Annals of the Keepers - Deception

by Christiaan Hile

  “What rounds do you use?” I asked him.

  “Explosives. Sometimes X-crosses.”

  The wide smile on the little guy showed his sense of pride. His eyes were wide, awaiting my acceptance for such a remarkable piece of hardware.

  “I’m impressed. Explosives at close range are a bold move, if not a bit crazy. Same goes for the X-cross rounds.”

  These weren’t your normal issues slugs either. These, you had to find on the black market or make them yourself. The explosive rounds were dangerous at close quarters, anything explosive was. The X-cross rounds were even more so. When fired, they spread out, spinning, to a radius of three meters. Upon reaching the range they would cross back in front, continuing their path for about 30 meters in a crisscross pattern. They were great with chasing down marks in hallways or alleyways of a city.

  I wonder where he got it from. I know most, if not all, of the black market dealers.

  “I approve. Just make sure you’re in front of me when you fire this thing.”

  “Oh, I haven’t fired it yet, Rels.”

  I sat there staring at him for a moment. This situation just went from horrible to nightmarish.

  The Cuukzen burst out in laughter, “You should see your face, Rels. That was a good one. Right?”

  “Yes. Humorous. Very humorous.”

  The midget alien took his weapon back, spinning it a few times, he placed it back in its holster.

  “Nice move, Cuukzen, considering you’ve never even shot it. You may come in handy; but, again, make sure you’re in front of me when you do fire it. Got it?”

  “Anything you say, Rels.”

  “By the way, where did you get that piece? It’s not common and I know the dealers, I haven’t seen one like this before.”

  “From Rece Jallao.”

  “Rece Jallao? Who the hell is Rece Jallao?”

  “The one arms dealer you don’t know.”

  I laughed. The little guy was just trying to get at me. Then again, I was curious. He did seem serious. I’ll bite.

  “How come I’ve never heard of him?”

  “Because he’s a Cuukzen.”

  “A Cuukzen black arms dealer?”

  “Correct.”

  “Yeah, why not. You’re a bounty hunter of information.”

  I stepped into a place I would surely regret.

  “So who does he work with, besides you?” I asked.

  “You know Gukan-Gen?” he questioned.

  “Yes.”

  “What about Shurlon Telase?”

  The pudge just named two of the top arms dealers who only work within shadowy networks.

  “Okay. I see, name dropping. I still don’t know this Cuukzen dealer you mentioned.”

  “Ha! You don’t know something. Mistuuk know him, you don’t.”

  “I don’t have time for this. Explain.”

  I wasn’t ready for another one of his stories that go off in a spiraling tangent of nothingness. But I was all ears for this one.

  “Rece is cool. He keeps a tight inner circle. Only those who know him get the choice weapons. Even the Kryth don’t know about him. I met him through a contact of mine. Since I’m a bounty hunter of information, I know these things.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yes.”

  I could have pressed more, but it was time to go. We needed to make our way to the trade section to meet our first contact. I didn’t really know if these Ancients of the Gashnee existed or not. Anyway, I was game for a good assignment, and this one was right up my alley.

  I’ll just deal with this Rece character later.

  It was hard to believe these little Cuukzens run in tight circles. A black arms dealing Cuukzen. I couldn’t wait to meet him, if he existed at all.

  DATA CELL 24

  Skentil Rol lay on his side. One arm was pinned underneath his wiry body and the corrugated, metal deck-plating cut into his cheek. That pain was still preferable to the other cheek that radiated sharp agony throbbing with his rapid heartbeat. Blood dribbled out of his gaping mouth as he gulped air past his broken teeth.

  Sontar Jal raged, smashing furniture, expensive reliquaries and hapless subordinates who got in his path. He destroyed his sanctum aboard his Legion Flag ship, the Cerothnak, the “Shard of Night”.

