Merker's Outpost

by I. Christie

  Over-indulged bigots. They should have studied their own research on the repeated application of pain. The body eventually adapts to constant pain stimulation and soon, the pain is perceived as pleasure.

  A laugh started at the back of Alan's throat and soon he was rocking back and forth with his arms wrapped around his body, laughing mirthlessly until what he was laughing about was forgotten.

  Suddenly he jumped up from the chair, clearing the top of his table with a sweep of his arm, pushing everything onto the chair he had vacated, demonstrating some control in his madness. Anxiously he spread his small stick pieces out on his cleared table. Each piece represented a person and a place. Only he knew what each represented. It helped him put plans together and see how they would work to his liking. He giggled in a high-pitched voice as he mentally likened what he was doing to the corner bone thrower.

  Chapter 27

  Alan had called for his personal flyer two weeks later. He was leaving Hemmitt behind to handle his end of the family business, while he took care of his little web of information gathering on those he wished to do harm. The cost was a substantial amount of credits so Alan's expectations were high.

  Alan rocked back and forth in his pilot's chair as he hummed a little tune. The humming kept him from thinking of some things that the chip would punish him for. Alan had no idea where he was going; Slinger set the destination. It was to protect the channeler, no doubt. Alan gloated to himself. The channeler had respect for him. People did things for his father because he had money. Alan had the real power - fear. It was a greater motivation than money. He knew this because he feared his father and knew just how powerful that was. He continued to rock while he thought of his childhood and Rene. He liked Rene. She listened to him and told him jokes.

  "The freak!" he shouted suddenly. The pain was instant and expected. He had it down to what thought caused what intensity of pain. He used it as a stimulant. A grim line formed on his lips that passed for a smile. He will teach those scientists. He had a plan. Alan kept rocking himself lost in darkness where there were no thoughts, just a numbing blackness. He had found this place after the chip had been implanted and while his body endured hour after hour of pain as he fought the program, another part of himself was here, nice and safe. He was furious he had agreed to the implantation and furious at the weakness in him that had thought he should have to pay for Rene's death.

  Like quicksilver, his mood changed. His Rene. This metradame she now was, was not his. This was a real…"Freak!" he screamed again. However, he lacked the feeling behind it. He suddenly became worried. What if the chip no longer would respond to his thoughts? He would be alone. No, it was there. He could make it work. His thoughts turned to his nemesis, Lady Harriet Montran. Thinking of her never failed to bring him pain. She thought she was better than his Rene.

  "She would not die!" he screamed to the computer console. The pain did not fail him. He kept raging, letting the pain take him. He would pay her back. He knew he could get her. However, that freak would not let him have her. She kept watch over her.

  "You're probably fucking her, you freak!" he shouted again. His fantasies of what he wanted to do stopped before he could start them. The chip would not allow him to think of physically harming Lady Harriet. He fumed. Nevertheless, he would get around that. He had in the past. The chip had a specific recognition for any memory of her but he was use to the pain and was able to think along some lines of her before he had to break off from too much stimulation.

  The computer chimed. Alan woke up with a start. The computer chimed again. Where was he?

  "What do you want?" he yelled.

  "What do you want?" a quiet voice asked him.

  "Are you the channeler?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Well if you are you should already know what I want!"

  "You want someone located. A young woman. Your sister."

  "She's supposed to be dead!" he shrieked. The pain of the chip sent a chill to his heart. They lied to him. Did Rene know too? He would ask the freak. Yes, he would ask her, the treacherous beast. His Rene would not lie to him…but the freak would. He now only had the freak. His bodyguards should have protected her, he thought angrily, slamming his fist down on an unpadded part of the chair. That was what they had been hired for. They failed in their job.

  "Where is she?" he suddenly asked in a soft voice.

  "Where you left her. Your time is up."

  "What do you mean my time is up? I am paying you. Your time is up when I tell you it's up!"

  The communication was cut and his ship started to go into a free spin. Alan as usual was not sitting in the chair but rather balanced on the arm as he talked. As the ship dropped its gravity, Alan started to raise and spin as well.

  "Stop! Stop! You will get paid."

  He dropped to the ground as the normal gravity level returned, his leg tangling with the armrest of his pilot seat. Angrily he drew himself up and flopped into the seat, his face growing red.

  "You have three seconds to hit your transmit button. If it does not go through, you and your ship will be all alone out here until some other stray ship happens by."

  Alan hit the transmit button, adjusting his collar that had become too tight. He liked this channeler. He will have to use him again. After five minutes, his ship powered back up and headed back to his office. On the return trip, Alan was rocking back and forth wildly as he skirted around the issue of what to do about his sister still being alive. He was not in the mood for any more jolts of pain. He wanted to go back to his stick pieces. They were what told him that she was still alive. Yes. Now that he had figured out how to word the question or to puzzle out the answers, the answers have never been wrong.

