by JP Raymond
So the first two Elohim she’d seen were guards. The humans were here to meet with someone. Why?
To get the materials they needed to repair their ship.
So what had happened? Something must have gone wrong.
When the humans left their previous stop, they carried metal briefcases. They had them when they arrived here . . . but not when they came out!
Furthermore, they exited with weapons drawn, shut the door, and rested. No one came out after them. The bald one tapped commands into a comm link on his wrist. Had he been communicating with someone?
Then the third Elohiman had come along, and they’d shot him. They hadn’t bothered to hide the body. They’d sent a few more messages before leaving.
So. They’d delivered something to the Elohim, presumably in payment for their hyperdrive parts. Something had gone wrong.
But what?
The answers lay behind that door. Gwen opened her eyes and pressed the call signal. It wasn’t answered. She rang again. Still no answer.
A cold feeling of dread crept up from Gwen’s stomach into her chest. If no one was responding to the doorbell, it was likely no one was able to.
She tried opening it, but unsurprisingly, it was locked. Undeterred, Gwen pulled a small computer decrypter from its pocket on her belt. She might have been ostracized by the rest of the Space Rangers for being human, but they still issued her all the equipment she needed to do her job.
Gwen plugged the device into the door’s keypad port, powered it up, and tapped commands to hack the lock code. It took the decrypter all of seven seconds to defeat the laughably poor security program. Gwen unplugged the unit, returned it to her belt, and then keyed in the passcode. The door slid aside.
A rank and pungent odor assaulted her nostrils, unlike any she’d ever smelled. It wasn’t death, decay, or refuse.
Her heart racing, she drew her beamer and stepped cautiously into a well-lit hallway. Aside from the background noise of the station generators, it was complete silence within.
Gwen advanced slowly down the corridor, trying to keep her hand from shaking. She’d been in a number of hellholes in Persia and Syria as a Marine. As a cop in Cleveland, she’d worked one of the poorer, more crime-ridden precincts. She was used to trouble.
But something about the unknown of this situation unnerved her. It had to be the smell. The strange aroma warned of unknown horrors. She didn’t want to know what she was going to find in here. She wanted to run from it.
She had to see what had happened here, so she could understand what the terrorists were up to.
The hallway terminated at another door. Several feet before it were two more dead Elohim, both with beamer burns – one in the chest, the other in the head. Presumably, these were the two guards who had first greeted the humans, then rushed in to investigate when they heard a disturbance.
Between them and the door was a strange object. It looked like the remains of some alien insect, with a segmented exoskeleton, but it would have to have been a gargantuan specimen. The thing was almost twice the size of Gwen’s fist. It was blackened and smelled acrid. Whatever it was had been burned thoroughly. Indeed, the deck around it was scorched. A line of viscera trailed across the floor, ending at the door.
“What the hell happened here?” Gwen said aloud.
She stared at the door ahead of her. She didn’t want to open it. Whatever was on the other side was a secret best left undisturbed.
But it was her job to find out.
Swallowing hard, she stepped to the door. She took a deep breath and touched the keypad.
The door slid open, and the awful scent intensified, smacking her in the face with the strength of a wet, leather glove. She was forced to step back and blink her eyes several times.
Inside, the scene was pure horror. A table stood on the far side of the room. On it, sat the two cases the terrorists had brought. One of them was open.
Behind the table, were four, maybe five dead Elohim. Gwen couldn’t be sure of the number. The corpses were covered in blood and gore, and all were missing huge chunks of flesh and limbs, as though they’d been torn to pieces by a school of sharks.
Tens of disgusting creatures crawled over the remains. The fiends had brown, segmented bodies, approximately a foot long and wide, that tapered to a point at the back. They had two short arms at the front and no other discernible appendages. Some of them were feasting on the Elohiman carcasses, but most were emitting a viscous, green fluid from their tail ends that they seemed to be weaving over the charnel heap.
“What the fuck?” Gwen whispered in revulsion.