  The sanctum was perched high above the rear-most portion of the bridge on the Blakkon Nar Class vessel. It afforded the general privacy from the crew down below during meetings with classified information and other knowledge that subordinates had no reason to concern themselves with. The sanctum was also off-limits to all crewmembers except the senior command staff and the general, Sontar. The bridge crew saw Sontar enter his sanctum in a furious rage, spewing vitriol and hatred about the futility of the Chamber Lore meeting, Lintorth’s scheming and the “damn” Korin Shai, and the incompetency of the Red Throne and the usurper who sat upon it.

  The content of his diatribe was dangerous, treasonous even, as slights from a high-ranking official, such as Sontar himself, were most often considered seditious and dealt with. Treason against the Red Throne most often brought imprisonment or public execution, if the infringement was political machinations or typical of Kryth Mahr power struggles between factions and houses of the Domain. Dangerous enemies of the Domain were dealt with in silent, covert, and efficient manners.

  Shards of broken reliquaries crunched under Sontar’s boots as he walked across the littered floor of his sanctum. He skirted around the moaning Skentil Rol, who still lay on the floor, stunned from Sontar’s brutal pummeling minutes before. Sontar flicked a small statue of one of the Four Fold Gods out his way with his foot and picked up a curved keska blade in one hand.

  The other Kryth Mahr warriors present in the room with Sontar shied away from his verbal and physical outbursts, trying to avoid the brunt of his unbridled wrath. None wanted to be the next victim like Skentil Rol. Kryth Mahr society fostered warriors who could fight another, regardless if one be high-ranking or lowborn. Fights were meant to settle affairs of honor, gain notoriety, or retaliate against an attack, provoked or not. Settling disputes through sanctioned duels, private street combat, or fights in a secluded corridor on an interstellar vessel were commonplace. The elite among the Kryth Mahr exacted revenge on the victors in numerous other ways which could end a political career, destroy a family, or extinguish their life.

  Zartock did not shrink from his Sontar’s wrath. He stood his ground, with his feet turned to a classic blade fighter stance and his hand hovering over his own keska blade. The veteran warrior’s face bespoke his willingness to spill blood, mindless of the consequence of Sontar’s high station.

  Sontar was dismissive, he turned his back on Zartock and walked away. He did not see the other warriors eye each other with knowing looks. All of them knew Zartock was the deadlier of the two and a master of the keska blade. They had seen him practice countless hours onboard the ship and witnessed his prowess in combat.

  “What do we do now, my Lord?” Zartock spoke to Sontar’s back as he motioned for two of the Kryth warriors to help Skentil Rol off the floor. Two Kryth Mahr pulled the moaning Skentil to his feet and helped him limp painfully through an open doorway to seek medical aid.

  “Now?” mocked Sontar, gripping the handle of his blade crushingly tight. Zartock saw his body silently quivering with rage still not spent. “Now we endure the dictates of the Red Throne and that bitch that sits upon it!” he spat. “Now, we wait for permission to assemble the fleet. We wait on sufferance from my brother to act as warriors and engage the Humans in battle,” he growled.

  Zartock furrowed his brow. “Do we proceed as you originally planned? We have been preparing for over two cycles now,” he spoke mindfully, “Surely Poth Kar and Turlon Ti still stand by your side.”

  “Those two,” grunted Sontar, “could not have capitulated to Xoma Si and her guards much faster than they did without injury.” He saw the concern etched on his trusted warrior’s face. “Do not burden your
self with their lack of commitment. They conceded publicly in the Chamber Lore, but both adhere to my purpose.”

  Sontar sheathed his blade and placed his left hand on Zartock’s muscular shoulder. “We may be wrong about Kentabak Four,” he admitted grudgingly. “Lintorth always does uncover secrets. Curse him, but he does.”

  “Lintorth finds the Humans for us and then we strike,” suggested Zartock. “It matters not where they hide. They will burn,” he said with fire in his eyes. “The might of the Domain will not go unchallenged, my Lord.”

