“Oh,” the scientist muttered. “I see. Well perhaps I can continue my research elsewhere.”
“Very good Doctor,” Marcus agreed, hurriedly rushing him off down a nearby side street.
“You know, I find all this isomorphism most intriguing,” Dr. Gehringer continued. “There was a sociobiologist back on Earth that hypothesized that most alien life would not only look like humans, but would behave like us as well. His theory was controversial, but here you see it all around you! In the architecture around us – streets, buildings, doors, windows! Even in how they structure their everyday lives: they frequent eateries, bars, seek out entertainment, commerce, all clear indications of extreme convergent evolution.”
Taz and Serena had long since started to block out the scientist’s ramblings, and were walking a good few meters ahead of them, leaving Marcus to suffer alone.
“I do hope I get a chance to dissect one of them soon,” Dr. Gehringer continued. “I’m curious whether their internal anatomy resembles ours as well.”
“Let’s not go there Doctor,” Marcus hushed him. “I don’t think they would take too kindly to that, nor would I for that matter.”
“Hmm, yes,” Gehringer replied absently, his gaze wandering as if he were already making plans for just such an endeavor.
“What do you make of these Gaians, Grey?” he asked after a few minutes of contemplation.
“What about them?” Marcus replied, perplexedly.
“Well, they’re obviously human. Yet they seem to have been here for some time. Who are they? Where do they come from?” Dr. Gehringer continued as they navigated through a small marketplace, packed with an assortment of exotic wares and street vendors shouting out offers in alien tongues.
“I have absolutely no idea Doctor,” Marcus confessed, his concentration fixed on one of the vendors, who was busy trying to clear up a large mess made by a spilled barrel of foul-smelling orange liquid.
“I suppose they could have been sent out here by C-CORE, as one of the earlier missions,” Dr. Gehringer hypothesized.
“Hmmm?” Marcus sighed. “Oh, yes. Well, wouldn’t they have contacted Beta Terra to let them know what they’d found?”
“Well, obviously they would have tried,” Dr. Gehringer agreed. “But sending a communication from here to there could take eons. They’re most likely stranded here, just as we are, which is why I find their reluctance to meet with us so disturbing.”
“That sounds logical,” Marcus proclaimed with renewed interest. “If they’ve been here for a hundred years or more, they might be afraid that we’ll interfere with the life they’ve built for themselves here.”
“Exactly,” Dr. Gehringer resounded. “You’re not as dim-witted as I’d assumed, Grey. Not that that’s a vast improvement.”
Marcus simply chuckled awkwardly in response, not sure what to make of the doctor’s backhanded insult.
After wandering down a narrow, dingy side street filled with decaying establishments which seemed to have been forgotten by time itself, they emerged onto a massive pedestrian street bordering a busy roadway. At the end of the street, way off in the distance, a wall of shimmering energy blocked passage to lanes upon lanes of hovercraft. Thousands of pedestrians roamed about between spectacular storefronts, most almost a dozen stories tall.
To their immediate left, a jazzy, alien rhythm escaped through the broad entrance of what could only be a popular night club. A queue of several dozen of potential patrons waited in line as a particularly nasty-looking Golan stood imposingly at the front.
Metallic plates had been attached to his head, with tubes and wiring connecting to the base of his skull. He wore a stylish tunic of auburn leather, and a chain-linked belt with a bulky clasp.
“Is that what I think it is?” gasped Serena in surprise, taking a few steps forward to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.
To Marcus, the Golan bouncer seemed out of place. Not only was he twice as tall as the patrons, the gentle nature of his race seemed ill-suited to such a position. Serena halted briefly, confirming that the hulking figure was in fact a Golan. She tilted her head in disbelief before striding purposefully for the front of the queue. The music grew louder as she neared the entrance to the club, forcing her to shout at the huge alien.
“Nivalo livo vave nayo higo?” she yelled, trying to gain the bouncer’s attention.
Without so much as a word, the Golan – who had mistaken her attempt for a ploy to get ahead of the line – shoved her away with the back of his hand, sending her stumbling to the ground.
“Are you ok?” shouted Marcus as he rushed to her aid.
“What’s wrong with him?” Serena pleaded, brushing the dirt off her clothes. “He’s not like the others.”
