Zein: The Prophecy Read online

One of the soldiers fell, slipping on some spilt blood. Three attackers fell on him, bringing their homemade weapons down on his exposed skull. Then Bronstorm was there heaving them back before they could make their way to Tyson. His seckle flashed and one after the other they fell. Tyson connected with more of the attackers and a strange phenomenon of more and more of the attackers stopping in their tracks began to gather pace. One bold attacker driven by the madness of the drug crashed through Hechkle and launched himself at Tyson. A photon bolt caught him in the chest, throwing him back. Amelia’s gun smoked with the after-shot. Tyson momentarily was distracted.

  What a girl. He then returned to his task.

  Tyson was winning, the tipping point of the remainder of the attackers was becoming nearer and he kept repeating the words.

  Stop. Protect me.

  The men whom he had stopped initially turned their heads and looked blankly at their fellow attackers, who had not stopped attacking. Suddenly one, then two, then ten began to attack the other elements of their group. They pushed them back away from Tyson.

  ‘The main corridor entrance is free,’ Evelyn cried.

  The remainder of the group looked towards the entrance and spotted the break in the ranks of the station’s personnel. Bronstorm was the first. He raced ahead dispatching the few left near the main corridor. The others followed with the soldiers reduced to just three. Tyson didn’t move. His power coursed through him. A man hit him and the blow bounced off. He seemed to grow, caught up in the moment.

  ‘Tyson,’ Amelia screamed, wrenching him from his thoughts. The soldiers he had transformed were now providing an effective barrier to the remainder of the rabid attackers. He hurried after his companions.

  They raced through the corridors pursued by a small number of the crazed men. One grabbed at Tyson, who was bringing up the rear, and Tyson spun round and killed him with one blow from his seckle. They ran and ran through the long corridors. After what seemed an age, Bronstorm made it first to the lift and held the door open.

  Tyson slowed down as he reached the lift. The others rushed in but Tyson walked calmly and when he was only ten feet away he faced the remainder of the crazed mob. One by one he caught their eyes. He talked to them. Ordered them to stop. They stopped. They became silent, still statues. Once he had stopped all he pointed back up the corridor and they began to file back from whence they came.

  With a frown on his face he deactivated his seckle and without looking at any of his companions he started back up the corridor.

  ‘Blackstone, where are you going?’ It was Evelyn, holding the lift open. Tyson turned round with a thoughtful look.

  ‘You still need those minerals, don’t you?’ he queried, raising an eyebrow, ‘Another point, the name is Mountford not Blackstone.’ With that and not waiting to see what the rest of the group would do he carried on down the corridor in total control of Base Station Zero.

  Chapter 19

  The Palace

  Kabel and Gemma walked down to the Lower Town with Lord Fathom. They had a Royal Palace Guard of six soldiers escorting them. When they walked out of the huge ornate Palace gates, Kabel couldn’t resist looking back at the splendid majesty of the building. Built with no edges, every surface was a smooth cylindrical shape. The high towers, one on each of the three rounded corners, with the middle tower above the gates, reached high into the sky with its beaming artificial sun. It was in one of these towers that the companions had been staying.

  The Fathom coat of arms fluttered from the three masts. He had always liked the symbol of the mangrove tree on the green backdrop. Of all the clans, the Fathom Clan were the closest to nature and that made them the preferred choice for the mining of the all-important zinithium. This of course also made them the richest clan as once they had satisfied the Transfer of Raw Material Treaty agreed between the principal Blackstone Clan and the other royal households they could sell to the highest bidder.

  Framing the Palace they marvelled at the sight of the Outer Perimeter where strange creatures of the deep blue sea could be seen swimming above the artificial sun and blue sky. It was all very strange.

  ‘Like my Palace, eh, young Blackstone?’ said Lord Fathom, his wild red hair cascading down onto his broad shoulders. ‘My pride and joy, that is.’ He looked proudly up at the towers as he casually scratched his oversized stomach. Large fancy buildings were not the only thing which the Fathoms were renowned for, food was their other true love.

