The Survivors | Book 16 | New Lies

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright © 2021 Nathan Hystad

  Books By Nathan Hystad

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  The Colony (The Survivors Book Seventeen)

  Space Race

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  Copyright © 2021 Nathan Hystad

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover art: Tom Edwards Design

  Edited by: Christen Hystad

  Edited by: Scarlett R Algee

  Proofed and Formatted by: BZ Hercules

  Books By Nathan Hystad

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  Nathan’s books are also available on Audible!

  Space Race

  Space Race

  Space Battle

  Space Strike

  The Survivors Series

  The Event

  New Threat

  New World

  The Ancients

  The Theos

  Old Enemy

  New Alliance

  The Gatekeepers

  New Horizon

  The Academy

  Old World

  New Discovery

  Old Secrets

  The Deities

  New Beginning

  New Lies

  The Colony

  Baldwin’s Legacy

  Confrontation

  Unification

  Culmination

  Hierarchy

  Lineage

  Legacy

  The Resistance Series

  Rift

  Revenge

  Return

  The Manuscript

  Lights Over Cloud Lake

  Red Creek

  Return to Red Creek

  Prologue

  Privilio System

  201 years ago…

  It was silent inside his cell. Sager gazed at the ceiling, wishing he were anywhere else but here. The cot was too large for his body, and he shifted on the mattress, shoving the tattered blankets away.

  Another day was over. He needed to end this cycle.

  Sager slipped from the bed, landing on the metal floor. It was cold to the touch. His space was compact, and he poked his head into the hallway. There was no need for locked doors on this ship. Captives didn’t have rights, especially not with the Wibox. A cell without bars.

  Sager threw a cloak on, cinching it tightly around the waist, and decided tonight was the night. He’d been planning this escape for years, and had ran through the steps tirelessly each evening. He labored relentlessly during the days, contemplated his plan, then rested for a few hours before he was roused awake to do it all again.

  Sager had no real idea where they were heading. The ship was in endless motion, rarely docking, and when they did, it was unpleasant. A backwater port. A rough station. Often they returned with another slave, set to work on some function of the Wibox Runner. Sager understood now that the Wibox detested any form of labor themselves.

  He crept through the corridor, his beak opening slightly. His tongue stuck out as he peered into a room, finding four of the Wibox in cots, their big limbs draped off their beds as they snored away. He’d fantasized about killing them numerous times. Poison their food? Stab them in their sleep? He wasn’t strong enough to do the second, and he couldn’t be sure there was anything toxic on board to add to their food, so he’d been forced to hatch a different plan.

  Sager continued on, moving as quietly as possible. At the end of the hall, he stopped, pressing his back against the bulkhead. Someone was crying. If the Wibox woke and discovered him out here, he’d be incinerated. The rules were clear, but years of obedience had made them complacent. Sager planned to use this to his advantage.

  He reached out with his mind, hoping to calm the troubled girl. Be still, little one.

  She sniffled lightly in response. What is your name? He spoke his own language, doubting she would comprehend what he was saying.

  They’d acquired the girl two days ago; from which world, he didn’t know. Sager had yet to meet her. He walked into her corner of the storage compartment and saw she was chained to the shelving units. Her big round eyes were wet, and she wiped at her nose with a sleeve.

  “Who are you?” she asked. Gretiol, if he wasn’t mistaken. How interesting.

  That’s not important. We’re leaving. Sager glanced behind him, finding only shadows and stillness.

  This perked her up, and Sager appraised her. She was a slight thing, and judging by the quality of her clothing, she was well off. It was grimy, smeared with dirt, but he noticed the double stitching, the intricate patterns along the hemlines. Where are you from?

  She stared at him, likely scared to encounter a one-eyed man with wings. It wasn’t uncommon for people to stare at Sager. He was accustomed to it.

  “I’m Manria, second daughter of Emperor Bastion the Fourth.”

  Sager had heard of the regency. They were a distant planet, flush with resources, making them a highly-sought-after trade partner. Gretiol is your race. She didn’t seem to notice he was communicating in her mind.

  “If you know that, you realize how valuable I am to—”

  Okay, enough talking. Clearly you want to live, so you must listen carefully. He walked to her, testing the bindings. They were secure, and there was no way he was prying them off. Sager left Manria, going to the adjacent room. He crossed it, heading to a cabinet, and opened the doors. Sager crouched, grabbing at the concoction he’d fastened to the top, ensuring he took the second concealed item as well.

  He felt the energy emanating from the contraption. It had taken him three years to manufacture, sourcing the proper parts to make the ignition less than a month ago when their water filtration unit finally gave up the ghost. Sager had been ordered to dismantle it and reinstall a newer unit. He’d managed to retrieve a few coils necessary to create the finishing touches on his explosive device.