At the sound of her voice, one of the hideous beasts looked up at her. A second later, it launched itself into the air, flying towards her without the aid of wings. It opened a mouth with hundreds of jagged teeth and reached for her with its arms.
Gwen screamed and fired her beamer. Fear did not hinder her marksmanship. Her beam hit the thing in the mouth, and it exploded as the plasma exited the rear of its body.
The attack disturbed the rest of the colony. Twenty, maybe thirty more of the things left their work and rocketed towards her.
Frantically, she stabbed the keypad, begging the door to shut. It closed just before the little monsters could reach her. The sound of them hitting the metal echoed through the hallway and extinguished the last of her courage.
With another scream, she bolted for the exit. As soon as she was out, she keyed that door shut as well. Then she stood panting for nearly a minute, trying not to puke.
“What the fuck were you two doing?” she asked the absent pair of terrorists.
Fucking Manifest Destiny. First they’d kidnapped Senator Mol’s daughter, then they’d unleashed a massacre on a gang of Elohiman criminals here. What the hell was their endgame? Did they plan to kill every nonhuman in the galaxy?
Whatever they were up to, they had to be stopped. As far as Gwen could tell, these two terrorists were the most dangerous people in the Empire. She couldn’t wait for backup. They could escape and commit other atrocities elsewhere. She needed to bring them in – dead or alive – now.
Holstering her beamer, she called up the security camera feed on her comms unit and played it back to watch the two mad killers. It took only a few seconds to realize they were headed back to where they’d gotten the case full of killer insects. If she hurried, she could catch them.
“You fuckers are toast,” she said.
She set off for a confrontation with the vile authors of this horror. She was determined it would end badly for them.
JAQUAN BREATHED SLOWLY THROUGH HIS NOSE, forcing his heart to slow. His hand still seethed with pain from Alan’s electroray gun. His shoulder and arm remained sore from the current surging into them. He tried to ignore them, so he could focus on what he had to do.
Before today, he’d never killed anyone. Now, he had the blood of three Elohim on his hands, not to mention the five that had been massacred in Kairee’s little double-cross. He tried to tell himself that those didn’t count – he hadn’t known what was going to happen.
It didn’t make him feel any better.
But he needed to be calm and clearheaded. He had another series of murders planned, and he couldn’t go soft or insane if he wanted to get him and his shipmates out of this alive.
People tell you, you gotta get all worked up for a fight, Lucky Latiel used to say. It ain’ so. A fight is work. You stay calm and level-headed. You don’ get all worked up about taking orders at McDonald’s or sweeping floors or driving nails. It just a job. You do it. Fighting’s the same way. Stay calm. Jus’ do your job.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Alan asked as they rode the elevator down to the Kwin Faan headquarters.
JaQuan looked him over. The younger man was sweating, and he looked pale and sickly. Only his hair and the shape of his nose suggested he was black at the moment. He tapped the butt of his gun nervously.
“As long as everyone does their job and d
oesn’t miss,” JaQuan answered.
“What about Rorgun?”
JaQuan didn’t reply right away. That was the biggest wildcard in the situation. Was Rorgun on their side, or had he returned to the Kwin Faan? What would he do when they unleashed hell on his old master?
“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay out of it,” JaQuan said.
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then Rischa will deal with him.”
Silence descended on them, mirroring the elevator’s journey to their destination. JaQuan hoped Alan wouldn’t go squeamish. He’d been pretty tough in the face of the horrific mass assassination. JaQuan believed he could depend on him.
But if he made a mistake or faltered, they were fucked.
With an ominous clank, the elevator came to a stop. JaQuan took another deep breath.
“Okay,” he said. “We wait until the office is completely open. Then we light ’em up. Until then, we don’t do shit. Comprende?”
“Si.”
The elevator door slid aside. JaQuan and Alan stepped out into the bare antechamber and waited. Aside from the lift door closing, nothing happened. JaQuan waited. Still nothing.
“Maybe we should push the button,” Alan said.
JaQuan cast his gaze at the control panel with the single, yellow button.
“Worth a try,” he said.
