Deviance of Time

by Dan O'Brien

  The forest shadows condensed and a man enshrouded in night’s darkness emerged. He loomed like the apparition of death. The feeble man turned to flee, but not before a scarlet length of cord snapped out faster than the storm’s lightning and wrapped around his exposed throat.

  The man let out one last primordial scream, which was silenced by the unsheathing of a glimmering blade. The shadowy figure snickered as the man’s head rolled effortlessly to the ground; he turned and faded back into the shadows of the forest.

  * * * * *

  The crackle of the fire cast a small glow and two robust men sat by the flames eating their meal in silence. The shadowy figure slithered from the forest into the firelight, which danced along the features of his face, tracing lines of death and despair.

  “Hey boss, did you get him?” asked the heavy-set man closest to the flame.

  “David has been dealt with,” replied the grim figure. “He will no longer share a tie with this institution.”

  “What did you do with him, Kublai?”

  “That is none of your concern. Watch your tongue or you’ll be next.” Kublai retreated to his tent, and the men moved closer to the warmth of the fire.

  Another portly guy, Sam, waddled over to the figures crouched near the fire. The larger of the two motioned, and when Sam neared arm’s length, the man gruffly grabbed his collar.

  “We want more food now, fat ass,” spat the mercenary.

  “Okay, okay,” stammered Sam. “But tell me why Kublai has been so on edge.”

  “Because of the Black Rose, you fat fool,” replied Tenson, the smallest. The mythical Black Rose was a ghost that stalked the land hunting down evil and destroyers of the earth. Sam shook his head and spooned more stew from the pot.

  “I thought the Black Rose was just a story.”

  Sam had a way of annoying the hired mercenaries.

  “He is and he isn’t,” replied Tenson.

  The shadows around the forest shifted, and the unnerving sounds of the night permeated the conversation. They cast panicked glances in all directions, wondering if a monster might actually leap from the darkness. Sleep would come quickly as the fire died down. They would soon realize that their nightmares could not be as disturbing as the reality that stalked their kind.

  * * * * *

  The lithe man looked over the land that was once his home and grimaced. The burned land and destroyed cities had once contained millions. He tied a line to the trunk of a large tree and leapt off the cliff face, casually scaling down its side. He reached the bottom quickly, and once he had footing, he tugged on the line causing the twine to release and twirl to the ground. He wrapped the line around his forearm and stuffed the coil into his backpack.

  The Black Rose, known by many names that struck fear into the core of men, was once a member of the elite Spacehawks squadron, Alpha Zero.

  He was the sole survivor of a small island clan, which was eradicated by the vile gang known as the Crimson Hand many years before Xzin had even begun to be a threat. The Hand was a mercenary society that ruled this land with hatred and spared no one who fell in their path.

  A slight movement far off in the terrain, nothing a normal man would notice, caught the Rose’s eye. He crashed forward into the bushes and crouched out of sight. Four men rushed into the clearing; each bore the tattoo of the Crimson Hand.

  The Rose burst from his hiding place.

  He charged with the ferocity of a wild animal. The first man fell to a slash across the chest from the Flaming Strife. As the Rose brought his sword around, another man attacked. He drew his crossbow and dealt the attacker a bolt to the chest, slamming the man back into the brush.

  The Black Rose rolled by an oncoming downward slash from one of the remaining assailants and stuck him in the abdomen with his left dueling claw. The attacker spun back from the force and crashed into the trunk of a grand oak tree.

  The sword fell from his parched hands.

  The fourth and final man locked eyes with the visage of the Rose, as one looks at Death himself. Wei charged the frozen prey and leapt, kicking the attacker in the head, slamming the delicate human frame against the rocky wall. The man’s neck snapped. Wei mumbled a few meager words to satisfy any pity he felt for the fallen men. He resumed his travel across the battered continent.

  * * * * *

  “All men report to the Collective Hall immediately,” boomed the intercom. The soldiers in the Resistance headquarters scrambled into the large, white room, which resembled an old school auditorium. Their gray uniforms and equally gray attitudes seemed to cast a sour glow over an otherwise pleasant day.

  A man of about forty-five approached the podium when the shuffling of feet subsided. He saluted them and all were seated. The darkness of his eyes seemed to be an extension of the dark shock of hair upon his skull. The drab gray uniform disguised his frame, more portly than in earlier years. He walked casually and at ease, though his thoughts were lost somewhere on the horizon.

  Hario Busho was flanked by a young woman on his left and a large, black man on his right. Mariko Wing was a thin, attractive woman with corrosive eyes and an aura that immediately repelled people, her very being screaming to be left alone. Joseph Grenn was jovial; only confrontational when someone shied his requests.

  “I have bad news to report,” started Hario. “First, our installation in New Paris has been annihilated. I grieve for any loved ones you may have lost in this terrible tragedy. Second, war resources are running low and this means raids of government facilities. Lieutenant Wing and Major Grenn will fill you in on the specifics.”

  “I would like to thank all of you for showing up,” began Grenn, one of the most devoted Resistance members. “Lieutenant Wing and I are looking for volunteers for a raid on the Felnon base. It is adequately supplied with food and the defensive supplies we need.”

