by Dante King
“Three!” one of the other warriors ordered.
I caught sight of a warrior jumping through the air toward me, waited until he was closer, and mule-kicked him just hard enough to knock the wind out of him in one big huff. He went down in a heap a few yards from his leader.
I turned to face the last three, 10 yards away, who’d apparently learned from the mistakes of the others. Each carried a dagger, and each focused on the black blade in my hand.
“Don’t be stupid,” I warned. They ignored it, but their attack was more sophisticated.
The alien in the middle began to jog toward me while the other two sprinted at an angle to flank me. Skrew chose the same moment to grab onto my leg and squeal in fear.
“Get off me!” I bellowed as I shook my guide free.
I barely dodged a thrown dagger aimed at my head. I wasn’t sure if it would actually cut me, but I wasn’t willing to stand still to find out. I’d punched things, ripped things, but hadn’t received any injury more serious than a bruise yet. I wasn’t sure if I could be cut, but I wasn’t willing to find out if a knife thrown at my head would skewer my brains or not.
Skrew grunted when he hit the ground at my side and finally let go. I’d either knocked him out, or I’d killed him, but at that moment, I didn’t care which one it was. Soft padding in the dirt told me the ones who were flanking me were close. I didn’t have room to maneuver. I couldn’t run. I had to rely on my training and whatever the Lakunae had done to me. I knew it wouldn’t be easy; I’d seen the aliens take down a giant monster.
I could leap backward to gain some distance and foil their plan. But I was certain they’d kill Skrew if I did that—if nothing else than for spite. Instead, I rotated Ebon’s blade in my hand and charged the one in front.
He tried to dive to one side, but a quick smack to his collarbone sent him sliding into the dirt. I rolled, narrowly escaping a wild slash from the one to my left, and temporarily lost sight of the one on the right. When I found him again, he had jumped onto my back and was driving his dagger toward my throat.
My right hand held Ebon while my left hand snatched the alien’s ankle. With both hands busy, I did the only thing I could think of. I caught the blade with my teeth. A quick twist of my head wrenched it from the alien’s grasp, and a yank of my left hand turned the warrior into a flailing club.
I took one swing with my new club and missed the last warrior as he ducked and rolled to the side. I didn’t miss the tree behind him, though. My flesh-flail hit it with a sickening thud. When I let go, he seemed to be stuck to the tree for a moment before painfully falling to the ground.
The last warrior stood, pulled a second knife from behind his back, and performed a fancy little dance with them, trying to intimidate me.
In response, I flicked my head and spat the dagger I’d caught at his forehead. The blade flew through the air like a dart before slamming into his skull with a thunk that echoed through the trees. His head exploded like a watermelon and painted the forest in a splatter of bone and brain matter.
Screw cackled. “Thunk!” he said before miming the warrior’s head explosion.
My alien companion noticed movement behind me, retrieved the dagger from the last warrior, and marched toward the alien leader, murder in his narrow eyes.
“Don’t,” I ordered. “I’ve got this.”
Skrew frowned so deeply, I thought his face might split in half.
I stood above the leader and held Ebon’s sharp tip in front of his face, making it very clear that with little more than a flick of my wrist, I could show him exactly what his brains looked like.
I glanced at the amulet the alien wore. It was definitely made of the same material as Ebon and the two marble-sized power devices I carried in my pocket. The item demanded my attention, drew me to it like a moth to a flame. I tried to resist, reminding myself that sometimes the moth got too close and burst into flame, but I could hardly take my eyes from it.
From somewhere in the back of my mind, from a place that felt like a distant memory, the voice of the Lakunae whispered to me. I couldn’t make out the words or their meaning, but I knew the identities of those who whispered in my head.
“I surrender.” He held his hands out, palms up, to show me he no longer carried a weapon.
“Why did your people attack my guide?” I nodded toward Skrew who danced from foot to foot.
