by Reiter
“And what moves through your mind now?” Nes asked.
“Another piece of the answer,” Dungias declared. “The Star Quest I have taken… my decisions, to a point, have been helpful to the cause, but I did not engage them for the right reasons. That must be corrected.
“But that is neither why you are speaking nor why I am here,” Dungias said, lifting his head and seeing that the appearance of Nes had changed. He had moved away from his humanoid form and was now an eye of astral energy, composed of the very same light Dungias had seen being created by the Astral Worms.
“Well done, Traveler,” Nes’ voice now echoed all around the Star Chaser and he could feel power within its tones. “You certainly keep things interesting.”
“A trait I have been… infected with, I fear,” he replied. “One cannot spend too much time in the presence of suspense incarnate and not take on some of its characteristics.”
“Welcome to parenthood,” Nes stated.
“Indeed,” Dungias said as his eyes squinted at a particular notion. The anger and frustration he had for Nes was for a face that the Astral Eye had presented. One Nes felt he had to present in order to do what he had been created to do. The apparent distrust of the High Chancellor had made Dungias a potential tool for Borsidia to use and thusly, one of her hidden treasures, Endigun Smitty, was something she was eager to engage if only to increase her inroads into the Traveler’s confidence. Nes could not have known what Borsidia was going to do to win Dungias’ favor, but that did not matter. Whatever form that action had taken, Dungias would take the gift and make it his own, and therefore it would be something the Astral Eye could also use.
“But who could have planned for Smitty’s death?” Dungias thought.
“No one,” Nes answered as the eye flared with light. “Which is why creating his death was one of my better ideas!” From the center of the light came the one hundred and twenty-nine centimeter frame of the Meacruhn man Dungias had come to know and love as one of his closest friends and mentor.
“Bah!” the small-framed man huffed as he walked. “Don’t you dare let him take all the credit for what was originally my idea!”
“Master!” Dungias cried, running to embrace the man, lifting him from the floor. Chuckling and patting the Malgovi on the shoulder, Smitty looked up at Nes and huffed.
“When we decide to craft a mate for this one…uhn… she must have a strong back! There, there, my friend. Thank you for erasing what few slivers of doubt I might have had regarding our friendship.” Dungias lowered to one knee, placing Smitty back on the ground, but he did not release him. He could not. He stayed there and wept.
Endigun Smitty had indeed died. The body Borsidia found had been the Meacruhn tinkerer. The mind and soul, however, had already been transferred into a celestial construct. Smitty had given Nes what he had learned over the years, a major portion of which had been compiled during his studies with Dungias, and the Astral Eye built him a body. Though it had been a wonderful opportunity to become taller, there was something else the brilliant mind had gained from spending time with the Malgovi Traveler: an appreciation of self, regardless of the perspectives of others. In becoming an entity, Smitty had opted to change nothing of what he had become.
He stopped patting Dungias and instead took a firm hold of the muscular shoulders. Closing his eyes to the perception of emotion coming off in waves from his young friend. “I know… I know… you have endured so much loss. Forgive me for adding to that burden.”
“What I have endured,” Dungias said, his body still weak and trembling, “… is no greater than any who have loved and lost. It is the cost of taking up the trek of living. I am fortunate that I have managed to find the coin necessary to pay the toll.” Putting his hand on the side of Smitty’s face, Dungias smiled. “It is so very good to see you still in this world. My envy for the Grey Realm is great enough.
“And to bring this to a close,” Dungias said as he stood up, “… what does my Astral Vu-Zai ask of me?” he asked, using the Liangu word for ‘father’. “For what else can you be to me?”
For a moment – the batting of an Astral Eye – the place the three occupied was silent and a love acknowledged became a love requited. Smitty smiled, lowering his head and opting to reserve his ‘I told you so’ commentary for a time when Dungias was not present.
“For you, I have a gift,” Nes replied. “But I have observed enough of you, Traveler, to know that you would disagreeable to accept it, given the choice. So I have found an alternative means to give you this gift, and it awaits you in your treasure vault.”