  “Any help would be appreciated,” cut in Wing. “Sign up in the administration building. Please do not feel obligated to do so, but if you can spare the time and effort, it would be appreciated.”

  The building slowly emptied leaving Busho, Wing, and Grenn. The trio walked back to a main building, with Grenn in the lead and Wing taking up the rear.

  “We need a large turnout. If something is not done soon, we will not have enough money to operate,” began Busho.

  “It’s true, we are hemorrhaging soldiers and money,” put in Grenn.

  “Enlistment really isn’t an option with Xzin watching our every movement so carefully,” commented Wing, her eyes sullen.

  “Freelancers? They’re willing to do almost anything, and I imagine they would be without political ties,” responded Busho.

  “No,” replied Mariko quickly. “They are not to be trusted. They are the worst sorts of criminals and, for the most part, they will have affiliations with the Crimson Hand. They are more of an enemy than Xzin.”

  “Can we trust the Rose with something like this?” questioned Busho.

  “Maybe but how to we find a ghost?” replied Grenn.

  “Don’t underestimate the Rose. He could find a piece of grain floating in the middle of an ocean,” retorted Mariko.

  “But, can he defeat Russeau, the Crimson Hand, and then liberate our people?” retorted Busho.

  “Who knows? The problem remains the same: we can’t exactly hang a flashing billboard with his name.”

  “True, that would expose both him and our installation. Perhaps we have waited too long, and now the Hand will finally succeed in eroding away the foundation of what we have built here.”

  “We have no choice then. We will find a way to get to the Rose. There is a man I know who might be able to open the correct channels, get a message where we might not otherwise be able.”

  A knock sounded at the door as Busho finished his sentence. Upon Busho’s invitation, a security officer popped his head in and looked at the three of them.

  “Sir, we have an individual that wishes to speak to you in private,” the young officer spo
ke directly to Busho. “Shall I let him in?”

  “Who is it?”

  “A delegate of the Baldorian government: Delgado,” replied the warrant officer.

  “Of course. Let him in,” replied Hario.

  The soldier saluted curtly and exited the room. After his footfalls disappeared, Busho motioned for Wing and Grenn to huddle closer.

  “You two wait in the next room and don’t let your guards down. Who knows what kind of request this might be.”

  They nodded and retreated from the room, doing their best to silence their footfalls. A small man dressed in a dark business suit entered from the opposite end. He carried a small black suitcase, his movements clouded and hurried.

  “I am a messenger from Lord Xzin,” began the decrepit man. “Hector Delgado, personal aide and bearer of much carried out in his name.”

  “How may I be of service?”

  “I have been sent to deliver a message to the leader of the Resistance here on Earth III,” replied Delgado slyly.

  “I am afraid you have been misinformed. I am no freedom fighter.”

  “Our sources indicate otherwise, Hario Busho,” scoffed Delgado, his hands thin and drawn.

  “I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am a soldier in the federated army of Earth III, more than likely the last commanding officer alive this far west.”

  “A most interesting response, but my master’s message is thus: you are to cease your terrorist activities immediately and remove this installation, otherwise you will be dealt with accordingly. The ultimatum is annihilation.”

  “This is not a terrorist installation, or a resistance faction. We are a people’s army. If Xzin feels that people don’t have the right to defend their lands, then that is his problem. Semantics won’t change the horrors he plans to visit on this land.”

  “How very poetic, but you are battling the Baldorian government, the only recognized hierarchy in the universe. I suggest you heed the warning,” sneered Delgado.

  “I don’t know what you hope to gain by acquiring Earth III, but I swear that I will continue to fight for my people until the last breath of my body has been consumed by the cosmos.”

  “Our goals are none of your concern.” There was a distinct note of sarcasm in not addressing Busho by rank, and a cruel sneer carved across the little man’s graven features.

  “Then I imagine we have nothing left to say,” replied Busho, his words filled with the bile and acids that churned in the coils of his body.

  “You are correct. There will be no further talk. You have received my master’s instructions, and you are free to do what you like. But I warn you, Xzin has destroyed entire worlds and he will not hesitate to see your pathetic faction dissolved from this universe.” With those threats, Delgado exited the room, his hunched frame disappearing around the corner.

  Wing and Grenn emerged from the shadows.

  “What can we do, sir?” asked Grenn.

  “Sir, you look as if everything has fallen around you.” Mariko craned her neck around the corner to see the departing image of Delgado and wondered what the little man had said to her leader.

  “Give the evacuation signal,” replied Busho, his gaze unwavering. “We have to leave now.”

  “We have nowhere else to go,” replied Mariko, astounded by the finality in her leader’s words.

  “It must be done. Grenn, sound the evac alarm now.”

  Grenn stared at his hero, dumbfounded, wondering why they would abandon their only safe house, why they would leave their hard work unfinished. The resolve in his general’s eyes prompted him to nod his head simply.

  “Understood, sir,” was all that he could muster.