The alien turned his head to Skrew, frowned, and locked eyes with me. “We will not be your slaves. We will resist you. You will spend every night while you sleep, wondering if it is the night we cut your throat. If you sell us away, we will return. We will hunt you. We will find you. We will strangle you with your own entrails. We will not be your slaves for long.”
“Good,” I said.
The alien managed to look as surprised as Skrew, who also managed to look more disappointed than I’d ever seen him look.
“Good?” the alien asked, his neck flaps withdrawing.
“Yes,” I said. “Because I’m not a slaver.”
He glanced at Skrew. “But—”
“But neither is my guide,” I said. “Your mistake was assuming that just because he’s a vrak, he must be a slaver. In fact, he was a slave. I freed him.”
I heard the one with the broken arm and the first lizard-man I’d struck begin to stir behind me. They were obviously badly injured, but they seemed willing to give their lives if I intended to enslave them. The one I’d skewered with the knife didn’t get up, but then I wasn’t exactly expecting him to. Skrew stepped closer, watching them with frightened eyes.
“Your men listen to your orders.” I took a knee and leaned close. “Order them to stand down, or next time, I won’t spare their lives. You’ve made a mistake. Now, don’t make it worse by sacrificing them needlessly.”
“Zero!” the alien said. The sound of movement behind me stopped. “I am Shesh. I have made a grave error.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “you have.” My eyes returned to the amulet.
“You have spared my life.” Shesh removed the amulet from around his neck. “Therefore, I offer you the Spirit-Watcher, an heirloom of my people.”
“No,” one of the groggy warriors behind me whispered.
“Zero!” Shesh hissed as he gently laid the device in my outstretched hand. “You are not like the others. There is something of the Dark Ones in you.”
The Dark Ones. A cold shiver ran up my spine as I stared at the device. I knew who they were. They were the Lakunae, and somehow, they were galaxy-wide-famous. Why they chose me, someone who hadn’t believed in them at all, I didn’t know. But there I was, their avatar.
I turned it over a few times and marveled at how the material absorbed all the light it received and reflected none of it back. It was a hole into nothingness—a gap in the universe—the absence of reality.
“Why is it called Spirit-Watcher?” I asked.
“Because,” he said, his voice becoming quiet and reverent, “it shows us the spirit-world. It shows us the spirit of those around us. It is a gift from the Dark Ones, a lens into their realm.”
I turned the device over in my hand. “I accept your offering of peace. Go, and learn from what’s happened here.” It was the most I could say after receiving the gift.
The alien scooted away from me before standing. “I will,” he said. Then he gave the Spirit-Watcher a sad look before he ran to join to his people. They carried the corpse with the burst head away as they disappeared quietly into the forest.
I almost felt bad for killing one of their comrades, but I hadn’t had much of a choice. If I hadn’t treated the situation with lethal precision, Skrew might have died, and then the path to Brazud would have been far more difficult.
“Jacob did kick the big, big ass!” Skrew breathed. “Then he not kill the maggot-wart. But Jacob and Skrew are having fun, yes? Skrew make them fight, accidently. Jacob beat them up, pow! Jacob find cool stuff! We make great team.”
I groaned. You still need a guide, Jacob. You still
need a guide. I repeated it to myself like a mantra.
Chapter Seventeen
My new amulet felt cool against my skin as Skrew and I resumed our journey toward Brazud. The trees grew thinner, and I spotted a well-traveled road at the edge of the treeline. The smells of civilization announced our proximity to a town or city, and not all of them were pleasant. We were still a while away from Brazud, so this had to be someplace else.
The unmistakable smell of food and wood fires filled the air. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until my stomach protested. I still had food left but decided to wait. There’d been enough trouble in the trees, and I’d already seen the kind of creatures that prowled through it. My best option was to sit down with a wall to my back and suppress the desire to eat.
The unpleasant odors, mostly of dung, the stench of sweaty bodies, and possibly pheromones, competed with the pleasant ones.
“Jacob and Skrew approach Madomar,” Skrew whispered.
“Madomar?” I asked. “Can you tell me about it?”