“You mean Smitty’s facility,” Dungias corrected.
“That is what it once was,” Smitty quickly interjected. “My place of work, like me, is much different now. But I have taken measures to insure that no one will be stumbling across the platform. Those measures, along with Nes’ gift, await you. Examine them as much as you dare. I am over six thousand of your orbi-terms in age, but I can’t adequately put a measure to how much I have learned and grown since I came to call you friend. The source of our insights should be as limited as the extent of our ambitions.”
“Yes, Master,” Dungias said, bowing his head. His brace-com signaled the receipt of an object in his holding satchel. “But I find it hard to take my leave of you, now that you have become an agent of Dier-Nesekor. You face great opposition in the Chancellor Borsidia.”
“Still have a taste for the understatement, I see,” Smitty replied. “Regardless of the inaccuracy of your statement, this is my fight, Dungias. Go and save the descendants of the Founders. One would think that would be enough to fill even your plate!”
“If that is your wish,” Dungias stated.
“It is… my ambition,” Smitty said. “And the time-anchor placed on your aperture does not protect you from the touch of Fate, boy. Remember that.”
“By your will then,” Dungias said, taking a hold of Smitty’s shoulder. “Should you need–”
“I will create a clone of you,” Smitty chuckled. “Even with degradation, it should be able to manage a dozen miracles or so.”
“A star-pod is now yours,” Nes declared, bringing an end to the reunion. “Fair travels with it, Traveler.” Dungias’ hold on this place was slipping; he was being moved to another place.
“And to you, Vu-Zai.” Dungias looked at the Astral Eye as he was replaced by the doors of the chamber of the celestial fountain. He turned and looked once more upon the upward flow of starlight. It seemed to beckon to him to sample its waters, and Dungias smiled at the trap.
“Alpha, are you well?”
“I am functional, Master,” the Osamu replied. “My life-force functionality was compromised. Your contact with Smitty enabled me to find alternative reading and recording ability. Thus far, only Goldie has been able to prevent me entirely.”
“No, Alpha,” Dungias aid smiling. “Only Goldie has demonstrated the ability. Nes gave me a gift, so did Smitty. He is not about to be outdone by an Astral Eye.
“But I am more interested in your perceptions of the exchange made when something was placed inside my holding satchel.”
“Whatever the object is, Master, it is encapsulated,” Alpha reported.
“That is probably for my benefit,” Dungias concluded.
“In more ways than one,” Alpha added. “The energy used is of an amplitude I cannot measure, but it is still based on a format of EnerJa that we have encountered. It is readable Force Energy.”
“So we can track how it came to be placed in the satchel,” Dungias concluded.
“Exactly, Master. Our mastery of dimensional mechanics only increases!”
“Have a care, Alpha,” Dungias warned, opening the doors. The shape-changing creature was still close and even more curious. “Our understanding of dimensional mechanics has grown. We are far from declaring mastery.”
“And the moment we do we have taken a step away from that pinnacle,” Alpha remarked.
“Now that
is my Osamu!” Dungias said, engaging Star-Stride to streak over the ground between the building and the Kulri-Kraythe. The creature was pressed to keep up with the Traveler who could read its potential trek. It would attempt to stow away aboard the scout ship. That would be something the Traveler would allow. This was also simply another step toward becoming ready for the long trek ahead. “Now let us get back to our fellow crewmen. We have gifts to unwrap.
“And others to discover,” Dungias thought as the creature made its way on board.
Actions are the seed of fate deeds grow into destiny.
Harry S. Truman
(Rims Time: XII-4203.16)
“Where am I?” Culshee asked, awakening inside the small chamber rocketing across The Territories.
“Culshee, this is the First Mate of the Xara-Mansura, Z’Gunok Tel Dungias. We met briefly aboard ship when you were reviewed by the Captain. I recorded this message to explain what has happened to you and offer you a choice as to how things should proceed.
