by Sean Allen
“But of course. I’m afraid smuggling the Serum through systems overrun with the Durax and their minions has affected my manners. In my business, it pays to be invisible.”
The stranger held his robed limbs outward as if he was preparing to embrace his awestruck greeters. By some unseen force, his dark cloak shed from his body with a flutter and disappeared behind him before Talfus could finish drawing a captivated breath. Malo’s already huge eyes were wide with amazement, and both he and Talfus wondered what other gifts Mewlatai minds had at their command.
“Hmph,” grunted the stranger amusedly. “You flatter me, but my race doesn’t possess those types of powers.”
The small fins on either side of Talfus’ neck stiffened as he cocked his head in bewilderment.
“I find that hard to believe,” Talfus said. “I mean, neither of us said a word, but you seem to know exactly what both of us are thinking!”
“I don’t need powers of the mind, master Waadi,” said the stranger, with a hint of annoyance. “Even a Mewlatai cub could read your faces.”
The skin under Talfus’ large eyes flushed with embarrassment.
“Forgive us, Shendo,” said Talfus respectfully, using the ancient, formal greeting for a Mewlatai warrior. “It seems that our socialization skills have also suffered from long years of war with the Durax.”
Somewhat surprised by the amphibian’s knowledge and use of the ancient custom for address, the dark stranger bowed his head, ever so slightly, accepting Talfus’ apology.
“Forgive me for asking, Shendo, but if you can’t move things with your mind, how did you…” Talfus quizzically nodded in the direction of the disappearing robe. The Mewlatai warrior paused for a moment, balancing between irritation and tolerance; then his mouth slowly curled into an amused smirk. Talfus wondered how many of the warrior’s enemies had noticed the perfect contrast between the skin rimming his ebony lips and his gleaming, razor sharp teeth, just before he took their lives. The sight of the warrior’s incisors made Malo tense his muscles in an instinctive response to prepare for danger.
“As you wish, master Waadi.”
Talfus could almost feel time scraping by as they all stood on the plateau, not moving. The tension was agonizing, and Talfus hesitantly thought about asking again, when he noticed it. The cloak appeared just over the Mewlatai’s right shoulder and floated there as if commanded by the arid winds that scoured the barren flattop. The Dissension soldiers were standing resolute in their confusion when a sudden flash of lightning revealed the source of the Mewlatai’s powers of levitation. The black cloak was nimbly grasped in a fifth appendage that originated somewhere on the warrior’s back, and Talfus immediately realized he had forgotten about the legendary dexterity of Mewlatai prehensile tails. It was said that their tails were as strong and as capable as any of their paws and were often tipped with a short dagger when a Mewlatai warrior was in full battle dress.
The Mewlatai was a fraction taller than Talfus, but all physical similarities stopped there. The Waadi was long-limbed and slender, crafted by evolution for swimming at great speeds and distances. The Mewlatai, however, looked as if he was carved from stone. Every exposed surface of his body rippled with hardened muscle. His arms and legs pulsed with power, each culminating in an enormous paw that looked more than capable of wielding Malo’s gigantic battle hammer like it was a Moxen plaything. But even without an instrument of destruction clutched in his skillful grasp, the Mewlatai concealed a lethal weapon: claws as sharp as any sword and as black as death.
“You and your large friend may call me Blangaris.” The warrior spoke in a low growl as he moved stealthily forward. At this distance, Talfus could make out the Mewlatai’s pleated, loose fitting pants and a sleeveless jacket that exposed his arms. Where his attire stopped, Talfus could see large, dark spots beneath Blangaris’ short fur that glimmered with each flash of lightning. The warrior was as dark as a starless night in a desolate system, save for two things: a distinct patch of orange fur burned like a raging sun upon his chest; and this was outshone only by the amber infernos that issued from his eyes as they held Talfus and Malo in their mighty gaze. Talfus found himself fixated on a light discoloration beneath the orange fur on the warrior’s torso and quickly cast his glance downward when he realized he was staring at a large scar. As his eyes fell past the Mewlatai’s waist on their way to the ground, he noticed that there was something missing, and his face twisted with confusion again.
