Narican- the Cloaked Deception

by D M Robbins

  He then commands, shouting, “Hyperjeeps! Seven and Eight. Get us out of here. Now!”

  “Be there in a second, Commander…”

  The newscaster demands, “The murderers are still alive, citizens! Catch or kill them and receive five thousand capital city credits to your shop of choice!”

  We start running again for the statehouse.

  “I hate television. We need to shut it down and shut that jerk up!” I say then hear a whirring sound like a spaceship, RRRRRRYYYyyyyyyyuuu. The hyperjeeps have arrived.

  *

  Tanz and I hop in one with Bill. These are double-deckers in the rear with gunners at the top. We sit behind Bill and the blond driver with wavy hair is Mark the engineer. Two Revo fighters fill the upstairs seats. We go zooming off at breakneck speed. Out my window I see Milleron hit by a bullet and stumble into his hyperjeep with Belinda, Bull, and Green Team diving in behind him.

  I keep it to myself while Tanz asks, “Mark, since you invented the hyperbike, I can only assume you created this as well?” Tanz knocks on the interior materials with his knuckles.

  “I sure did.”

  “Most impressive.”

  Mark shouts over the road noise and engine, “Since you’re a bit of an engineer yourself, I’ll tell you. The hyperjeeps are lightweight titanium for high speed ground assault and escape.”

  Milleron’s hyperjeep turns left where we turn right. Revo fighters launch missiles at the hoverplanes. Seat belts strap firmly over both shoulders. The hyperjeep accelerates rapidly, and our heads squeeze against the headrests.

  “Hang on, folks,” Mark says, skidding the fat tries as we smash the corner of a building without slowing down. The digital speedometer reads: 99 mph. Who knows what it goes up to?

  “First gear,” Mark shouts, partly answering my question.

  I nod, glancing at the gear shifter. Eight gears and the top right of the shifter says “Climb.” Must be for mountains.

  We bounce along streets and sidewalks flying along the ground of the city. Tanz leans over to me. “Not the best way to see landmarks. No selfie for my InstaFace page.”

  I nod and half smile like he’s insane. He leans against the tinted window and smiles, holding up his phone and snapping pictures, trying anyway. He lowers the phone to view it. He’s smiling with blurred colors behind him. He hits delete. “Not flattering.” And he looks back out.

  A few seconds later Tanz leans back over and says, “I’d love to drive one of these things.” Which I immediately think is a terrible idea but don’t tell him.

  “Mark’s doing just fine.”

  “But wouldn’t you agree I’m an excellent driver?”

  “Do you even have a license?”

  He raises a hand at me and shakes his head. He turns, leaning forward, and asks Mark, “What does it run on?”

  “Lithium and hydrogen with a hint of CO2. It’ll do four hundred, but only for short periods. Two hundred, shoot, it can do that all day.” Mark points to the dash with all sorts of switches and lights. “This switch is for vertical climbs and that starts the power vacuum inside each wheel well. The vacuum inside the thick rubber tires creates reverse air flow through small pores on the tire adhering us to any surface. Wanna see?”

  I shake my head, no. Tanz, of course, says, “I am quite inclined to experience this.” And Mark makes a right turn onto one of the tallest buildings in the capital jamming the gear into “Climb” mode.

  I hang on tight, feeling queasy. It’s not for climbing mountain roads at all. I think I’m going to be sick again. These two drive exactly the same.

  He then makes another ninety degree turn on what must be the fiftieth floor and we continue toward building’s end. Closing in on the edge about to fly off and die when a dashboard voice speaks. “Approaching structure’s end. Approaching structure’s end.” Instead of turning down the building toward the ground he hits another flashing button. We zoom cross across the street flying over a hoverplane that’s looking for us. We land upon a shorter building, tires sucking on, then we drop diagonally across, moving fast as the ground quickly approaches, gravity pulling us. I lean onto Tanz and can’t peel myself off as he leans onto the door.