“Was way-station of Sitar. Food. Goodies. Bombs. Pew-guns. Brazud beyond Madomar. Not far, but beyond.” He sniffed the air before continuing. “Maybe buy food, yes? Jacob has money?”
I’d taken the black orbs because I wanted something to sell for currency, but I really didn’t want to part with them.
“I don’t have any money,” I said. “So, we’ll have to eat our rations and find something in the wild to eat.”
Maybe another steak-a-pede? I thought.
“ Skrew steal food, yes?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I said. I didn’t feel good about it, but my own store of food wouldn’t last forever. I couldn’t bet on finding another alien that was worth eating since we hadn’t discovered anything edible since leaving the Ish-Nul.
I’d try to find some way of getting money first before taking Skrew up on his offer. Short of selling Ebon, the orbs, or the amulet, I could probably arm-wrestle a few aliens. Maybe perform some feats of strengths and get them all to throw whatever served as currency into an empty hat. Maybe Skrew could do a dance or recount one of his stories? Nah, that would be a bad idea. They’d more than likely find him as annoying as I had when I’d first met him and decide he was better off without a tongue.
We left the treeline and stepped out onto a wide road filled with a teeming mass of sentient species. I made a mental note to go through the pockets of the next alien who tried to kill me, and with the wicked looks Skrew was receiving from more than a dozen alien species, I didn’t think I’d have to wait long.
Both sides of the dirt road were lined with shanty-style houses, much like those in the vrak town Skrew had come from. These, however, were mostly constructed of wood and had far less trash piled on top. The other major difference was that all of them were open to the street.
The front walls were propped up with either wooden or metal poles to provide shade for both the shoppers and the merchants, most of whom had their wares spread out on a shelf they stood behind. I tucked the amulet beneath my shirt just in case it attracted the wrong kind of attention. I couldn’t hide my new sword, Ebon, but then that might have been a good thing. I didn’t want any of the aliens to think I would be easy prey.
“Fresh sorill fruit!” one vendor yelled from his stall as he waved a fist-sized green ball covered in spikes.
“Sir,” another said, drawing my attention to him, “do you need some new manacles for your pet, or do you like him to keep his hands free to pleasure you?” His elephant-like face grinned at me from behind curled tusks as he held a double-pair of manacles. There were four restraints, making it obvious they were designed for creatures with four arms or legs.
I shot him a filthy glance while palming my sword, and he cowered into the safety of his stall.
“Filthy gretin,” Skrew spat as we moved on.
The further we walked into the crowded town, the less comfortable I became. I pushed the feeling aside and focused on gathering information on the town and the creatures around me. A better understanding of this planet and its society would be beneficial for finding any members of the Revenge who might have ended up here.
I heard the sound of roaring engines and watched as a hovercraft the size of a Mars taxi raced down the street. Aliens scattered out of the vehicle’s path as it careened toward us. With one hand, I shoved three aliens who resembled walking tentacles out of the way. With the other hand, I picked Skrew up by his loincloth and yanked him to safety a moment before the hovercraft smashed into one of the stalls.
“You save Skrew!” my guide gasped as I put him down.
Inside the hovercraft, two toad-like aliens argued in a language I might have understood if their vehicle’s engine wasn’t so loud. They slapped each other with little hands, sending their thrumming vehicle across to another stall full of tall bottles of purple liquid. From the sound of the crash, most of the bottles broke on impact. A second later, the toads stopped fighting and spun their huge eyeballs around as they surveyed the damage. Without another word, they fled the scene of the accident.
So, hovercraft technology existed on this planet. So far, I’d seen basic industrial manufacturing and junkpile tech. But this vehicle was a sign that more advanced technology existed here. The hovercraft wasn’t of Federation design, but I could see the antigrav generators, its small powerplant, and a cockpit.
“Stupid travoni,” Skrew spat as the destructive duo fled into the distance.
“Stupid what?” I asked.
“Travoni. Travon. They bad drivers. Never should fly. Never should drive. Always should hop. Bad drivers, travoni.”