  ***

  Dr. Sharon Teal received a message from Alan two days later asking about his sister that he had poisoned. Sharon did not bother answering it but she did warn those on MageWield that he knew she was alive. She sighed. He was getting better at this game he insisted on playing. She had seen him in her astral travels playing with his stick pieces, moving them about and muttering to himself. It was not time yet for him to inflict his sickness on some of those that he had drawn into his web. Harriet did not have enough strength.

  ***

  For a while, Alan was bedeviled with small things that kept getting in his way and sidetracking him from his plans. However, he was persistent. Alan was spending another afternoon raving at everything and destroying anything in sight. Hemmitt did not try to calm him down. He had decided not to stay out the contract years and at his next pay, in three days, he would be gone. He had seen Alan smugly play with his sticks. He knew what they were. He had his own soothsayer he jokingly called her. She had given him the information he needed and she cut ties with him. She did not want to be seen in Alan's dark cloud.

  His desk chimed, indicating Alan was calling for him. A dark chill climbed up his spine. It was just as the soothsayer had said it would feel…dark and slimy. Hemmitt shivered and then quickly rose from his desk. He quietly closed and locked his door behind him, and then left the building through the underground corridor to avoid being seen. He abandoned his planned escape and used his wits. He had used them before he got a job with Alan and he could use them again. His destination was where he had sent his family, in the Collective's territories out of Alan's reach. He would send an agent to retrieve his funds he had been saving a little later. Alan would not be able to legally take him to court for not fulfilling his contract because he was smart enough to have documented Alan's breaches with sanity and sent the information to a lawyer on a planet Alan had no influence on, in Collective space.

  ***

  "Well, where is he?" Alan demanded. The pale part time help was shaking with real fear. His fear was so palatable that it excited Alan. He toyed with the frightened man until he remembered his father's warning. If he lost another employee, he was on his own. No one wanted to work for him.

  "All right get out, you fool!" He waved the
man out. He marveled at his power to make grown men lose control of their bowel functions. He sniggered to himself. He would have to get Slinger to look for Hemmitt. Yes, that was what he would do.

  Urots tits! Hemmitt has the calling cards.

  Since Alan periodically destroyed things in his office, Hemmitt kept copies of everything that was important in his office. Alan left his office and made his way to Hemmitt's office. The door was locked.

  Now, who has the key? Security. Of course.

  "Mr. Fermin, you have a call on your private line. It's your father."

  Alan looked up guiltily. Did his father know that he had stopped taking his medication again? Quickly he returned to his office and before he picked up the line, he measured out his medications and shot them in his arm one by one.

  "Father!" he gulped as one gave him heartburn. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting." His head started to buzz. That was from another of the medications. Without thought, he tapped his left eye where it was most annoying.

  "I was just looking over the…"

  "Alan, I want to see you now. I'm at the Hilltop. And stop babbling!" The picture of his father faded.

  Now what was happening? Annoyed, Alan quickly pulled out his pieces. What was going on? he muttered to himself. He pushed them about annoyed. Something was wrong here. Why were things not looking familiar? He kept pushing them around trying to let his mind relax and see what was shown him. Angrily he swept them to the floor and stomped on one of the pieces. One of the chemicals started affecting his mood. Collapsing back into his chair he closed his eyes and let the soothing comfort it elicited move into him. He hated this feeling. There was nothing of interest that happened in this quiet state. This had been the longest he dared to be off his meds. How long was it? His mind started to clear as another chemical kicked in. Yes, he could understand a lot of things. It was frightening at what he knew. He got up and picked up his pieces. He would take them with him. It angered his father when he saw him play with his little figures but he did not have to know he had them with him. He did not want to be without them for too long and his father's meetings usually took weeks. His little pieces were his little messengers.

  Where was his little Hemmitt? he wondered as he searched around the desk. He looked at his clock and realized a stan hour had passed. His father would be asking why he had not called in his flight plan yet. Damn him! He meant it for both men.

  His interoffice communication line buzzed. "Mr. Fermin, your father is asking when you plan on leaving?"

  Alan did not believe his father asked. His father never asked. His hands shook as he realized he would have to leave a piece behind. Did Hemmitt take it? No, he could not have. His box of figures was always near him…except…except that one time when he went to see the channeler. Alan grimaced at this lapse in awareness of his little people. He glumly looked around once more. Fear of his father overrode his need to find the missing piece. It would have to wait until he got back. Then he would move all the furniture to find it, he told himself reassuringly.

  Tucking his box firmly under one arm and grasping it securely with the other, Alan gave a voice command for his office door to lock, a clear indication for the cleaning staff he never saw to not enter his room. Quickly he left the building, forgetting to call ahead to have his ship readied for travel. Hemmitt usually took care of such details for him. He also had failed to remember to call for transportation. He was too calm to rant at the part time help for failing to know what was needed. Instead, he handled each task one-by-one, focusing on that one task until completed and then going to another.

