by Reiter
Desire is the key to motivation, but it’s determination and commitment to an unrelenting pursuit of your goal – a commitment to excellence – that will enable you to attain the success you seek.
Mario Andretti
(Rims Time: XII-4201.15)
Fate had already painted with a heavy brush, making Dungias’ present situation something that he would at least testify as being interesting. According to the time-keeping systems of his surroundings, it was the fifteenth of Janzur. He allowed himself a smile as he recalled the warm thoughts of what had happened on this day.
“It is something of a comfort, knowing there is next to no chance I will encounter myself,” Dungias thought, remembering that at this time he was aboard the Xara-Mansura as it approached the Gulmar System. At this particular time of the day, he was looking over the design specifications Mel had made for Panzer. His initial construction mistakes had been corrected without Dungias having to mention them. The remote control option was something he decided to include at the last moment, and given what was about to happen on Gulmurr, it was a good thing he had included that functionality.
With those memories, however, came images of Annsura, and those were not as pleasant – but they served a purpose. With her last action in life, she had kept to the oath she gave when they started their training.
“All I know – all I’ve ever known – is the pit,” she had told Dungias after he called a stop to their sparring session. “In the pit, there’s only winning and losing.”
“Neither one of us believes that,” Dungias had quickly replied. He remembered how shocked and insulted she had looked to hear his words. “If that were the case then why did you protest the selling of Dayshe? Was that not also a case of winning or losing… winning her friendship and losing her presence?” Annsura had screamed before she attacked him, and Dungias gave ground as her skill to attack for the kill seemed to be augmented by her rage. “Hmmm, what part is this? Do you lose credibility as I win the high ground?”
“I’m going to kill you!” Annsura had screamed before Dungias applied his skill and speed. He grabbed the back of young girl’s head, making her face the mirrored wall.
“No, but you stand a very good chance of killing her.” Dungias had whispered into her ear. “Is that not what you really wish to do?! Because of the pain, yes? The pain of the overwhelming rejection. The pain of your inability to change the fate of a loved one. Do you think this place you have come to is a solitary place? I was where you are. I changed my entire world! I freed my people and a race I did not even know was being oppressed. There are still kindred of mine and members of the freed race that would take great joy at the sight of my soulless body paraded in front of them! You lost your Dayshe, Annsura, but she still lives… if nowhere else, she thrives in your heart. What sort of place have you given her in which to live?” Dungias had released the girl and watched as she fell to her knees crying. He had frowned the moment he could see it. Short treks… no matter what direction she would take. She had served as the ferryman to the Grey Realm for so many, and it would soon be her time to take the voyage.
“It is not the time one has had in the living,” Dungias had thought, “… but the living one has had in the time. For whatever time this one has left, I will trek her to the most living she can stand. That is my oath!” Dungias had turned to leave her to her sobbing; she had earned that much of a respite.
“Can you help me?” Annsura had asked. “I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to die like this!”
“Finding something worth dying for is easier than finding something worth living for,” Dungias had told her. How the words seemed to lighten his heart in retrospect. “Once you have found the latter, the former is merely a moment. Perhaps not one of our choosing, but not so great as the thing you choose to live for. I can show you how to find that something.”
“You show me that something and I’ll show you something right back,” Annsura had said as she wiped away the tears. She was done crying. “And that’s a promise!”
“Then we have an accord,” Dungias had claimed, offering his hand to the young woman. She might have fallen to the floor a self-destructive dark soul, but it was an entity of life that had been lifted to its feet.
“An accord indeed,” Dungias muttered, looking down on the building that was his destination.
After waiting the time he had, spending nearly all of the credits he had collected at the facility where he was being studied, most of it electronic, it was time to put his plan into play. It was dark, cold, windy, and snowing heavily; it was an infiltrator’s bazaar, and Dungias was in a shopping mood.
He reached to his brace-com to confirm the time, and he adjusted the temperature of his body armour. The heat of his body would not register to any device. His skin shifted to navy blue as he ran from his place against the wall. Five strides along the rooftop and Dungias jumped off the side. The center of the bottom of his cloak locked against the heels of his boots and the silver seams dimly flared before they went rigid. The howling wind enabled the Traveler to glide without losing any altitude unless he wanted to.
The Ardrians were certainly a well-forged war machine. Their militaristic approach made breaching the facility somewhat difficult. Also, Dungias had to be careful what tools he used. His reloads were, at the moment, approaching the Gulmar System.
“So many guards,” he thought as he approached the outermost walls. “And well distributed over the grounds… save for the two in the tower in the middle of the facility.” Putting himself into a slight dive, Dungias increased his speed. Ranging his distance and speed, the Traveler threw his voice, creating a sound on the east side of the tower as he flew in from the south. As he had expected, one guard looked to the east while the other looked to the west. As the western watch turned north, Dungias landed on the eastern watch. His compatriot turned in time have Dungias’ piton and cable wrap around his neck before being pulled into a punishing hook to the jaw. Dungias did not catch the body, but merely absorbed the sound of the collision as he had done with the first man. Dragging both bodies to the trap door, Dungias used their hands to open the latch. As soon as he opened the door, he could hear a channel open over the speakers in the guard booth. Dungias hopped up and dropped straight down the shaft.
