The Ghost of Sephera

by J. D. Tew

  “Buzz off,” I said in return, and snapped my hoodie back up.

  I pushed through the crowds to the castle. Whipped sand stung my hand as I grabbed the rail leading to the gate. Looking up, I saw that not only were they adding to the wall in front, but the castle was receiving its fair share of renovation.

  The only way I could get into the castle, was by using my ID card; I was previously the castle’s in-house medic and botanist, which was a façade devised by King Trazuline to facilitate my insertion into Theodore’s crew.

  Hiking up the stairs to the gate, I requested entry, hoping that my old ID badge would do the dupe. “I’m just going to do my regular rounds today,” I stated, trying to gain access through the main entrance. The gatekeeper was unfamiliar to me and he seemed uptight.

  “What is your business here?”

  “I’m just the house medic and botanist. I’m not here as medic today; I just need to check on the deflicontis trees to ensure they are being properly cared for. It’s my duty, sir.”

  “Fine. Let me see that badge.”

  “Here.” He examined the badge incredulously.

  “Well. I have to say I’m surprised the house medic is free to leave the castle. It’s strange to me, but regardless, you won’t be able to fart in your pants without alarming the vigilant Dietons, not to mention the palace is occupied by Zane’s troops. With that being said, I don’t see a problem with your access.”

  I walked down the long staircase, in search of anyone who could help.

  “Hey, have you seen Xalag?” I asked a passing Rangier. He snorted and told me to check near the conference hall. The hall was far from elegant. The king’s absence was clearly having an effect on the grandeur of the castle. He would be so ashamed if he were here today.

  The hall’s ceiling was lovingly adorned with several chandeliers displaying harvested native crystals. The beautiful light display livened up the dark corners of the hall of entertainment where alcohol flowed freely for the King’s guests. The room smelled of sweaty skin and bad food; it always reminded me of the many hours I had spent there, hobnobbing with the hundreds of friends and outstanding citizens who, by virtue of recognition by their King, were allowed in the castle. Before the days of Zane’s takeover, King Trazuline showed that he loved a good party, although the secure areas of the castle—where he kept a close eye on Theodore and crew—were heavily guarded and nearly impossible to breach. I hadn’t been in the castle for some time now, and I missed the collegial atmosphere that had existed at one time.

  I approached the court where food was served. People seated themselves to heaping portions of hot food, including sugar glazed roast beast drumsticks, breaded and fried varmint meat, and shredded red tuber upside-down casserole. As they did before, diners threw chewed-down bones into the gutters lining up near the inside walls. The stench of old grease from fried mogliats and dog ears assaulted my olfactory senses, reminding me of one stimulus that I wished to keep hidden deep within the recesses of my memory.

  I could see the table with Xalag, acting master of the castle. There are two things you never do around a Karshiz commander like Xalag. Never interrupt them when they are sharing an anecdote, and never treat them as an ordinary citizen. In mid-gesture a heavily weighted hand: a coarsely coated hairy hand, delivered a slap against my face. Xalag was telling a story and I unfortunately stepped in the way of his animated story-telling. Recoling from the stinging slap, I growled, “Watch out, you carpeted golomon!” A few guards popped upward quickly to restrain me. One slammed the butt of a laser rifle into the side of my thigh, causing me to drop to the floor in agony.

  “What did you just say to the Commander? You gotta death wish?”

  I knew there was only one way to salvage my mission. Grovel.

  “I’m sorry, sire. I was told you wanted to see me? This is Nilo.”

  The Commander relaxed perceptibly at hearing my name. “About time! Excuse us for a moment men... and lady. I must have a word with this merc alone!” he exclaimed. The table-mates dispersed into the crowd. “Zane has given me orders to pass on to you, seeing that all our time traveler mercenaries have fled from this planet.”

  “Zane?” I was confused. I thought, was this a trap?

  Xalag could read my mind. “Yes, this time, Zane is in need of your services. He is willing to spare your life this one time, to render him a valuable service in his war of attrition against Odion.”

  “What is it?” I say, bewildered. Against Odion? This was huge.