Alan crossed to the panel while JaQuan tried to slow the beating of his heart. He didn’t like this. Why wouldn’t they be greeting them?
Because they tried to have you killed, he thought. They weren’t expecting you to come back.
Alan pressed the button. It turned green, and, just as it had before, the room began slowly turning, revealing the meeting room within.
Kairee sat behind his desk with a blank expression on his face. The giant Mandran flanked him as before, with his arms crossed and a threatening expression plastered across his bovine face. Gadaar leaned against the wall to the right, wearing a smug grin. Rorgun stood next to her, looking concerned. Rischa was a few paces away, coiled and tense.
No one spoke a word. They all looked on one other as the floor rotated. When it finally came to a stop, there was a pregnant pause, as though Kairee were waiting for JaQuan to address him. JaQuan had other ideas.
“Now!” he shouted.
Rischa, Alan, and he all drew their pistols. Rischa whirled and shot Gadaar in the heart. She died instantly, a comical look of surprise forever etched on her face.
“Don’t move, Rorgun,” Rischa said, turning her beamer on him.
At the same time, Alan fired his electroray gun at the giant Mandran. The behemoth was already in motion. He touched his belt buckle, and JaQuan saw a brief flash of energy. Then he dove in front of Kairee just as JaQuan was squeezing the trigger of his beamer.
Alan’s electrical blast careened to the right and struck the tree planted next to the desk, missing the Mandran completely. JaQuan’s beamer ray hit the giant square in the chest. But instead of vaporizing his heart, the beam ricocheted off to the left and collided with the wall.
Crouching on the desk as he shielded his master, the Mandran pulled the horns dangling from his belt and sent them sailing towards Alan in one fluid motion. The cord wrapped the wrist of Alan’s gun hand, and the momentum of the horns snapped his arm back. Both horns and Alan’s hand and electroray gun struck him in the forehead, knocking him unconscious.
JaQuan squeezed off two more shots, but they both had the same effect as the first, glancing away harmlessly. Meanwhile, the Mandran flung himself bodily at JaQuan. With a vicious backhand, he smacked the beamer out of JaQuan’s hand, then followed with a hook punch from his other hand that collided with the side of JaQuan’s head, temporarily stunning him.
While he was dazed, the Mandran wrapped his hands around JaQuan’s neck and lifted him off the deck. Rischa shot the bastard several times, but her rays suffered the same fate as JaQuan’s.
“I’m wearing a personal deflector screen, you idiots,” the Mandran growled. “You can’t hurt me.
“Now, human, you’re going to die for your attack on the Kwin Faan.”
He squeezed JaQuan’s throat. JaQuan beat his fists on the behemoth’s arms, but he couldn’t break his grip. Spots danced in his vision as the Mandran choked him.
With Rischa no longer covering him, Rorgun leaped from the floor to the desk. He drew his beamer and put the muzzle against Kairee’s skull.
“Let him go, Oraniel!” Rorgun shouted. “Or His Eminence dies.”
The big Mandran turned to face Rorgun, easing his grip on JaQuan’s throat slightly. JaQuan sucked in his as much air as he could manage. It wasn’t a lot.
“Rorgun, this is madness,” Kairee said. “You can’t hope to pull this off.”
“Drop your weapon now, Krisch,” the Mandran said. “Or I will snap your pilot’s neck.”
“Wrong,” Rorgun said. “You will release him by the count of three, or I will vaporize Mutakh’s brain.”
“And then I’ll tear you to pieces,” Rischa added. “Your PDS only shields you from energy rays. It’s useless against my claws.”
“One,” Rorgun said.
Sweat beaded on JaQuan’s head. He was sure Rorgun and Rischa could kill the Kwin Faan terrorists, but would they be able to save him?
“Two.”
“Release him, Oraniel,” Kairee said. “This absurdity must end.”
The Mandran glared into JaQuan’s eyes for another second. Then he let go.
JaQuan dropped to the deck, gasping for air. He rubbed his throat.
“Now,” Kairee said. “Rorgun, kindly remove your weapon from my temple.”