  The front end is going to smash into the ground. I brace my feet on the floor and hold the shoulder straps tight. That same voice says, “Approaching structure’s end. Approaching structure’s end. Horizontal plane. Horizontal plane.” Mark hits another button and the front end lifts off like a plane landing then gradually drops its nose as the front wheels connect to the city sidewalk. He flips the vacuums off and switches back into ground gears without slowing down. Jamming it into the next one. The red digital speedometer jumps up: 180 mph!

  “Oh, this stimulates me profoundly!” Tanz says, sitting up grinning like a child.

  “No, Tanz, you cannot drive or hotwire this! Not by any means!” I shout at him.

  He scowls, leans back, crosses his arms, and looks out the window as we hurry to the statehouse and Kimbel.

  *

  As the hyperjeep slows, we dive out onto the statehouse lawn. We roll as the hyperjeep blurs down the street launching another set of ground missiles at the hoverplanes coming after us. The two planes crash into buildings across the concourse.

  Milleron’s team is already at the meeting spot on the close side of the red brick statehouse. His arm is bandaged up. We hustle over.

  Bill says, “Sir, you’re wounded.”

  “Just a scratch. Like an old football injury.”

  “Sir, I didn’t know you played.”

  “Division one champs way back when.”

  Bills nods in approval.

  Tanz says, “Belinda, that does not appear to be just a scratch. Clearly far worse.”

  “He’s fine, Mr. Tanz,” she says, standing next to Milleron.

  “I’m right here, Mr. Tanz, and quite fine.”

  “We meet again, huh?” I say.

  “Great minds think alike,” Milleron responds.

  “Or get killed alike,” I say.

  He nods, slapping me on the back.

  Milleron speaks to us all. “We have one last push in us. Our people are few but committed.”

  The monitors imbedded in the exterior of the statehouse sit just above our heads. They flash and the newscaster comes on speaking as if staring right at us.

  “We can’t get away from this guy…” Bill says, pissed off.

  The newscaster points into the camera. “Citizens, they are now at our beloved statehouse! The very symbol of our country.”

  “Talk about Big Brother watching,” Bill says, shaking his head, steadying himself for attack, peering around the corner.

  The newscaster continues, “We must protect our buildings and our freedoms.”

  “Milleron,” I ask, “where’s that newscaster located? Close by, perhaps?”

  He stares at me and nods. “I like your thinking, kid.” He then calls out in a commanding voice, “Green Team!” Bull and his unit jog in. “Go shut him up.” Milleron nods to the newscaster.

  “With pleasure, sir.” Bull picks three fighters and they slip off like shadows along the wall.

  KIMBEL ON THE WARPATH

  The monitors on the outside wall switch to Kimbel relaxing with his legs dangling over the side of his chair, watching footage of us get pummeled at the pump station. He’s laughing and enjoying himself yet doesn’t seem to know he’s on camera. He says to someone off screen, “I do love a good fight. Especially when the odds are stacked in my favor.” Then his face goes pale realizing he’s on camera. He gestures with a hand in front of his throat for them to cut the feed.

  The screens simultaneously switch back to the newscaster.

  “It is a miracle, ladies and gentlemen. Our beloved leader is not dead. Repeat, our beloved leader is not dead.” He shows a clip of Kimbel escaping from his limousine, kicking out the window.

  “Having fought off the killers… he escaped. And now a dire word, citizens. Our glorious
capital is under mortal attack by foreign and domestic evils. It appears that the disgraced Senator Milleron is behind this. He lies and cheats and now this, ladies and gentlemen. How low will you go, sir?” An image of us outside the statehouse flashes. The newscaster puts his hand to his ear.

  “I am receiving reports that our soon to be Citizen Leader will need to wage an all-out war to protect our freedoms and that the senate should give him full powers to do so. Citizens, these are dark times indeed. Please heed this warning. Protect your loved ones. Keep them safe. And may God bless us all.” A banging sound is heard in the studio. The newscaster looks off camera. The mic picks up more banging and shouting offscreen.

  “Marjorie,” he shouts, probably at the show’s producer, “what the hell have you screwed up this time?” His eyes grow wide and his hands come up, then the screen goes blank. The outside monitors go black then quickly switch to a reality show; some brunette bimbo is chewing gum and cutting hair. “…Now this is how you create a perm.”