  The Commander closed his eyes and sighed. “You have to hurry. We got the intelligence hours ago. Ted’s life is in great danger, and he may be dead any moment. We estimate that a plot to kill Theodore could occur within the hour—given all of our scouting intelligence. Here is a digifile. It is programmed with a countdown. You must reach Theodore before the time runs out. My detectives estimate the assassin will have to cover more ground than you. We will place you very close to the young messiah, so you must be at the top of your game. We are wasting time.”

  “Ted?’ I mutter. ‘Theodore Crane?”

  “Someone’s after Ted, we got information that a time travel violator, identity unknown, has departed to Planet Earth, to head to Texas, United States of America. The date he sought was the seventh day of August, 2001.”

  “How do you know? Why Ted?”

  “The time travel chronologer told us that there was a path laid in place, and it was initiated only a few hours ago. We don’t know for sure he’s after Ted, but think about it, Nilo. Why Earth? Who would have the knowledge and the motive to take such a risky path?”

  “Yes, Ted is from Earth,” I say, my mind working furiously. “But so are his team members.”

  “We’re ahead of you,” Xalag said, peering into my eyes. “We did very basic detective work, using our time travel super monitors. They researched Earth’s database, and we’ve discovered that Ted’s family lived in Texas in 2001. He was not even one year old.”

  I was stunned. The ramifications were staggering. This was a highly political, exceedingly well-planned coup. And I’d just walked into the muck of it.

  “What must I do?” I asked, my eyes wide at the daunting undertaking I was about to take on.

  Xalag grabbed me by the collar, pulling me closer to him, and barked, “Protect Theodore at all cost. We will instruct for an opening to be available in twenty morgets at the Ratchen Klumget. Ask for Jugoel when you arrive. Do not inform the Council, as they have no love for Theodore. If you inform the Council, you can bet they will destroy it immediately, with you in it if necessary. Above all, do not let anything happen to Ted!”

  “Go, there’s no time to lose!” He yelled, shoving me to the ground. I pushed through some bystanders that were huddled by the commotion of an angry Commander. Hurrying up the stairs, I left, hoping that I could make it to the Ratchen Klumget in time.

  As I ran across the bazaar, searching for the bar I had frequented often as a patron, back then just barely of legal age, I weighed my options.

  I still wanted the time machines destroyed. After what happened to my mother, after seeing how nefariously Odion used them in his wars with the aim of wiping out his most formidable opponents, and after seeing the sickening effects of countless merges, I was driven by the compulsion to destroy every single damned infernal time machine in the galaxy.

  But—I needed the time machine to save Ted.

  Which was more important? Ted, or the fabric of time?

  My thoughts clashed, fought, and battled one another within the confines of my mind, giving me a splitting headache. In addition, my lungs were raw from oxygen depletion as I furiously sprinted through the bazaar, with horrific images of Theodore dying—or phased out as he disappeared in the blink of an eye.

  As I ran through the crowded marketplace, unknown to me, two pairs of unfriendly eyes followed my path. I glanced at the digifile, seeing that I had only eighteen morgets left.

  Not aware of the danger stalking me, I p
ondered some more. My informing of the Council meant the Dacturons’ ability to time travel would cease, as once the Council locks on a transmission, it can deactivate the time traveling device. I was running and out of breath.

  Again, I thought, what was more important?

  The fabric of time.

  Or Theodore?

  As I approached the familiar hell-in-a-hole bar, I grinned. I had the answer! I would not choose between the two options.

  I would do both. I would take one more quick spin through that hellish time machine, save Theodore, and then end all the time travel. Both devices needed to be destroyed. The device I was to travel through, plus the device that this time travel violator used in order to stalk Theodore as an infant.

  Xalag warned me not to contact the Council about the mission. He wanted to hold on to this strategic asset that he had cunningly stashed away in the hidden enclosures of a drinking tavern. He wanted it so badly for the war against Odion. So did King Trazuline.

  The hell with it. I would decide for myself. Above all, Ted was paramount.

  I brought up my communication with the Council through my issued graphene slate communicator.