  ‘I have to say, Lord Fathom, it is impressive,’ Kabel agreed. He looked down the large causeway that led down in stages to the Lower Town. There were five stages, broken up by steps, each with a plateau of beautiful manicured gardens which were rich in plants and flowers. Even now, with the issues they were facing there were many workers in their green tunics tending the flowerbeds.

  ‘How do you have such a vibrant city so far under such an amount of water?’ Gemma asked.

  ‘My girl, we have the best code makers in the Expeditionary Force, who can turn their hand to anything,’ said Lord Fathom, boasting. Gemma didn’t take too kindly to being called ‘girl’ but held her tongue. Kabel had heard about the Fathom code makers, who were second only to the gifted Tyther Clan for their talent. Lord Fathom hadn’t finished, ‘Don’t forget we have a limitless supply of zinithium to work with as well.’

  Kabel’s lessons with Malkin had taught him all about the durability and wonders of zinithium, a material that the humans had not even found yet. When they did they would be the envy of the galaxies. The mineral was the strongest, most powerful substance in the Universe. It was an unassuming rock-based mineral which, once combined with other ingredients, had unlimited uses. If crushed into a fine powder it could be fired by massive kilns into crystals that could create energy that could bend time and space, or if liquefied could provide such fertility that barren lands would instantly be rich pasture lands. The mineral could be also turned into horrific weapons, which had helped the Zeinonians win the Second Xonian War.

  They passed onto the last stage descending into the Lower Town. The warren of streets that made up the Lower Town were dwarfed by high rise apartments made of the same brushed steel-like substance seen in the Palace. The metal was cool to the touch.

  The streets, which usually bustled with traders and workers befitting the rich location, were today deathly quiet. On each street corner stood soldiers on guard in plumed hats with green feathers poking out like a peacock’s. Kabel caught the eye of some of the soldiers and even with their faces impassive he could read their fears.

  Lord Fathom stopped at a large building which rose high into the sky. ‘My advisors emptied the main barracks so we could place all the sick men in one place,’ Lord Fathom explained. His joviality had disappeared and a look of concern had taken over.

  They entered the barracks through a well-built front door. Inside there was a large entrance hall where a number of soldiers stood guard motionless. Their heads remained static as their eyes followed the visitors. Off the large entrance there were a number of locked doors leading to other rooms. Lord Fathom asked one of the guards to open the nearest locked door, which slid open noiselessly. The small party followed Lord Fathom through into the room. Inside there was a long line of cubicles stretched out either side of a walkway. There were at least one hundred men laid out in the large sleeping quarters, not moving.

  ‘Once we subdued them we had to inject the most powerful sleeping drug we have just to stop them harming themselves,’ said Lord Fathom, his voice quivering. ‘If they ever recover the first thing they will find out is that they killed a loved one or friend.’ Kabel watched the motionless men with morbid interest.

  ‘There are floor after floor of these men right up to the top floor,’ Lord Fathom told him. ‘They are locked in the cubicles and each room is guarded.’

  ‘Of course that will mean nothing unless we have some zinithium to keep our Outer Perimeter working,’ he snapped, looking outside through the round portal windows to the artif
icial sky and the tell-tale barrier restraining the incredible amount of sea above their heads. Lord Fathom turned to Kabel, ‘I should let you know that I have sent a messenger to Zylar asking for an emergency supply of zinithium to tide us over.’ Kabel felt his anger rising.

  ‘He is a murderer, how can you do that?’ said Kabel disgusted.

  ‘Even if you hadn’t realised it you are now the official heir to the Blackstone throne,’ said Lord Fathom solemnly, ‘and you will find that when thousands of people depend on you that some unpalatable decisions have to be made.’ His face looked sad as he saw the young prince’s face trying to control his emotions. ‘Remember, hundreds of people of my clan have died in the last day or so. Do you think I want to ask for his help?’

  Kabel did understand and his anger evaporated as he controlled his emotions. As Fathom was talking to him he caught the essence of turbulence in the older man’s mind.

  ‘Has there been a reply?’ he asked. Lord Fathom hesitated, ‘Not as such; however, they have agreed to send a delegation headed up by Lord Malacca from the Eastern Quadrant.’