  Sontar now grasped both of Zartock’s shoulders. The two Kryth Mahr warriors anticipated the glory and reputations the oncoming war would bring them and embraced it. “The might of our people has been in question recently. These Humans have demonstrated a weakness in us, Zartock,” he said sadly. “Once, we were the undisputed masters of the Domain. We ruled with fire and blood. None dared oppose the Red Throne when it was strong. Now, we are attacked by these vindictive Humans.”

  “They have been too successful this far, my Lord,” ventured Zartock. “Their attacks mock us, making us look weak and indecisive in front of all our enemies. Many of our own vassals are starting to sound mutinous as well,” he said. A hint of sadness creeping into his voice as he continued, “We have to fight them. Sooner is better, before we get into a worse state.”

  “Straight to the heart as always, Zartock,” Sontar said, with genuine warmth in his voice. “Yes, we may actually meet the Humans in battle. My brother may find their home world and then we can descend on it with the fleets and watch it burn. But, if he does not find them, we will have to bring them to us,” Sontar said. “And when they come, there will be no doubt what happens to the enemies of the Domain. We will destroy them,” he said, thrusting his hands skyward. “We will burn them with such a fire the galaxy has never seen.”

  “What are you proposing, my Lord Sontar Jal?” asked Zartock. All of the other Kryth Mahr warriors had been watching the exchange from the background, but now leaned in to pay close attention.

  “Propose?” said Sontar, mocking him. “I propose that we offer these Humans as an example to all others who would rebel against our might and our rule,” he addressed all of the warrior now.

  “The Humans are fond of the ancient Gashnee, it seems. They use their technology to gain tactical advantage over us, their rightful overlords,” he said in anger. “I say it’s time to remind them, and all others who would revolt, the price for doing so.”

  The warriors were silent, even Zartock awaited what Sontar had to reveal.

  “Our hated enemies, the Gashnee, have given us what we need to defeat the Humans,” Sontar offered. “An ancient, forgotten outpost, a seat of Gashnee power during the war five hundred ronns ago, was discovered by trusted allies more than two ronns ago. Inside was discovered a still operational Blight Apparatus.”

  “Legend,” whispered Zartock, pale with disbelief.

  “No, not legend, my friend,” Sontar laughed. “It is very real and ready to be activated. Let it be time for our enemies to weep.”

  “Flames and ash,” Zartock croaked out. A few heartier warriors repeated the phrase all around the Sanctum over and over.

  Laughing harder, Sontar chanted with them, envisioning the day he would set worlds on fire.

  Data Cell 25

  The trading district came to life with vendors of varying races early in the morning. The Cuukzen and I walked down the stores and stations of the crowded venue. You needed to know the language in these parts, as far as trade and barter went. You couldn’t look like a tourist and make it two steps here.

  We came to a corner with a satchel store on our right. This was the place we were to meet Panu. There were several Cuukzen around so I would need the little guy’s knowledge to identify this contact.

  Mistuuk went wide around a sontisc beast near the stand of the vendor as we approached.

  These feline creatures were used a lot in these parts against would-be thieves. They almost looked like statues from their stance. They didn’t move unless provoked or to subdue a shoplifter.

  They were smaller than aythras, about knee-high, and had smaller features than the dog-like creatures. They had large, rounded, feathered ears which helped them with their main trait, bio sonar. Their stubbed rounded noses could sound off a powerful ultra-frequency burst at their target. This burst would render anything with ears unable to move for several seconds, as it affected their equilibrium.

  Unless Mistuuk’s bounty hunting included stealing, he had nothing to worry about regarding the sontisc.

  I started to browse the goods, blending in until we met our contact.

  “Need a new satchel, Rels?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Lucky we’re at a place where they have them and you could get one.”

  I don’t know how the little guy has made it this far in life. Maybe it was his nonchalant demeanor. Maybe nobody paid attention to him. Maybe all Cuukzen were annoying as hell and no one wanted to be within a meter of them. All of the above, I’d say. A Cuukzen who calls himself a bounty hunter of information. Yeah, can’t take that too seriously. Maybe that’s how he has got by, just by being himself.

  “I’m looking for a reason.”