  “That’s our boys. Go, Green Team!” Bill shouts. We all cheer. Refocusing on the statehouse, hoverplanes float up the streets from all directions. Numerous guard regiments march in heavy riot gear beneath them.

  “Oh, shit,” Bill says. “We are in serious trouble.”

  “I can run, Tanz. I can run real fast.”

  “You’ll then be too weak. Your life and the entirety of the universe will be at risk.”

  Milleron asks in humility, “Did you just say, ‘the entirety of the universe’?”

  “Yes. This boy, this man he has grown into, cannot be harmed or the universe will turn to darkness. The ubiquitous suns and stars at night will go dead. However, I have an idea.”

  “Oh, great, I thought you might,” Milleron says.

  Tanz opens his jacket and pulls out his little box of strange things and searches around.

  “This is nothing a little wind cannot cure.” Tanz pulls out the mini-tornado and places it on the ground. His blazing blue eyes project onto it, directing it. It starts bouncing around, growing rapidly.

  “Hold onto something firm…” he says as the winds pick up in a fury.

  I grab the iron banister along the front entrance with Milleron and Tanz, while others grab low on the cottonwood behind us.

  The troops on the lawn try to set positions but get sucked up into the vortex. The war birds teeter, wings bouncing up and down with the gusts and are knocked back, crashing into buildings blocks away. Once the sky clears Tanz squirts a hint of serum into the wind’s cylindrical base. The storm wicks it up, shrinks then disappears. Blue skies return.

  “We are clear to attack,” Milleron shouts. “Thanks, Tanz.”

  I lean over to him. “You still aren’t driving,” I say, patting his back.

  He frowns, looking away.

  STATEHOUSE, KING, AND WEIRD DEVICE

  Two of the physical men-beasts come out taking up positions at the front entrance. They cross their arms like bouncers with eyes as empty as black holes. One is wearing a red t-shirt with black jeans and the other is wearing a black t-shirt with black jeans.

  “I forgot about those guys,” I say to Tanz.

  Milleron signals the first Revo fighters to enter and fight hand to hand. They’re grabbed and crushed, collapsing in a heap.

  We are all in shock. Milleron sends the next wave. They keep their distance and strike hard, knocking the big men back, slashing at their legs trying to chop them down. Bill enters the fray striking one with a police baton, then lands a blow to his head. The big guy in the red shirt stumbles and throws one of the fighters against the wall.

  Seeing a small opening, Milleron shouts, “You two, go! We’ll take care of these guys.”

  We slip past the black shirted guy with Milleron behind us. He grabs an iron poker from the hall fireplace and slams it down on the guy’s head, who staggers back bleeding.

  “What is this guy made of?” Milleron asks while Tanz and I run down the hall.

  “An empty vessel. Do not underestimate him,” Tanz shouts as we look for Kimbel’s office.

  Halfway down we find it. My legs are thick and ready. My mind is clear. I kick the door in, and it flies off the hinges into the room taking out the other two physical guys left of Kimbell’s mutated bodyguards.

  Entering the room, Kimbel is on the device. Tanz says, “We must find out who’s behind this.”

  Kimbel’s jaw drops in surprise as he stands, removing his face from the screen. The sheet falling over it.

  One guy in a yellow shirt gets up, tossing the door off, grimacing. Angry. Eyes squinting. The other one in green charges us from the side. I step forward quickly, kicking him three times to the head. He staggers back like a boxer.

  I say, “You go for the device. I’ll take care of these guys. Now’s the time. Use it or lose it, right?”

  Tanz nods.

  With the high volume of crystals in my blood, my feet and hands start pumping fast, elevating me. I hit them hard with kick after kick. Then the punches come in a flurry. My hands shoot out striking with rapid-fire fists like a spinning pinwheel of death.

  Kimbel steps out from the machine to square off with Tanz. “Why won’t you submit to your new king? I am your ruler now. You must submit!”

  Tanz shoots his laser blue eyes at him. Kimbel cowers. Tanz slaps him in the face. “Preventing people from aligning with their higher selves is the worst betrayal of all.”