  Kabel read the doubt. ‘They have asked you to release Lord Malacca’s son, haven’t they?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t want to as he caused this problem in the first place,’ replied Lord Fathom, exasperated. He looked at Kabel’s expression and held up a hand. ‘Don’t worry, I have not released him but have accepted the meeting with his father.’

  ‘When?’ asked Kabel.

  ‘In the next hour or so. The sooner the better as far as I am concerned. Your decision if you want to join the negotiations?’ Lord Fathom asked.

  ‘Not sure I should give them an excuse to criticise the Blackstone Clan,’ said Kabel. However, an idea was forming in his mind. ‘If it is acceptable with you, sir, we would like to head back to the Palace?’

  ‘Oh, young love, what a blessing in these hard times,’ Lord Fathom said sadly, misinterpreting their reason to head back. He glanced across the row upon row of sedated clansmen. ‘I will see you back at the Palace.’

  Kabel discussed his idea with Gemma as they walked back up through the stages to the Palace. He could not shake the haunting picture of his sister out of his mind. With the Lord Malacca delegation arriving from the Eastern Quadrant he could use the same coordinates to travel there and bring his sister to safety. The problem would be if there were guards posted in the actual Eastern Transportation Portal. It was a risk he was willing to take.

  They arrived back at their room and helped themselves to a drink. ‘I am going with you,’ said Gemma firmly, ensuring there was no room for doubt in the discussion. There was no issue. Kabel was actually relieved. He was nervous about executing his plan and to have Gemma with him was a welcome support.

  There was a knock on the door. Kabel opened and came face to face with Remo Shanks.

  Kabel was surprised. ‘Remo, when did you get back?’ he asked.

  ‘Not long ago, just briefed the Elders that we have Base Station Zero under our control and that we should be able to bring the first shipment of bluejack up before the end of the day to alleviate the sickness,’ said Remo as he walked to the drinks table to pour a glass of water. Kabel waited patiently, as did a breathless Gemma, who was concerned about her friends.

  Remo finished his drink and looked across at their worried faces. ‘Your friends are fine. We lost most of the soldiers but your friends showed true Blackstone grit and Tyson was remarkable,’ Remo said, looking at Kabel. Again the disquiet Kabel felt about his halfbrother resurfaced. The look Remo had given him was a worried one. Gemma sighed with relief. They were all right. Thank God.

  ‘When can we restart production of the zinithium?’ Kabel asked.

  ‘Tomorrow hopefully, I have asked the Elders to send down a relief column of workers to help restart the mine,’ replied Remo, wiping his still dirty face. ‘We should have plenty of zinithium to support the Outer Perimeter well before it runs out of power. Lord Fathom said you replenished the crystals with your magics?’

  ‘I did’ said Kabel.

  ‘Thank you, that provides us with some contingency.’

  ‘That will strengthen his negotiating position with Lord Malacca, won’t it?’ Gemma asked Kabel.

  ‘Yes, it should do,’ said Kabel. He turned back to the seasoned warrior. ‘Remo, we have an idea and I would appreciate your thoughts on our approach.’ Kabel then outlined to a thoughtful Remo his belief that his sister was alive and held in the Eastern Quadrant and the idea of exploiting the visit of Lord Malacca to the transportation room near the Eastern Quadrant Palace.

  The usually unsmiling face of the warrior creased with a rare smile at the plan. He saluted Kabel, and said, ‘Now that is an idea fit for a Lord Blackstone!’ Gemma felt a surge of pride. Now they needed to put the plan into action.

  Chapter 20

  Eastern Quadrant

  Malkin pulled on the bonds tying his hands as they walked him from the transportation portal across the Eastern Quadrant army training grounds. The large parade ground was a hive of activity, row after row of soldiers marching and forming ranks with their photon rifles or shotguns slung over the shoulders. Next to him was the struggling figure of the still injured Lord Southgate. Maggia and Palminder were either side of him supporting his unsteady frame.