“I thought it would be best to come to you unarmed, as a token of…goodwill.” Blangaris growled this last word more than the others, and a wave of trepidation crept up Talfus’ spine and pierced his mind like a swarm of a thousand stinging wasps.
“I’m sorry, Shendo. But they say that seeing a Mewlatai warrior without his Kaiten sword is like…”
“Seeing him without his tail?!” Blangaris snapped. “I apologize, master Waadi. I thought that coming to you unarmed would help you to better trust me. Perhaps I should board my craft and leave; you and your friends can continue to fight your war without the benefit of the Serum.”
Blangaris had already turned toward the star freighter when Talfus’ desperation overpowered his fear.
“Don’t leave, Shendo!”
Blangaris slowly faced the two Dissension soldiers and held them in a fiery stare.
In his heart of hearts, Talfus knew the Mewlatai had the only weapon that would help level the battlefield against the Durax. If Blangaris boarded his ship, he would take all hope with him and disappear into the ether, never to be seen again.
Chapter 4: Hope and Despair
“Legend has it, the Mewlatai are the only race in the known universe that isn’t affected by the mind-spike of the Durax. How’s that work?”
“We’re all granted our gifts, master Waadi,” replied Blangaris. “The unseen forces that shape our fates don’t answer to mortals, so we don’t bother to inquire. It’s a mystery why we’re immune to the power of the Durax, and that is why they fear us so. Without their powers to aid them in battle, they’re no match for a Mewlatai warrior in hand-to-hand combat. And this is why they’ve come to depend on their…mechanizations.”
Malo shuddered as the thought of the giant killing machines that ravaged his home world instantly turned his thick, warm blood to ice in his veins.
“I’ll grant you the gift of our powers; that is, if your kind will take…but some of you already have. That’s why they sent you, is it not?”
“That’s true,” said Talfus, still a little wary of Blangaris’ mysterious way. “A Waadi Dissenter in the Xenol System was exposed to the Serum and has tested the results in several battles. Apparently, his mind was unscathed despite several Durax advances on his position. He was one of the first to be tested—before and after he was given the Serum—and our brothers in Xenol have been kind enough to give us his mind-scan readouts for verification purposes.”
Talfus didn’t take his eyes off of the Mewlatai as he eased his rifle to the ground and slowly reached into a small satchel fastened to his gun-belt. The Serum testing contents consisted of a small Tiranium crystal readout attached by wires to two round leads that he carefully affixed to either side of his face, just above his cheekbones. Malo cautiously edged closer to his friend and readied his battle hammer as Talfus, now defenseless, stood only inches away from the Mewlatai and prepared to receive the Serum.
“I’m ready, Shendo.”
The Mewlatai slid a huge paw into the folds of his jacket and produced a shiny, metallic device shaped like a small pistol with an elongated opening along the top of the barrel and two cylindrical, clear vials filled with a green solution. Blangaris carefully inserted the first vial into the delivery mechanism. Talfus and Malo both flinched as a small hiss of compressed air signaled that the instrument was armed and ready to deliver its contents.
“It’s most effective when the Serum is injected directly into the heart,” Blangaris said as he placed the device just below Talfus’ ribs on th
e right side of his body; exactly over the beating muscle.
The Mewlatai gave his most menacing grin as the perplexed look returned to Talfus’ flushed, blue face yet again. Blangaris closed his burning eyes, lifting his head to the sky and turning it slightly to one side. He stood perfectly still and seemed to be listening to a distant call only he was able to pick out over the howl of the gathering storm. Eyes still closed, he broke from his reverie as he sniffed the air heavily.
“I can hear your heart beating, master Waadi. I can smell every ounce of sweet blood that courses through its pulsing chambers. I can feel your being radiating from its warm center as it sends your life force out to the farthest reaches of your body and back again…This will all be over soon.”
Talfus couldn’t tell whether the Mewlatai was referring to their rendezvous and the smuggling of the Serum or to the beating of his heart, and the uncertainty gripped him in a vise of terror that he could not escape. Just before he could lurch away, the Mewlatai pulled the trigger on the delivery device. The green fluid rushed into Talfus’ veins, and fear threatened to suffocate the last breath of sanity that whispered through his chaotic mind.