  “Seven-two-nine-botto-sianga this is six-four-eight-botto-fomot, over.”

  “Six-four-eight-botto-fomot this is seven-two-nine-botto-sianga, go ahead with transmission, over.”

  “I need Council intervention—break... I have identified possible Dacturon and Urilian time travel devices—break... Monitor Karshiz and Dacturon sectors for transmission to Earth, August 7th, 2001, over.”

  “Land coordinates?”

  “I don’t have the exact coordinates—break,” I said, splitting my messages, as it was lengthy. “I will make contact with one of said devices within the hour—break. Do not, I repeat, do not look for these devices until I let you know when I’m ready.”

  “Affirmative—out.”

  Xalag would be furious that I betrayed him, but all in good time. The clock was ticking and I was at the Ratchen Klumget just in time.

  14 NILO: CATALYTIC CONFRONTATIONS

  The Ratchen Klumget was a bar nestled in the center of the Karshiz bazaar that usually buzzed with drunkards. I rushed in and snagged my hoodie on one of the rusty hooks on the wall down from the super retro doors. The light of the room was commanded by an archaic lamp that swayed from the inflowing breeze.

  I spotted a woefully skinny dog lapping up spilled beer on the rotting floor. In the corner, was a man sprawled against the wall—hopefully merely inebriated into slumber, rather than awaiting his transport to the mortuary. Another man was slumped over one of the dining tables, his rear end still firmly planted on the rickety bench.

  The slapdash ambience consisted of a glow that radiated from a pattern of interlocking lights fastened to the ceiling. Having finished licking up the puddle of beer, the drunk dog was continuously barking at me rabidly, curling its upper lip above its fangs. I had to yell over the dog’s ruckus to be heard.

  “Jugoel! Goodanion, is Jugoel here?” I asked, loud and in a hurry. The man that was sleeping on the tabletop rose up to accost me, irritated at being awakened.

  “What do you think? There’s a fat broad behind the bar. Ha-ha! Is it really that hard to figure out? Grab a drink.”

  Disbelieving, I placed my hand on the anti-teetotaler’s shoulder, grasping a handful of his cloth jacket. ‘Thanks for nothing. Mind your beer... scum!’

  I never spent any time at bars in Karshiz for the simple fact that they were full of nobodies. I had never met Jugoel, but a woman that was as large as a Bilovian Dragon rounded the corner of the bar to assume the role.

  “Are you the Rangier K.T. sent?” she asked. Beads of sweat dripped off her short hair and she licked the corner of her mouth to arrest their descent. She looked about as anxious as I was.

  “Yeah, I’m Nilo. Where can we talk? We must hurry,” I asked. I looked at the digifile. Only ten morgets left.

  “Come on back,” she said, while disappearing around the corner. I followed to gain access to the time machine. As I walked around the corner, through a door to enter a dust-filled office, the blade of a double handled axe was thrust against me, just stopping in mid-air. The dull but lethal blade tickled my neck and threatened to give the stubble of my beard a good shave. The time travel policing service I provided was full of hazards, and it wasn’t the first time I found a weapon at my throat. It was Jugoel manhandling the axe. Her stink was putrid and vile. While she did not intend to carry out her threat, she wanted to impart a message in no uncertain terms: she meant business.

  “Don’t even think about dropping projection orbs in my bar, Rangier. You’re lucky I don’t kill you now for clambering in here so obvious. The Dacturons were here looking for you earlier. They asked for a Rangier matching your description.”

  “What’s your play here?” I asked.

  “Nilo, you say?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Well Nilo, you see this?” She thumbed aside a frilly lapel adorning her neck to reveal a tattoo on the upper region of her breast; this tattoo was a common mark of the Opposition, two triangles interlocked. Most supporters were proud of their own involvement, but many of them kept their allegiance under wraps to avoid becoming cannon fodder. “I have been stowing the last unguarded time machine here in my bar. Trazuline moved it here months ago. The boys are looking for you... bounty hunters, I’m sure of it.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise, knowing now that King Trazuline was managing this mission. Xalag was clever to obfuscate me, given my mixed feelings toward the former monarch. And now, with the countdown imposed upon me, I knew I was hooked.