  Zylar had decided to move them to the secure Eastern Quadrant Palace due to an ill-conceived plan by remnants of the Southgate Clan attempting to rescue their Lord. The attempt had been ruthlessly crushed with the majority killed. They had caught and placed Lady Southgate and the rest of the family under house arrest in the Southgate Palace and to ensure compliance transferred Lord Southgate and Malkin to this new location. As an afterthought, General Chad was also asked to take the surviving members of the Wheatstone family.

  Malkin looked up at the forbidding Eastern Quadrant Palace. It had been built by Lord Malacca’s father to challenge the Blackstone Southern Quadrant Palace grandeur. It was twice the size, not in height but in area consumed. The main structure was based on a hexagon shape made up of impressive dark granite. The courtyard in the centre of the building alone was larger than the Southern Quadrant Palace building calculated in Zein agers. On each of the hexagon’s six wings sat a dome with the red flag of the Malacca Clan flying from it. Surrounding the Eastern Quadrant Palace were vast parade grounds, initially used to rival the Southgates’ Federation Fair and to challenge the grandiose summer balls held in the Blackstone Palace. Over recent times they were used to train the powerful Ilsid troops.

  Circling the parade grounds was a formidable wall and within the wall there was a separate Transportation building, which housed what was the third largest portal after the Southern Quadrant Palace and the Federation Fair portals. There was also the barracks that contained the Eastern Palace Guard, who, he could see by the insignia on their collars, were the troops nearest them. Outside the gates there were further huge barracks, both on the surface and underground, which usually housed the bulk of the seventy-five thousand troops of the Eastern Quadrant army. They wouldn’t be there now, Malkin thought, they will be scattered across the other quadrants managing or crushing any attempted insurrection.

  What really caught Malkin’s interest was a heavily guarded entrance within the grounds which was no more than two large steel reinforced doors at the front of a sloping roof of a bunker that was only partially above ground. There were two photon pillboxes either side which bristled with one hundred and eighty degree facing weaponry. However the main attraction was the enormous antenna rising some hundred feet into the sky a further fifty feet behind the doors. The antenna was encased in the strongest steel imaginable, making it impenetrable to attack.

  What has he got down there, I wonder? What is its purpose?

  Malkin was rudely shaken from his review of the Palace grounds when one of the Eastern soldiers escorting the prisoners shoved Malkin in the back to hasten his pace.

  ‘Young man, don’t do that again,’ Malkin warned as he arreste
d his stumble. The sneering soldier laughed and turning round to his fellow soldiers, he went to shove Malkin again. Before he knew it he was sprawled on the ground as Malkin, anticipating such an action had shifted his body slightly and used the momentum of the soldier to shove at thin air and lose his balance. The soldier fell to the ground before jumping up angrily pulling out his gun but the calm hand of General Chad rested on the soldier’s raised arm.

  ‘Put your gun away, soldier, the old man just made a fool of you, so accept it,’ said General Chad, glancing at Malkin approvingly. The soldier knew what was best for him and brushed himself down and replaced his blaster into its holster.

  ‘Have your fun, old man, as you are going to stay here until you die,’ said General Chad pointedly. Malkin ignored him and carried on walking.

  General Chad took them to one of the dome buildings and placed his prisoners into one of the cells. The surroundings were sparse but not unpleasant. The bonds were released, apart from Lord Southgate’s red manacles and when the door shut behind the retreating General Chad, Malkin tried the door but found it to be very solid. He then settled down on one of the bunks in the room. He had learnt to be patient in his life.

  General Chad walked into another part of the Palace and poured himself a drink. A squad of Ilsid soldiers who had followed him into the room stepped back and folded into the darkened shadows.

  ‘Ahhh, you are back?’ It was Lord Malacca. ‘Have you brought my prisoners?’ he asked. General Chad had a sip of his Mee wine and looked sardonically at the pompous Lord Malacca.

  ‘Don’t you mean Zylar’s prisoners, Barkley?’ he said.

  Lord Malacca felt his cheeks burn with the degrading use of his first name this oaf took to calling him. He cautioned himself. Don’t jeopardise your plans.

  ‘Of course, General Chad, it was just a figure of speech,’ said Lord Malacca, placating the tall figure in front of him.