“You will feel…uncomfortable at first. But it will pass,” Blangaris said coldly. Only his eyes moved, as their intense gaze followed the jerking movements of the Waadi soldier in front of him.
A sharp pain stabbed at Talfus’ heart, and he clutched his torso. Malo swayed back and forth in confusion; an uncontrollable song of dread and dismay moaned from his lips like a death wail.
Talfus staggered on his feet. His heart thrashed against his flank like a trapped beast hurling itself at the bars of its cage. Salty tears stung his eyes as he frantically tried to view the readout on the mind-scanner. Then, suddenly, just as quickly as it had wracked his helpless body, the pain subsided. In its stead was a warm, tingling sensation that pulsated outward from his chest and softly caressed the ends of his webbed fingers and toes. Talfus took a deep breath to steady his nerves and straightened the lead wires running from his temples as he grasped the small, glowing screen and waited for the readout to verify that he was now immune to the powers of the Durax.
Malo stopped swaying and stepped closer to confirm his friend’s recovery when the Mewlatai interrupted his advance.
“He’ll soon be released from all of his pain. Your time has come, master Moxen.” Blangaris spoke coolly as he loaded the second glowing tube of Serum into the delivery device.
Malo stiffened as the Mewlatai moved in on him. The Moxen’s primal instincts told him something was wrong, and before the cold, silver injector could find its mark, a scintilla of something flittered past his nostrils. The smell consumed all of his senses and raged through his body like wild fire across a windswept prairie. Malo didn’t see Talfus clutch his throat and crumple to his knees; nor did he witness his friend writhing on the ground as his body convulsed violently just a few feet from where he was standing. Even before Malo’s simple mind could comprehend what his keen senses had uncovered, his battle hammer was speeding toward the spot where the Mewlatai stood wielding his deadly concoction. A putrid stench of rot and decay poisoned his sinuses and seared his throat, its foul vapor saturating every molecule in his body. It was the miserable, filthy smell of millions of decomposing bodies; it was the smell of annihilation. Malo had caught the scent of the Durax!
His battle hammer landed with a mighty crack and the stone beneath crumbled into large pieces of debris and dust. The blow would have obliterated any living thing in its destructive path, but there was only a large indentation in the ground where the Mewlatai had been standing. Malo frantically swung his weapon through the air, searching for his mark. Frothy, white foam coated his lips and glistened in his chin fur as his fearsome battle cries threatened to quell the crashing thunder with each mighty swing of his hammer. He detected a slight movement behind him. Malo summoned all of his strength and sent the hammer to crush the vision into a quivering, bloody mass of flesh and broken bones.
Malo was a fierce warrior, but his efforts were no match for the lethal prowess of the Mewlatai. Before the flying hammer could reach the spot where Blangaris was standing, the Mewlatai met Malo’s lead arm with the strength of ten Moxen warriors. His powerful forearm thrust into Malo’s locked elbow with a sickening crunch as tendons and ligaments tore away from the joint and shredded into a thousand tiny sinews. Before Malo could howl out in pain, the Mewlatai clenched his nearest horn in a viselike grip and kicked Malo’s left knee in a lightning quick move that sent him sprawling, face first, to the ground.
Still gripping the horn, Blangaris pounced on Malo’s back, pinning him down.
“Why! WHY! Hoooaaaauuuummm!” Malo’s shrieks of despair sounded like the haunted wails of a million tortured souls crying out.
“Silence, you simpering child!” roared Blangaris as his gleaming teeth flashed just a hair’s breadth from a large, pulsating artery in Malo’s neck. “I doubt your simple mind can even begin to comprehend my motivation.” He growled and his hatred burned into Malo’s hide like a scorching ember pressed against his skin. “The friend of my enemy is my enemy! Well, master Moxen, you and your rabble of Dissenters have made an alliance with the wrong House. I will destroy the Serum. I will find its maker, and he will discover a new meaning of fury at the edge of my Kaiten. I will slash him to pieces until I no longer have the strength to wield my blade; then I will devour his flesh and savor every last blood-soaked morsel, knowing there’ll be nothing left of his treacherous soul to resurrect and his line of Houses has ended!” Blangaris lapped his blackened tongue over his lips and sucked in sharply through his teeth.