  As the full effect of the chemicals coursed through his system he was able to arrange to have his ship readied and supplied for two weeks travel without causing a scene at the docking yard. However, beneath the calm exterior he was cursing Hemmitt, though not able to plan his demise at this stage of the drug action. He remembered to send his father a message that his ship was being prepared and he would be there as soon as he could. Another advantage about the chemicals was that he could talk directly to his father without his voice quivering. He often thought of this frustrating aspect in his relationship with his father that whether on his meds or off he feared him. Sighing at the complexity of this disturbing problem, he reminded himself he had things to do. After registering his flight plan and getting his flight slot he returned to his residence to pick up some personal belongings, then spent the rest of the time in his ship catching up on reports so that he would be prepared for what his father would invariably bring up, the business.

  Two stan hours later a welcomed chime interrupted his struggle with a very boring report.

  "This is Ship Ahoy at your aft bringing you fresh supplies and tasty treats. Prepare yourself for insertion!" the jaunty bot announced over the com channel.

  Alan leaned over to the control panel and tapped a button that would shut the alarms down for that section when the hull was breached. He checked a meter to be sure the supplies he ordered were loaded. Satisfied, Alan returned his thoughts back to the family business, the report forgotten. He thought about his contributions to his father's holdings. While he was in his psychotic state, he was able to see patterns in things, which the meds blocked out. Alan was sure his father was aware of it for he did not press him as much as he used to about taking his meds. He was only adamant when Alan went into public or for official business.

  Chapter 28

  Five months had passed since Alan's father had summoned him to tell him that Lord Chaney felt their petition for a seat on the Galactic Committee of Families and Communities was dead due to his problems. Alan had thought his father would be devastated and retributive towards him but he should have remembered that he was a businessman who made a fortune before his third child arrived and knew how to roll with losses. It was the only clue he had that his father valued his abilities over a seat on the GCFC, the Committee's lower floor.

  Alan paced in his small craft as it made its way to the frontier where he had another meeting with the channeler. Once his father let go of the notion to belong to the Committee he started a plan to destroy the one he felt responsible, Hadrian DeMonte. Lord Chaney had pointed out that Lord DeMonte made a motion on the floor to dismiss their name from the list as unacceptable. Of course, Lord Chaney omitted that he and the rest of the counsel agreed without any argument. That information Alan got from his spy, but he did not want to further anger his father.

  His father wanted Lady Harriet Montran, Lord Hadrian's sister. It would kill his spirit, his father had told him. The problem with this announcement to Alan was he wanted Harriet Montran for himself. Another reason why Alan did not tell him about Lord Chaney. Lord Chaney had connections he did not and had somehow managed to legally kidnap Harriet Montran who had left Collective space to visit her family.

  For three months, wearing her physically and psychically down, they had her wandering space without any contact with family or friends. They had effectively isolated her. Meanwhile he had other business to attend to. He found another channeler that had the ability to enter into the dreams of others and he needed to make sure he knew where his loyalties were. Jeriad had been working for him now for a month and from what his spies told him, he was ruffling the feathers of those he had been paid to disturb.

  He picked up his notebook again and tried to decipher his handwriting from when he was in his psychotic state. He knew it was what he was intending to do to Harriet Montran once she was in his possession. He was going to have her turned into a metradame! He wanted her to be aware that she was his. Her memories were not going to be wiped. He wanted her conscious of her powerlessness to deny him anything he asked, no… whispered to her to do. Maybe even kill her brother…and his siblings. Then he would watch what it was like for an empath to kill. He heard they experienced the same pain their victim did…he would make sure he taught her how Decker tortured his victims. He could feel a sexual thrill starting but the pain from his implanted chip brought the feelings to a sudden stop.


  A small beep on his communicator brought him to the present.

  "Yes?"

  "Alan. It's Decker. The bitch got away on Merker's Outpost! Ya gotta get these Spartans outta here. They're lookin' for her and you can't trust them," the voice whined.

  Alan felt the color drain from his face and his heart stop. He bit back a sardonic reply. That news did not seal Decker's fate for he was already living on borrowed time. One thing at a time, he told himself calmly.

  "Were did she escape to?"

  Decker recognized the dangerously calm voice as scary trouble.

  "Somewhere surface-side, out in the sand. But I fixed her suit so she can't breathe good air. It's just a matter of time before I find her body. I got my people out searching the area for her now. But…if the Spartans find her…"

  "That's a pretty big planet, Decker," his boss reminded him quietly.

  Decker hated it when his boss was on meds. "We got a bug on her. Soon as the winds die down we'll pick her up."