Slowly, as though moving quickly would cause an explosion, Rorgun relaxed. He withdrew the pistol from the side of Kairee’s head, and stepped off the desk.
“You’ve become pathetic and soft, Rorgun,” Kairee said. “Using a beamer to threaten me instead of fighting like a Graur. These humans have rubbed off on you in unfortunate manner.”
“Fuck you, Kairee,” JaQuan gasped, still massaging his neck. “Rorgun came to you for help. He called on his old master to bail him out. You lied about helping and sold Alan and I down the river.
“Speaking of whom, Rischa, make sure he’s okay.”
She holstered her pistol and went to Alan, kneeling and checking his vitals.
“He’s breathing,” she said. “Those throwing horns knocked him out. He may have a concussion when he wakes up. Otherwise, I think he’ll be all right.”
“I don’t understand this human expression – sold you down the river,” Kairee said.
“In Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century America, slaves were brought to market in ports,” JaQuan said. “They were sold to plantation owners in The South, who shipped them downriver to pick cotton. Being ‘sold down the river’ means to be betrayed, delivered into the hands of your enemies like a slave.”
“Fascinating,” Kairee said, sounding bored. “I don’t understand the parallel.”
“Alan and I delivered your death boxes,” JaQuan spat. “You didn’t tell us what was in them. So when Sil and his people opened them, those monsters flew out and started killing everything. We were lucky to get out alive.
“Which means you weren’t expecting us to. You planned for us to die along with the Elohim.”
Kairee shook his head and smiled humorlessly.
“The hiria weren’t dormant?” he said. “They were supposed to be.”
“Oh, bullshit, Kairee!” JaQuan cried. “It was a trap, and you know it! You were eliminating a rival, and you figured you’d get rid of the assassins in the process, nice and neat.”
“You sold them hiria?” Rischa said, outraged.
“For a considerable profit,” Kairee said with a broader grin. “And you’re right, Mr. Jones, I was expecting to destroy Mr. Sil’s organization. He’s been a thorn in my side for some time. Getting him to pay for his own execution was a stroke of genius, if you don’t mind my saying so.
“But I expected you to come back alive. The creatures were supposed to have remained dormant for another two hours. Something must have gone wrong.”
“Something most definitely went wrong, you fucking asshole!” JaQuan shouted. He advanced three steps and stood directly in front of the desk. “Alan and I almost fucking died! I don’t give a God damn about you, your mission, your prophecy, or your organization! I’m just trying to make a living, and I do not need some religious whack-job using me to pull off a hit.
“Now you give us what we fucking came for, or I am gonna personally send you to meet God and discuss your prophecies with him in person.”
“If you speak to His Eminence that way again, human, I will break you into tiny pieces before these trash Graur can do a thing to stop me,” Oraniel said.
“Maybe I should just rip your throat out now,” Rischa growled. “I’m sick of listening to you.”
“Enough,” Rorgun said. “Mutakh, JaQuan’s right. You risked my people unnecessarily. You defiled our friendship and trust. Give us the Myollnar Crystal you promised us, or we will kill you and Oraniel, then rip this place apart until we find it.”
Kairee’s eyes narrowed. The old Graur was through toying with them.
“You of all people dare to threaten me, Rorgun?” he said.
“How ironic to hear the prodigal accuse the master of infidelity,” Oraniel commented.
“Traitors don’t deserve loyalty,” Rischa said.
“The faithless deserve nothing,” Kairee said.
“Shut up the both of you,” Rorgun said. “I’m through playing games. Mutakh, we did what you asked. JaQuan delivered the goods. The money has been deposited into your account. Give us the God-damned crystal, so we can be on our way.”
Kairee stared at him long and hard. JaQuan wanted to punch the Kwin Faan leader’s face in. At last, the grizzled Graur spoke.
“You’ve lost your way completely, Rorgun,” he said. “I knew your faith was impure when you elected to follow Kitekh Galesh around the galaxy instead of staying here where you were needed. But you’ve become a traitor to everything you ever claimed to defend.”