  “Oh, save it. No one cares.” Kimbel says then runs to exit though a side door. I zoom over with leg spinning speed and block him. He tries striking me, I duck and unload into his solar plexus knocking him back several feet. He falls to the floor gasping for air.

  “You caused a lot of people pain, you asshole. Especially me…,” I say. The death of my parents welling up in my thoughts. About to unload the power of the sun into his face, all the pain and twisted love I’ve felt, when Tanz steps in lifting him by the arm turning him to stand within inches, his eyes mesmerizing. Kimbel falls into a trance, and begins crying, stomping his feet. “I was to be a God damn king. Me! A king.” He whimpers with slackened arms at his side.

  “You are the damned one, never God,” Tanz says.

  Bill enters and The Revos take over punishing the men-beasts with martial art sidekicks and backfist strikes to the head.

  “Ahh, my pets. Save, daddy.” Kimbel says. But they can’t reach him as another kick pounds their faces.

  Bill now grabs Kimbel. “You deceived this country and it’s code. This is for Hancock and all my fallen brother and sisters, you son-of-a-bitch. This is our country and it’s not for sale.” He strikes him so hard spit flies out of his mouth onto the screens behind him, knocking him out.

  “Come, an honorable senator would love to see you.” He throws Kimbel over his shoulder and nods to us as they leave the room. More Revos rush in and hold the men-beasts as my feet and hands hit them with the force of a thousand winds.

  The voice on the device keeps speaking, repeating, “Have you disposed of the pariah? Kimbel?… Kimbel? Unsheathe me.”

  Tanz gets to the device and removes the sheet. Standing somberly for the viewer to see him yet does not speak—eyes focused, accounting. He stares in hard.

  I move to the right of the monitor so I can see, but not be seen. A four-eyed entity with an elongated forehead stands on the other end in the grand palace of Narican, my home.

  Tanz steps closer and says with a pissed-off tone, “I am Tanz Requiten the Seventh of the Sun Clan Council.” His eyes grow wider and bluer. Waves of purity emanate into the device. “You are in violation of Soul God Order 11223 and in simpler terms, you are not the Narican king.”

  “You are quite wrong, Tanz the Accountant,” the entity says with restraint, pointing into the monitor. “Oh, I watched your pretty wife die as a dark blade fell upon her. So sad.” He pauses and speaks mockingly. “You too, boy! It was a pleasure killing that windbag of a father. No need to lurk and hide. I see everything you do and have eve
r done. I am your king now. You will serve me.” Mr. Four-eyes steps closer. “Now that I have made your acquaintance, do you know who I am?” He turns his profile left then right. Cupped ears and a scar of grayish skin run along his face.

  “Please, sir, enlighten us as to your identity.” Tanz inquires. I step closer alongside him.

  “My name is Aldana and that is all I shall say.”

  “Aldana?” Tanz stumbles, pausing. “Y-you cannot be,” he says, stuttering, blinking, blue waves ceasing, shaking his head slowly back and forth, clearly struggling with this information. “You simply cannot be.” Tanz brings up a small equation under the device. “95% complete.”

  I have no idea what’s going on here or who this four-eyed clown Aldana is, but he murdered our families and stole our kingdom.

  “Oh right, these trite little equations of yours. So, you must know this to be true, accountant. Or you are wrong.”

  “Of course, the equation is accurate. And yet if so, how you are Aldana? That is impossible.” Tanz fires back.

  “How is irrelevant. What is relevant is I am the king and rightful ruler here and will soon rule all the dimensions. I will blind the gods and crush your puny little world that deserves to die. All the pain it causes, the deception, lies. You have to trick people into believing.” All four eyes come into focus and stare wide into the monitor.

  “Prepare for attack and imminent death, and for the record, the akashic records, your beloved records, your wife will remain deceased for all eternity. I will see to that. Now prepare to join her.”

  Tanz studies the surroundings on the monitor with eyes rapidly taking in every detail. He straightens his back and chooses his words.

  “I only prepare for life and the fulfillment of my soul’s purpose.”

  The screen goes blank and we stand in silence. I cannot catch my breath or track a thought. A great sadness fills the space between us. We’re stuck here, marooned on Earth while Narican falls into further darkness. The gods and Sun Clan at stake.