“All right you two,” the Control Officer called out. “We are no less than 200 minutes out from duty shift-swap. You know how the ladies hate it when you pull out early!”
Dungias landed on the floor that was in a basement level. Jumping from that spot, he twisted, drew his blaster and fired for the Control Officer. The projectile passed through the glass without making a sound, delivering a high-current charge to the body it struck. It was not pretty, quick, or quiet, but the Control Officer had been neutralized and he was the only man on the level who stood a chance of reaching the alarm controls before Dungias. Even the other man in the room was too slow to turn his attention away from his downed colleague, and soon joined him in a forced slumber. Four others were also stunned, and the surveillance system was caused to malfunction before Dungias left the level and proceeded down into the maximum security prison.
Having used the Beta-Arrjeeh gem so many times, the ability to read a life-force was not solely Alpha’s, but without his Osamu, Dungias was severely limited to what he could divine. The thoughts and drives of the guard were beyond the Traveler, but the layout of the facility was something he could easily procure and Dungias knew where to go and what to expect. In an effort to conserve power, he took the stairs.
With two flights still ahead of him, the alarms sounded. The Traveler had penetrated the security more deeply than he had estimated. He jumped over the railing of the stairs and took the last two flights in one immediate descent. The heavy steel doors designed to cut off sections of the installation started to close, but Dungias made it inside the holding area before they could shut.
“H-Level,” Dungias said softly as he walked, “Corridor Three. This is the place.�
� Lunging to his right and reaching to his side, a wall-mounted gun activated and fired. It was fully automatic, firing fifteen rounds a second, but its initial burst had missed. Dungias’ flechette sword cleaved the housing of the wall mount.
“Well, what do we have here?” a woman asked. Dungias turned to see the three prisoners he had expected to find. Two men and one woman, all dressed in bright yellow, form-fitting bodysuits with mechanical collars, bracers and anklets.
“Two things: we do not have anything, and that includes time. The offer I make is simple. I liberate you, and you perform feats of teleportation for me. There are three of you, I will need six jumps. After the sixth, I will have no further need for your company. Keep in mind I am asking you to give a vow, a sacred oath. If I live beyond your treachery, I can assure you that you will not! You have ten seconds to respond.”
The first to answer was a slender man who had been standing in the corner of the cell. He was the only one who had not moved when Dungias entered the large enclosure. His hair was bright red, blending into a dark violet at the ends. With only his hands and face showing, his skin was covered in rhunes and tattoos. The most peculiar was a large diamond-shaped tattoo in the center of his forehead. The southern point stopped on the bridge of his nose.
“If you can do what you say, I will see to your castings. Mine, and whatever is left over if either or both of those fools say no.”
“Easy there, scratch-pad,” the woman quickly retorted, moving her long, straight black hair over her shoulder. “Tall, dark, and hooded made an offer, and I plan to take him up on it! Lead the way!” Dungias looked to the third person who turned his back on the Traveler.
“Sounds like you got what you need,” the man said softly, moving to the far corner. “You don’t need me.”
Lifting his brace-com, scanning lasers traveled over the bodies of the two volunteers. “I am called Z. Please move to the center of the floor with one meter between you.” The two were quick to comply and Dungias completed his scans. “Now face me and lean forward.” Following the directions given to them, the man’s eyes squinted as the woman gasped to see Dungias run and bound toward them. He landed behind them, dropping the bodysuits he had removed along with four slightly bloody trackers.
“By the gods!” the slender man exclaimed, reaching for his right shoulder and the small of his back at the same time.
“Ow!” the woman yelled as she dropped to her knees in pain. “What the hell was that?”
“The trackers the Ardrians installed under your skin. They were composed of cloned biological material and rather difficult to isolate. My apologies for the discomfort. Now kneel close together and embrace.”
“Wait!” the man said as he came away from the corner. “I change my mind!” A straight punch bashed into his face, rocking his head back. Surprised and stunned, the man fell to the floor.
“Things are about to turn black,” Dungias continued. “I suggest that you hold on to one another, do not move, and breathe as shallowly as possible.”
“Back to back, Raza,” the woman demanded. “No need for you to get the wrong idea. We’ll interlock arms and stay close.”
“That is acceptable,” Dungias said, casting his eyes on the man. Raza sighed in frustration. Qarvosia’s Asian-influenced features were quite lovely to look upon. He had intended to do more than ‘get the wrong idea’. The two squatted low to the ground with their backs pressed against one another. Dungias scooped them up into his satchel and ran for the rear wall of the cell. He phased through the wall as the door to the cell opened. The alarms in the facility soon spread to the city, but that was not the direction Dungias had taken. He sat quietly inside a collection bin along with the trash that the automated system was taking to the furnace well outside the city.
The two naked bodies rolled away from Dungias, eventually coming to a stop. The woman looked in all directions, trying to get her bearings. The eyes of the slender man started to glow with a bronze-colored fire until he felt the cold, sharp edge of Dungias’ knife.
“There is no need for casting just yet, Raza-Tam G’Zadrior. I would rather that we remain calm and, given the readiness of the Ardrian Forces, off their scanners for the moment.”