“You were attacked and taken captive by an Imperial Spy who wanted to infiltrate the ship. By this time, I am certain that party has been dealt with, but knowing that Imperial interests might have targeted the Captain is cause for you to reconsider whether you wish to be part of the crew. I have had you liberated from the place where you had been stored, in stasis, by the spy. Finding no permanent Black Gate address for you, this modified cargo conveyor has been activated to send you to the ship. This, however, does not mean you must become a member of the crew.”
“Well, that’s awfully considerate of him,” Culshee remarked.
“It is my intention to take your feelings into consideration, Ms. Pulliam,” the voice of Dungias responded.
“And an interactive message,” Culshee smiled. “Nifty.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And thank you for getting me out of wherever I was.”
“You are a member of the crew,” Dungias testified. “We look after our own!”
“Apparently,” Culshee remarked as she tried to shift her body. It was a good thing she did not have trouble with tight places, because she did not even have the room to roll over. “And next time you might want to modify things on behalf of the passenger.”
“Your comfort was not a factor I was able to address with the timetable given,” the voice replied. “But I will tell you now there is ample anesthetic aboard to render you fully unconscious if that is what you prefer.”
“So, this message and the choice thing are both secondary considerations?”
“Indeed.”
“You do sleep, right?” Culshee asked. “My understanding of the Malgovi physiology is quite limited, but what I do know is that even your people need rest.” There was no immediate response and Culshee looked around, beginning to think she had said something she should not have.
“That was not expected, doctor. I am not often surprised.”
“But you set the program to cover being surprised,” she muttered.
“Would you leave a wound open for infection?”
“Point made. Please, doctor, continue the procedure.”
“Given this latest development, I would ask that you remain with the crew,” Dungias expressed. “This rocket, however, can take you anywhere in The Territories you wish to go. It will also take you back to Black Gate if you so desire.” Culshee closed her eyes in consideration of what she had been told, but it was not long before she started smiling.
“It’s Z, isn’t it?”
“That is what I am called.”
“Well, Z, I can’t tell you how much I’m moved by what you’ve said and done. The Empire doesn’t scare me, though giving me the option speaks volume about how you operate. I was accepted as crew. Being rescued by said crew is an awfully strong selling point! I’m even more willing to remain, if you’ll have me.”
“Culshee Pulliam, consider yourself the first of your class to receive my endorsement,” the voice announced. “Aboard the rocket, I have also added the machinery necessary to provide you with a simulator-like setting, though you will be limited to academ–”
“Fire it up!” Culshee quickly said. “Please. And I mean right n–” Culshee lost consciousness as the simulator activated the academic coursework. Basic Training and field tactics were in the database, and with the travel time Culshee had ahead of her, she would be able to review the information several times before the rocket reached the Xara-Mansura.
** b *** t *** o *** r **
“You think I should throw this one back?” W’Zonn asked as he looked down on the bloodied and bruised body. He released his hold on the neck of his victim and Amosse fell to the ground, panting for air. “Such small game… think I’ll gut this one!” W’Zonn spat on the ground as he drew his knife. It was a crude blade, in need of maintenance as evidenced by the small gaps along the edge. The large man’s hand took a handful of black hair and pulled Amosse’s head from the pavement. Amosse managed a feeble slap against the muscle-hewn forearm. The grip was maintained and Amosse was lifted up to a kneeling position. “Don’t worry, scab,” W’Zonn hissed. “… it’ll go slow and painful.”
“It w-w-won’t… ch-change a thing,” Amosse struggled to speak. His chest was still in the grips of the pain he had received in falling from the lift. After days of running and scraping for every advantage, he had come so close to escaping the Bowels. “Y-y-y-you still got s-s-scored by him.”
“Looks like he scored you just as hard,” W’Zonn shot back, stabbing his knife into Amosse’s shoulder. Blood spattered against the large man’s nearly pearl white skin. “And he’s still scoring you!” The muscular man flicked his head to one side, moving his long, dirty, straight red hair out of his face before he looked down on Amosse with rage and contempt in his eyes.