  He returned to Manria, who had stopped crying. Her expression was grim, but she looked determined. Don’t move. He unscrewed the cap of the bottle, pouring a stream of drops on the chains. They hissed, the chemical reactions sending off an acidic gas. He coughed, but it did the trick. She pulled her arm free, the chain dangling loudly against the floor. Hold on to it. We leave now.

  Sager headed to the bridge with Manria trailing after him. She was twice his height, but was clearly still a child by Gretiol standards.

  One of
the Wibox was sleeping in the pilot’s seat. The thing was ugly: seven feet tall, three hundred pounds of angry muscle. Sager hated them with an unprecedented loathing. They’d lied incessantly, and now he would seek his revenge.

  Stay here, he told the girl as he approached the sleeping giant. The device shook in his nervous grip, and he tried to steady his nerves. He sidestepped the chair, lowering to the floor. He carefully positioned the bomb as it activated. There was no visible timer, but he’d given them two minutes until it exploded. He hoped that was sufficient.

  Sager rushed away, going as fast as his legs would take him. Manria must have sensed his urgency, because she hurried after him through the ship’s towering corridors. Lucky for him, the rest of their captives had been sold on their last stop—except Sager. He would never leave this vessel, according to his captors. He was too valuable. Too capable.

  “Where do you think you’re off to, Pet?” Trew blocked the path to the shuttle pod exit. Sager considered the bomb and tried to calculate how much time was left. Maybe a minute and a half.

  Trew, don’t do this.

  “Do what, Pet?” He trudged toward Sager, who stayed in front of Manria.

  The clock was ticking. Trew was huge, his shoulders rubbing both corridor walls. In the dimly lit hall, he looked like a monster from a nightmare, looming over Sager and the Gretiol heir. If Sager died, that was his fate, but the girl didn’t deserve such an untimely death.

  He was about to plead her case when she moved around him. She lunged so quickly, Sager had no chance to react. One second Trew was on his feet; the next he lay on his back, a knife handle jutting from his chest. She stepped on the man’s dead body and turned to help Sager.

  You did well, child, he assured her.

  Sager tapped in the code he’d seen Trew use on numerous occasions, and entered the pod. They preferred to travel planetside in this vessel, not wanting anyone to tag their Runner. These Wibox were nomads, seeking employment and opportunity in every dark corner of the galaxy. Sager knew he was doing the universe a favor by eliminating them tonight.

  The pod was spacious, built for creatures much larger than Sager and Manria. They strapped in, and Sager shot the pod from the only home he’d known for the last decade. They arced ahead, staring through the glass port window as the Wibox ship exploded. Pieces rained against the pod’s hull, but they made it unscathed.

  “Thank you for helping me,” she said.

  He didn’t tell her he’d been planning this well before her arrival. You did great. I’m sorry your hands had to spill blood.

  Her brow furrowed. “My father has trained us. It’s our way.”

  He was smart to do so.

  “How long were you captive?”

  Probably as many years as you are old.

  “Why did you wait so long to escape?” Manria asked.

  I never found the proper moment. If I stole the pod, they would have tracked me. I’ve seen what they would do to me if I failed. Sager watched the girl, questioning that she’d managed to kill so easily. How old are you?

  “Mother says that is never a good question to ask a lady.” Manria smiled despite their predicament. She was a strong girl.

  Fair point.

  “And you? How old are you?” Manria stared at the stars through the port window, and Sager set course for the nearest system. He’d bring Manria home to Gretiol.

  Me? Even Sager wasn’t certain. I’ve been around for centuries. My people live for hundreds of years.

  “Hundreds? That’s remarkable,” she said.

  He didn’t tell her it was only good if you were enjoying a fulfilling life. When you were aimlessly avoiding your past, it was tough to continue with that burden each day. I suppose. Don’t worry. We’ll return you home.

  “I’m twelve. I’m second in line for the throne.” She smiled again.

  Kids were resilient. Sager wondered if he had ever been so quick to recover from trauma. You’ll make a fine Empress.

  “You haven’t told me your name.” Manria watched him closely, and he shifted in his seat, tugging at the strapping.

  He couldn’t reveal this information. He’d managed to escape, and that meant it was time for a fresh start. A new beginning. Sager was dead, buried in the ashes of the Wibox Runner. A new version of himself had risen from the flames.

  Regnig. You can call me Regnig.

  “Pleased to meet you, Regnig.”

  He blinked his one eye and swallowed. He’d done it.

  He was free.

  One

  Now

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked Sergo as we strode through the dark alley. I’d never been to Ibarran D before, and now I understood why. The place was a cesspool of drugs and gambling, among other things I preferred not to think of.