“And after I’ve eaten him, I’ll seek out his offspring and I will end their Houses. I’ll hunt down everyone he has ever cared about, and I will paint my sword with their glistening blood!” Blangaris’ breathing became erratic as he swelled with fury and panted his death plan. “I will destroy anyone who sides with his cause and align myself with all who stand against him. And after I’ve killed everything he has ever loved, I will raze his family temple to the ground and scatter its charred ashes to the furthest reaches of the universe. I will eradicate any trace of the House of Daelekon from the pages of history!”
“Why! WHY! HOOOAAAUUUMM!” Malo cried out again. The Mewlatai raised his arm abruptly, ready to bring it down on Malo’s neck; then he noticed the source of the Moxen’s anguish.
Malo had crashed to the ground directly facing the lifeless body of his only friend. Talfus’ eyes shimmered as dark-blue blood seeped from their corners and moistened his cheeks before falling to the ground and staining the cold, gray stone beneath his corpse. Malo stared helplessly into his friend’s dead features and strained to free his good arm to touch the outstretched fingers of Talfus’ webbed hand.
“Why kill fish man? HOOOOAAAUUMMMAAAAUUUM! Killed fish man…Malo kill you… KILL YOU!” Malo sobbed uncontrollably as he searched his will for the strength to make good on his promise.
“Perhaps you do understand loyalty and betrayal after all,” Blangaris snarled.
“But vengeance favors the mighty....”
The Mewlatai brought his elbow down on Malo’s neck with blinding speed and accuracy. In the split second following Blangaris’ final words, before he was swallowed by darkness, Malo noticed Talfus’ rifle lying on the ground just a few feet away. The little green transponder light wasn’t flashing, and Malo tried desperately to understand why back-up hadn’t shown up yet and why the Dissension lookouts had left them to die.
Chapter 5: Enemies
Blangaris studied Malo’s contorted face as the Moxen tried to stir from his perilous slumber.
“You may wake and think yourself fortunate you didn’t die today. Trust me, master Moxen, you will die…and, unfortunately, it will most likely be at the hands of your friends.”
Blangaris inserted the Serum delivery mechanism into the thick fold of skin at the base of Malo’s neck and watched with cold indifference as the green fluid qui
ckly drained from the clear vial and began its long journey through Malo’s unmoving form.
Blangaris slid the device into the folds of his jacket and turned toward the Zebulon star freighter. He seemed to move unhindered by his physical body, without rigidity. As he flowed like a black, stalking wind toward the elegant ship, he raised his arms, and his cloak returned to his body, shrouding him in complete darkness once again. The engines on the Zebulon spun to life almost as soon as he turned, and their initial high-pitched whine descended to a low purr barely perceptible over the din of the storm.
The sleek craft lifted clear of the ground, and the landing skids retreated silently into their dark recesses. A whiff of silt swirled around the motors as their vortex disturbed the sediment dusting the gray stone surrounding the ship and bit into the humid night air.
The Zebulon rose slowly at first, then ascended more quickly as Blangaris drew closer. The Mewlatai was not frightened by the possibility of being stranded on a desolate, mine-stripped planet and having to answer to the Dissension for murdering one of their best soldiers and seriously wounding another. He made no effort to quicken his pace as he moved silently toward the craft now hovering twenty feet above him and gaining altitude with each passing second.
Blangaris did not look up at the craft to see the starboard gull-wing door begin to close; his heightened sense of hearing could detect the faint sound of the compressed gas mechanism that controlled the portal. Without a single upward glance, the Mewlatai warrior launched himself into the air. He moved so fast it appeared as though the dying planet had cracked open and spat forth a streak of black lightning into the sky.
Thirty feet above the barren plateau, Blangaris gripped the exposed floor of the ship just below the closing gull-wing door. Without hesitation, he pulled himself upward and let loose his grip. With grace and agility unmatched by any other race, Blangaris somersaulted onto the deck of his star freighter, his large, padded paws silently kissing the surface. He remained in his crouched landing position as the portal slid to a close and the Zebulon rocketed into space.