Clutching at his freshest wound, Amosse could see his death quickly approaching. He was too weak to fend off the near giant of a man, and even at his best he doubted he could have kept this man from doing what he wanted. But that futility did not keep Amosse Jilchild from looking into the yellow eyes of his deliverer and screaming at him. It was not a cry of fear that burst from between his lips. It was fury! The favored son of the Jilchild Family had plans, desires, dreams… it was too ugly a crime for them to be interrupted and ended in this fashion, and Amosse shared his take on the matter.
The outcry only seemed to inspire W’Zonn whose eyes flared wide when he heard the cry of the wounded man. He licked his lips in anticipation of killing yet another scab. He breathed in deeply, setting his feet, bending at the knees ever so slightly; the man was wounded, but he was still a man, a fighter, and W'Zonn’s training had been too deeply rooted for that fact to be overlooked. No assumptions would be made about the wounded man’s capability. He was an enemy, and though he was a scab and not worthy of the life he had led up to today, he was still an opponent. By the law of the pits, the man was worthy of a precise kill. W’Zonn’s fingers flexed around the pommel of the knife as the cries and stomps of the crowd rose, shaking the room.
“W’Zonn,” Brattle called out as he came to the top of the stairs. “That’ll be ‘nuff of ‘at for tha moment.”
“He’s just a surface scab!” W’Zonn yelled as he pulled his knife out of the screaming man’s body. Those around him cheered and called for the large street fighter to stab the higher tier-dweller once more. The blade was twirled and quickly sheathed as W’Zonn released his hold of the man and stepped back from him.
“Good boy,” the woman said as she stepped out of the crowd behind W’Zonn. She had chosen to be seen by the masses that quickly quieted themselves and lowered their heads. No one wanted to chance making eye contact with the woman. She wore the white mask about her face and neck that had become her most recognizable accessory. The silver-lined black bodysuit under matte black plating had also become well-marked armour and when it was seen, every citizen of the Bowels knew it to be the armour of Eleda, the Castigator. She was in the company of another woman
that most knew not to give any trouble. The golden-haired Ainille, the Angel, stood with her profile to the action as usual. She was a woman of few words and sinister actions, but she would never step on the toes of her able-bodied sister. “The rules are simple: he speaks, you do!
“And to the rest of you,” Eleda said as she looked around, “… since when have the Bowels been run by committee? Brattle has spoken! Best you pray he speaks again to stay my hand!”
“No need, Eleda,” Brattle said as he descended the stairs. It was a very good sign to see her again. Per usual, he had not been aware she had returned… and with her arrival, Mother could not be far behind. She was not going to like Brattle’s report. The triplets had been a true find, and he knew Mother had plans for them. The only avenue of hope left to Brattle was that they had been taken during the beginning of a Bowel Tide. “We’re going ta need our numbers strong for tha comin’ days.”
“You’ve got high hopes there, Junior,” Eleda said, flashing her silver eyes over to the bloodied young man as he reached the floor. “And it looks like not all is well.”
“Fings are not all good,” Brattle admitted. He knew he would be wasting his time lying to the woman. Honesty had always been the policy of dealing with Mother and her agents… that knowledge he learned before he was three! “But fings ain’t all bad, eever. We los’ the triplets.”
“No, you lost the triplets!” Eleda snapped as her shoulders flexed.
“Try to ‘member… you picked n’ trained the feckin’ bowzers that was watchin’ ‘em!” Brattle snapped right back. One of the most respected truths was the honesty of self-expression. “ I ain’t sayin’ they didn’ do their jobs. I’m sayin’ we got hit wit sumfin that was as big as a house, stronger than W’Zonn, and just as hard ta see as Ainille if not bettah!”
“What?” Eleda said softly, her eyes squinting as she tried to imagine a figure demonstrating such ability.