  “Dean, you’re with me. You have to learn to relax,” Sergo said. My insectoid sidekick walked like he owned the block, but even so, we stood out like a sore thumb. I’d managed to change into some local attire when we’d landed, but felt foolish in the black and silver outfit. The leather pants were chafing, but Sergo seemed at home in his pair.

  After a few years working with the Padlog on Light, it was easy to forget his checkered past. But he was proving extremely useful in our hunt for Regnig. Six months had passed since I’d uncovered his library in ruins. I recalled the numerous true crime books and shows I’d watched, stating you had forty-eight hours to find a missing person before the odds dropped like a rock. What did that say about our probabilities after six months?

  I was starting to lose hope. We needed to find a clue on Ibarran D, or I was returning home empty-handed, and I owed Regnig more than that. I couldn’t give up now.

  The alley was muddy, pools of an earlier rain gathering along the path. The city reminded me of Old West towns, with wooden buildings crammed up to the streets, horses trudging through the mud; only here, they were a six-legged chunky animal with skinny ears and squiggly tails. They stank worse than the people riding them, and that said a lot. The locals were a gruesome people. Warts and growths covered their faces and bodies, and they spoke in a low mumble, their words rolling into one another, making it difficult to understand them.

  It was late, but that didn’t stop the locals from partying. Grating music carried from an open window in a building half a block away, and people lingered in the street. “There we go. My contact is…”

  Two male Hileo emerged from the shadows, one on each side of us. They stopped within ten feet. I heard squelching footsteps behind me and turned to face three more leather-wearing men.

  One of them slapped a thick metal rod into a palm as he appraised us. He might have been the ugliest being I’d ever come across. Even from ten feet, his stench was overpowering.

  “Whatdowehavehere?” he asked.

  “Just two travelers ready for a cold drink,” Sergo assured him, taking the lead. This was his arena, and I was happy to let him carry the ball.

  “Wedontlikestrangers.” Slap. Slap. The metal rod struck his palm.

  “Then how about we buy you a drink, and we can be friends?” Sergo asked.

  “Whatdoyouwant?” It was a simple question, but not one easily answered. I wanted to know if someone had passed through with a Toquil, Regnig’s race. Judging by the posturing from the gang around us, they weren’t in the mood to give information.

  “Looking to hire some men for a job,” Sergo lied. “We can pay.”

  The mood shifted, and I leaned toward Sergo. “What job?”

  He whispered quickly, “Go with it.”

  “Whatkindofjob?” The rod stopped whacking his palm. He stared at us with tiny eyes, hugged to the sides of his bulbous nose. Sharp yellow teeth slid over his lower lip as he started to drool.

  Sergo crossed his arms. “We’re looking for some scouts to lead us into the Nereve Valley. Heard there was a Bhlat force landed there, and they’re claiming to have located a source of Gemosium.”

  “Neverheardofit,” their lea
der said.

  “It’s rare. Super rare.”

  The guy stepped closer, his smell nearly making me retch. “Showmethevalley.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sergo buzzed. “This is our find. We want to hire you—”

  The man lifted the rod, ready to strike. “Showmeordie.”

  I heard the whine of a weapon charging and glanced over my shoulder to find a palm-sized pulser aimed at me. The guy holding it was chewing on a bone, and spittle dripped from his lips.

  Sergo shuddered. “Okay, okay. Give me the map.” He took the clunky device, and I watched as he randomly chose a location in the Nereve Valley thirty kilometers away. He tapped the screen, pinning the spot, and the repulsive man shoved Sergo as he passed us.

  “Ifyourelyingillbeback,” he grunted from ahead, and his friends followed, dragging their feet down the alley.

  “We better hurry,” Sergo whispered. “When they see that the valley’s empty, I have no doubt they’ll retaliate.”

  I dashed for the bar, the lettering above the door flickering from power fluctuations as we neared it. I peered into the dark sky, hearing the angry thrusters as a giant hauler departed from the seaside docks. It soared higher into the atmosphere, and soon the only evidence of its existence was the echoing reverberations through the air.

  “Come on. Fuzz won’t be willing to talk for long,” Sergo said.

  “Why’s that?” I asked, fighting the instinctive urge to cover my nose as we entered the business. The room was mostly packed with locals, many of them shouting at one another as they drank from enormous mugs. Purple liquid sloshed from their drinks onto the floor, the tables, and themselves, but no one seemed to mind. I spotted a circular robot rolling over the ground, avoiding being stepped on as it vacuumed the messy spills.

  “Fuzz has a habit of starting early.” Sergo pointed across the room, where an old Hileo man slouched in his booth. His eyes were closed, and he had five empty mugs in front of him.

  “Great.”

  We crossed the floor, sensing their tension as we passed, but no one gave us any trouble. They must have noticed we were heading for Fuzz. Sergo had said the man was sort of a local legend. From the look of him, he was an old drunk, but I wasn’t here to split hairs.