. On fire, the hull of my vessel triggered the emergency containment system to shut down the damage before it spread further.

Under my command, the ship accelerated even more, tossing me to the back wall, the sheer force pinning me there.