  He knew better than to go against Busho’s judgment. The duo saluted and exited the office. Busho sat alone, contemplating his options. What wild card could he still play? He could hear the echoing screech of the evacuation signal, as well as the hurried footfalls of the first people to evacuate. He flipped his transmitter on and activated the number of the one man he knew could change the tide of this war, once and for all.

  * * * * *

  Wei approached Buojing and frowned when he saw the military brigade that had fastened itself to the town entrance. As he neared, a leader emerged from the group and was identified as Lieutenant Jerald by RAVEN, the integrated computer that had been linked into Wei’s cerebral cortex. He stopped when the barrel of a rifle touched his chest.

  “Identification,” growled the lieutenant menacingly, his rifle ready to ignite the man without prejudice.

  “Here,” replied Rose, handing him a clear plastic card with black writing scrawled across it.

  “So how are you doing today?” The man looked down at the identification card, searching for the man’s name, “Mr. Taksion. What are your plans today, sir?”

  “A couple hours of shopping,” replied Wei casually. He did not want to spark any suspicion in the minds of the imbecile soldiers scattered about the hillsides.

  “Alright, move along.”

  “Thank you, lieutenant.”

  The lieutenant cast a puzzled look, but waved Wei through, focusing on the person who had arrived next. He allowed himself a small smile. Soldiers were far too easy to deceive.

  He walked through the bustling metropolis of Buojing and waltzed toward the tan building marked with faded letters scrawled across the wall. It was the same as any other bar in the galaxy.

  It had a wretched stench that adhered to your clothing, and the air was always thick with smoke and burning incense. The relative darkness of the tavern hid the true likenesses of the people, and it allowed the most criminal beings a place to hide.

  Nonetheless, the Rose found the man he was looking for.

  A short, plump man leaned against the bar as if his feet might collapse beneath him at any moment. His name was Fusen, and he was Wei’s most trusted associate on this world. Rose walked stealthily up behind the man and grabbed his shoulder gently.

  “How are you doing, old man?” whispered Wei, almost knocking Fusen over with surprise.

  “You almost gave me a heart attack,” the startled man grinned.

  “Anything interesting about the Baldor presence here?”

  “Oh yeah, I went out to the landing platform outside of town and there were soldiers all over the place with assault rifles. Each wore a Baldorian uniform. There is also a message for you from Hario Busho. He said you guys were old friends from before the war.” Wei turned his head in bewilderment at the mention of Busho’s name.

  “What did you say the name was?”

  “Hario Busho. Yeah, I thought it was strange, too. I never heard of him.”

  “What did he want, this General Busho?”

  “Well, at first he asked for Captain Jonathon Wei, but I told him I never heard of anyone by that name. Wait, I never said anything about him being a general.” Fusen furrowed his brow and looked at the Rose. “He used your frequency. He was really pushy and demanded that I give a message to the bearer of the frequency. Are you okay?”

  “Never mind. What did he say?”

  “He said: give him the message no matter what he calls himself.” Fusen stopped talking and merely stared at the man known as the Black Rose.

  “What was the message?”

  “He said he needed to see Jonathon Wei immediately and that it was a matter of life and death.”

  “Very well. Is my bike out back?”

  “Yeah, of course. What’s the problem, boss?” Fusen’s voice wavered slightly.

  “Nothing, nothing at all, my friend. Where was the message transmitted from?”

  “Dakison.”

  “I’m leaving right away, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. You should disappear for a while. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

  “But, boss.”

  “This is something I must do.”

  “Who is this Busho anyway? I’ve never heard of him.”

  “A very old friend.”

  “Why now?”


  “He never would have radioed if it wasn’t an emergency, and it would be best if I was on my way.”

  Fusen nodded meekly and started to speak, but held his tongue. Rose pushed through the back exit and slid onto his jet bike, firing up the energy thrusters. Memories of years past floated back and he relived a time when he was Jonathon Wei – a time when dignity still permeated the galaxy. Even though he had disagreed with many of Hario Busho’s tactics so many years ago, time heals all wounds. He raced forward, brooding about the horrors awaiting him.

  “The water of life flows through every man, woman, and child that walks the earth. How you choose to taint the water is no concern of mine.”

  -The Clan of the Branded

  “Father, Wei is returning to the resistance,” said Kublai as he knelt before a graven figure upon a polished bronze throne.

  “With his help they could become a great threat to our relationship with our grand master, Xzin,” replied Wan Russeau, the aging figurehead of the Crimson Hand.

  “That is why I came to you. He must be dealt with.”

  “Agreed.”

  “The delegate came. The one Xzin calls Delgado.”

  “There were words then. Perhaps an ultimatum.”

  “What shall I do?”

  “You will take a squadron of our most accomplished assassins. Dispose of the Black Rose and the others.”

  “As you wish, father.” Kublai bowed gracefully and rose to his feet. He stalked from the room leaving his father to his blissful solitude.

  Kublai entered the brightly lit compound and raised his gloved hand, summoning his grandest warriors and motioning for them to board the waiting transport. It lifted into the sky without error and careened off, setting course for Dakison via the brutal deserts that surrounded the city. The men shared stories of the cruel heat that dominated the deserts and of aliens that roamed the badlands.