The possibility of real tech opened my eyes to what else was around me. I scanned the stalls, looking for tech-weapons. Though I saw a few knives and a sword, I didn’t see any sign of particle weapons, laser weapons, or any other kind of high-tech enemy elimination solutions. I stopped short when I saw a hand-blaster.
The owner was a round-bellied, furry creature that would have resembled an oversized teddy bear except for the fangs jutting up from its bottom jaw. Nobody in their right mind would make a teddy bear with fangs like that. No kid in their right mind would want one.
The hand-blaster was mostly buried in a pile of tech-pieces, most of which looked like they had been in a fire. I approached the vendor, and he grunted at me as I surveyed his wares. I shifted the mostly inoperable pieces out of the way to get to the hand-blaster.
When I took the firearm in my hand, I noticed it felt light. . . too light. Though it wasn’t Federation design, I quickly discovered the location of the magazine release. Good to see that there was a universal model for pistols for creatures with opposable thumbs. When I dropped the magazine and looked inside for ammunition, a little bug flew out. It was empty.
“Got a powerpack for this?” I asked the vendor.
He laughed. At least, I thought it was a laugh. It was sort of a wheezy, choking, phlegm-in-the-throat kind of sound.
“No power. Nobody has power. Sell real cheap. Make good club.” He made a clubbing motion with his furry hand, just in case I didn’t understand what he was talking about.
I sighed. Handguns made terrible clubs. Rifles sometimes worked, but a real club still beat a rifle every time. I put the gun back as I swore under my breath. Though I might be able to find a powerpack for it somewhere, I didn’t want to tote the thing around until I did. I didn’t have any money, but I still had my training, Ebon, and a guide who was proving himself pretty useful in certain situations.
Skrew got my attention by tapping me on the arm. When I looked, he made a weird face, stuck out his tongue, and tilted his head to one side. I wondered if he was having a stroke. He did it again, this time with more emphasis. I knew he was trying to tell me something, but I wasn’t sure what it was. I almost considering slapping him upside the head, but then I remembered that he’d offered to steal food for me. I figured he was now offering to steal the hand-blaster. The last thing I needed was attention from those who considered
themselves to be in authority, so I grabbed him by his little ear and towed him away.
When I did, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. A figure in a hooded cloak was standing still among the hubbub of activity, its gaze pinned to me. When I looked, the person was gone. They’d vanished into the thick mass of aliens and their wares. I made a mental note to be on my guard. I’d only been on this planet a few days, and there was already a laundry-list of people that likely wanted some payback.
My attention was drawn to a vendor closing a transaction with a humanoid with snakes instead of hair. The Medusa-like alien took an ax from the stall and tested its weight with a powerful swing. The weapon’s design made it clear that its creator intended it to be used for killing rather than tree-chopping. Spikes protruded from the ax’s sides and the hook of its blade. It was a fierce-looking weapon, but the transaction was what interested me the most. I spotted what the people were using for money: small, metal rings.
They were so small, they might not have been able to fit around an infant’s pinky. The man pulled the rings off a leather string and handed them to the vendor. When he’d counted the proper amount, he tied the ends of the string together and looped it over his head. Looking around, I noticed several other shoppers with similar-looking strings sticking out from their plain shirts.
So, that was the currency of Madomar.
I noticed the hooded person again.. Though I couldn’t make out the face, it was humanoid, a little shorter than me, and had pale skin.
I was being watched by someone with a keen interest in where I was and what I was doing.
From my experience, I knew things like that rarely turned out well. Whoever it was would have to be confronted and dealt with before they had a chance to escape and report their findings to whoever their boss was.
I needed to set a trap and catch the spy. After that, I’d figure out what to do with it.
The deeper we walked into the town, the more alien hands I had to push away. Hawkers filled the air with their noise, and items of various utilities waved in their air from both sides of the street. My guess was that the locals only walked as far as they needed to. Once they found a vendor who was selling what they were looking for, they turned around and went home. That meant the vendors further from the outskirts had a tough time selling their wares. Being pushy probably worked for them.