“You let me make one gate and it won’t matter if they see us or not,” Raza claimed, “… we will be well away from this place before they can hope to respond!”
“That would be an additional casting that I do not require,” Dungias replied, placing a wrist-com device on Raza’s left arm.
“What is this?”
“Insurance against any further ill-conceived notions,” Dungias replied before placing one on the woman. “Qarvosia Saito, this one is for you. They have been calibrated to the electrical impulses in the brain. If you attempt to focus thought beyond what is necessary for simple movement, the electricity in your bodies will be used against you.”
“Hey, I didn’t try to welch!” Qarvosia protested.
“Which is why the first time your device is activated, it will simply be a warning shock,” the Traveler explained, ushering them toward a table in the corner of the warehouse. “I have taken the liberty to get you clothing and cold weather gear. It is my hope that the fit suits you.”
Qarvosia moved more quickly, but the two got dressed. Qarvosia was pleased with the fit and the fashion. “So, how many girlfriends do you have waiting back at home?”
“Why do you ask?”
“A man who can shop this well has got to have a serious following,” she replied. “How’s it going over there, Raza?”
“I must say I am overwhelmed,” the man replied. “Thank you.”
“I also brought food and–” Both Raza and Qarvosia walked quickly over to where Dungias had set up the small dinette table. “Apparently not all things require instruction.” As Raza started stuffing his mouth with food, Qarvosia dipped up a healthy plate and turned to walk to Dungias. “Thank you, but I am not hungry,” Dungias said, taking one of the large vegetables and putting it into his mouth. The nearly panic-struck pause of Raza was eased as he returned to eating.
“A big man like you needs to keep up his strength,” Qarvosia pressed.
“I concur, but my needs for palatable foods are not as great as yours,” Dungias explained. “The nutritional units I have eaten will suffice. Again, I thank you.”
“It’s me who should be thanking you,” Qarvosia stated, opting to eat standing close to her liberator. “When I first saw you, I thought you were the latest in a long line of Ardrian mind trips.”
Dungias folded his arms and shook his head. “I can assure you I am not that. I must ask... how accurately can you place your teleportation if you are given coordinates?”
“Uh oh,” Qarvosia said with genuine fear in her eyes. “I… I don’t use coordinates. I use location, projected sight, or I hone in on a particular signature.”
“Raza?” Dungias asked.
“If I have been to a place, I can be exact,” the man said after he swallowed. “Aside from that, it’s basically the same for me. And you should know, I’m not a Mage like Qarvosia.”
“No, you are a Living Key,” Dungias replied, surprising Raza with his knowledge. “And judging from the rhunes on your face, you are also the property of a guild of SpellCasteRs. Neither point concerns me. What you have told me is sufficient. In approximately one hour you will have to go back into the holding place while I board a transport that will be leaving Dolor.”
Raza stopped eating and Qarvosia struggled to keep from dropping her bowl. “Is that where we are?” Raza whispered his question. “Did you just break us out of Dolor’s Pit?”
“Apparently one of their mind trips was to keep your location from you,” Dungias concluded. “I suppose that was something they were saving should you have attempted an escape and failed. An interesting approach. Regardless, once we are aboard the transport, we will have three hours before I will require the first portal. It will need to be a two-way portal, sustained for no more th
an five minutes. To avoid argumentation, we will proceed with ladies first. Will you be able to accommodate my needs?”
“You give me a target, I’ll get you there,” Qarvosia replied.
Coming out of the satchel inside a cargo hold aboard a freighter, Qarvosia kept her end of the bargain – though Raza did not like that he was made to go back into the satchel and go with Dungias on his jaunt.
Focusing on the living energy-nexus Rahneece had named Jordan, Qarvosia was able to fix her talents on the young woman’s location. Dungias was able to pull Rahneece and Ulios out of the middle of an ocean they had just landed in.
Returning to the storage room, Dungias adjusted his calculations for the next jump. It had only been a few moments and Qarvosia was eager to create another breach. Dungias insisted that Raza take his turn. The woman agreed to drop her argument if Dungias would allow her to take half of the six. It was a simple enough concession to make.
An unconscious Teela was snatched from mid-air as she passed through high-altitude clouds… Jovasor’s damaged suit had activated its emergency features, and though it had air for three hours, the force-field keeping the vacuum of outer space at bay was only good for thirty minutes, given all it had been called upon to cover... Ephaliun cackled as he plummeted through the sky, only to look up and see his Teacher coming to his rescue.
“Who… who is that?!” Alpha asked.
“It is me,” Dungias said as he reached for and removed his Osamu from the generator that had been removed from his scout ship. Dungias and his students had easily overwhelmed the unsuspecting personnel at the facility, and used the tools present to start the reassembly of the Kulri-Kraythe.
“Do we have time for this, Teacher?” Ephaliun asked.
“I cannot say, Ephaliun,” Dungias said as he started toward his two SpellCasteRs. “But this is the trek we are taking. It is the twentieth of Janzur. I think we have time to get to where we need to be.” Ephaliun shook his head, still not quite able to get a hold of the moment.