  “What reason is that, Rels? To buy one?”

  I’m glad someone else spoke up or I was about to kill the little runt.

  “May I suggest the new Panu satchel here?” a voice said.

  The softer Cuukzen tone was female. The name of the bag was our contact.

  At least someone could play along and not look conspicuous.

  I turned, holding the bag up, “Yes, this one will do nicely.”

  “Great, I’ll get it ready for you over here. We only take Tanar credits, though.”

  “Good, because that’s all I carry.”

  Our contact moved back into the booth behind a stacked shelf of goods. She continued further back, down a path to a storage area for the shop.

  I could see Mistuuk was deep in thought, as his little mind hadn’t caught up with the fact that I wasn’t buying a new satchel and this was Panu, our first contact. I was surprised he didn’t recognize her.

  The female Cuukzen moved to a data pad on a wall near a door. She keyed in the code and the door slid open. Descending downward was a rounded staircase cut from the stone. We moved down the well-lit shaft until we came to the bottom.

  A long, dark corridor ran down to another door about twenty meters ahead, lit by a single bulb. I noticed the walls were not stone, but some type of metal panels, each at different angles. As we got closer to the other door, I could make out two sontiscs guarding our next entrance.

  Clever. The corridor and walls configured a sounding chamber. Any unwanted guests would find the ultra-high frequency of the sontiscs’ bio-sonar bouncing off, being amplified to a massive degree. It might scramble some brains in the process, but it makes for a great defense and early warning system.

  Panu proceeded to access the last door as we entered.

  The room was a small, hidden office. Most likely for the information we came for. At least, I hoped.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” She asked.

  “No we–” I didn’t finish.

  “Yes. If you have esen water, or some lippid sour, that would be great,” Mistuuk interjected.

  “I do have some esen water. Please make yourself comfortable.” She turned toward a small kitchen area.

  Mistuuk didn’t let her get two feet into the room before making another request, “Do you have any jojo fruit? I like jojo fruit. Have you had jojo fruit, Rels?”

  She turned back at his request.

  I wasn’t about to let him babble on with her. We needed the information we came for. We weren’t here for pleasantries and jojo fruit.

  “Don’t mind him. The esen water is fine.”

  “But, Rels, I like jojo–”

  My pointed finger stopped him. I looked at him for a moment to get my point across, a
nd then proceeded to ask Panu some questions.

  “Just one jo–”

  My finger rose again. I shook my head. He just blinked at me.

  “How did you come into this information about the Vrae contact and the Gashnee Ancients, Panu?” I asked.

  She spoke from the kitchen, “I learned the information from a Cuukzen named Kela-klance.”

  The name slapped me in the face. I was stunned to hear Cuukzen folklore. This was the third time I’d heard this Kela-klance myth.

  You see, all races and cultures have mythical stories of fanciful individuals that are propagated and passed on with even more elaborate lore behind their actions in a given society. They are looked upon as heroes or other-worldly beings. Some of these stories of this Kela-klance, an untouchable Cuukzen assassin, stretch the imagination even to a sober, right-minded person such as myself.

  If it caught my attention, it definitely caught Mistuuk’s. The little guy sat there with wide eyes and mouth agape. A bit of drool ran out the edge of his open maw.

  “So you’re telling me that this Kela-klance is real?”

  She approached the table with esen water for Mistuuk and herself.

  Sitting down across from us, she smiled, “Yes, just as real as you and me.”

  “Okay. Even if I believe you, and I don’t, why drop a myth like that? Why not just tell me it was a friend of a friend who gave you this information? I mean, we came for the name of this Vrae who will lead us to a Fossari that knows a Holmloskk--”

  “Yes, correct,” She replied.

  Mistuuk interrupted me from his stupor, “No. It’s Merashyn, Holmloskk, then the Vrae.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You said a Vrae that knows a Fossari that knows a Holmloskk. It’s a Merashyn that knows a Holmloskk that knows a Vrae which knows the whereabouts of the Gashnee Ancients.”