  “Then let’s get to it.”

  Then we both heard cries from the tavern, chanting, “We want the manager! We want the manager!” The voices were hostile and jeering.

  Jugoel glanced at me in consternation. “I better go check it out.”

  ‘I’m with you,’ I said. I figured if there would be trouble, I better protect the gatekeeper to the time machine. We both strode back into the beer-smell-infested atmosphere of the bar.

  “Duck!” Jugoel shouted.

  Two Dacturon assassins started firing at me from their standing position. I ducked from the incoming phaser fire, diving under the tables. Like a woman possessed, Jugoel ran up to cut off their advance, her axe ready to strike. She maniacally hacked away at one of the assassins, severely crippling him, leaving him to die like a wounded animal.

  In the middle of the tumult, the oversize stray dog snapped into berserk mode, clamping on my arm with its massive jaws as if it were snatching a rag doll. Flooded with contempt for this mangy beast, I jabbed my elbow into its noggin, sending it howling with pain. As Jugoel shrieked like a madwoman, pursuing the other Dacturon space-hunter, he ducked behind an upturned table and screamed, “Back off, woman!” His face twisted by an expression of lewdness, he menacingly held up a plasma grenade.

  “A gift from Odion,” he said, as if The Evil Omnian was doing us a favor by offering death. The assassin lobbed the grenade, then immediately turned to sprint toward an exit. The spoon from the grenade separated as it left his hands and the now-armed grenade arced towered us.

  I desperately scrambled for cover. Diving through the air, I tackled Jugoel’s massive figure, helping her to evade the ticking bomb. The blast slammed us into the wall, sending us sprawling. An inferno of intense force and heat seared our backs. As flames consumed my jacket, I tore it off, panting. The unbearable pain from the second-degree burns on my arms, torso, and legs caused me to wince in agony.

  Shutting the pain out, I whipped out my phaser and took dead aim at the fleeing Dacturon. Aiming for center-mass, I blasted his neck, causing him to crumple to the floor, dead.

  Next I turned to the fallen barmaid to assess her wounds. Blood spurted from numerous dime-shaped holes riddled throughout her white blouse. I gently lifted up her head so that she could breathe better. Her words were short, but effective. Through the gargle of blo
od she said, “Behind the bar... under the mug…” A spasm rocked her body, and she gasped with a shudder. “It’s okay,” I told her, “I know.”

  “Doviont—go now!” One last convulsion, and she was gone.

  After closing her dead staring eyes with my fingers, I kissed her on the forehead and then wiped her sweat from my lips. It was the best I could do to thank her. All the patrons inside the bar had fled, allowing me to walk undetected into the back room behind the bar. Time was running out fast, and these assassins had slowed my rush to save Ted.

  Inside the secluded room at the back of the bar, I spotted the sole beer mug in that room and lifted it by the handle. A recessed blue button lay underneath it. As I pressed it, a spiral staircase magically appeared underneath the floor as a trapdoor receded. My heart beating rapidly, I descended the tiny staircase, its steps so steep that I thought I would slip. The secret passageway was cold and dark, and I hunched over to pass through under the low ceiling.

  The floor was wet and smelt of old liquor and dirty mugs. I approached a clearing where a broken light flickered, and beside it, the time machine powered up as I got closer. Its sophisticated design and Urilian stamp cleared away my doubts. I sat down on the velvety ergonomic chair within the chamber, and the hypersensitive burns upon my body elicited forward a pain response.

  The digifile read two morgets and I knew I had seconds left before I would miss my contact on Earth. But I had used time machines countless times before, and I knew what to do. My expertise would shave off precious seconds.

  Comfortably seated, I pressed the correct button, and the door slid shut quickly. I pulled my graphene tablet out; graphene was a substance two hundred times stronger than steel. I spoke through my transmitter to the Council, “Engaging now. Will advise of exact location and make voice contact once I return. Over,” and prepared to catapult into the fabric of time. Involving the council was necessary to ensure public documentation of my actions.