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” came a voice from the side lines. “Golansss get very temperamental onccce they’ve been implanted.”
Marcus turned to see a blurry figure approaching them. It was as if his eyes refused to focus, the shadowy being’s form shifting and writhing as if made entirely of smoke. As it drew closer, the outlines became more distinct. The haze began to settle, and before them stood a slender humanoid about their own height, clad in the most impressive suit of armor Marcus had ever seen. Unlike the bulky plates worn over a padded undersuit that the Terran Republic issued to its cloned soldiers, this armor was beautifully segmented, each piece sliding smoothly under and over its neighbors, so that no part of the being was left uncovered. Even the three slender fingers on each of its hands wore thick gauntlets, attached to bracers covered with a series of buttons. Boots of fine dark leather lined the figures calves, branching off at the tip of the foot to form two thick toes, but apparently worn over the all-enclosing suit. The shards of the armor itself seemed carved out of a dark, silvery alloy which gleamed with a faintly lavender sheen. Ornate icons of glowing blue – symbols, letters, labels? Marcus wondered – were displayed on each segment. An upright collar formed a neck guard across the being’s shoulders, protecting the wearer’s slender neck, a halo of cerulean light covering its inner surface. An ornate facemask chiseled from the same dim alloy as the rest of the suit covered the entirety of its visage in a completely smooth, opaque plate.
“Implanted?” Serena blurted.
“Yesss, the Golan are sssuch gentle creaturesss,” the shadowy figure continued, its speech smooth, almost hypnotic. “Many of them come here in sssearch of enlightenment, only to wind up working at the docksss. An unfortunate few align themssselvesss with the more disssreputable elementsss of Sssemeh’yone. They implant them with behavioral implantsss. Make them more aggressssive. It isss truly ssshameful.”
“That’s horrible,” Serena exclaimed, horrified at the thought.
“I would go ssso far asss to sssay that it isss an affront to nature,” the slender figure continued. “They are enssslaving thessse poor creaturesss to do their dirty deedsss.”
“Who are you? What are you?” Marcus interjected, not sure what to make of the stranger.
“I am Rossshana of the Sssheshen,” it introduced itself. “You are the Terransss, are you not?”
The group was taken aback by Roshana’s awareness of who they were, and looked to Marcus for guidance.
“We are,” Marcus answered hesitantly. “How could you tell us apart from the Gaians?”
“It wasss not difficult,” Roshana hissed, in a not unfriendly manner. “Biologically the differenccce isss not apparent, but your equipment tellsss a different tale.”
“Our equipment?” Marcus replied, looking down to survey his gear.
“Yesss, it isss far beneath that which one might expect of a Gaian,” Roshana explained, cackling with a hissing laughter, but not without a modicum of charm.
“But we’ve only just arrived here. How could you even have heard of us?” Serena pressed, re-joining the conversation.
“My mistressss makesss it her businessss to know what goesss on in the New Arrival Zone,” Roshana revealed. “
Ssshe would very much like to meet with you.”
“Your mistress?” Marcus probed.
“Yesss, mistressss Ssshikari hasss a proposal ssshe wissshes to discussss with you.”
“What kind of proposal?” Taz asked, timidly.
“Not all of my mistresss’s dealingsss are for me to know,” Roshana confessed. “Ssshe merely exssspresssed an interessst in you and asssked that I procure an audienccce.”
Marcus wasn’t sure how to react. Roshana had displayed empathy with the poor Golan bouncer, yet there was something in its nature that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Despite his reservations, he knew that if they were to be stranded here, they would need allies. He would be foolish to dismiss such an opportunity out of hand. After all, sooner or later, they’d have to trust someone.
“Where can we find this Shikari?” asked Marcus.
“Ssshe awaitsss you inssside Xhalpithia,” Roshana proclaimed and ushered them away from the club with the Golan bouncer and into another further down the street.
Chapter 17
The smoky rhythm from the live band reverberated through the shadow-cast foyer, the droning bass so loud it came close to drowning out the clatter from Xhalpithia’s enigmatic patrons. A square central stage in the middle of the club’s main room housed a peculiar orchestra. A large alien creature with a turtle-like shell and a bird-like head stood at the center, holding a sack-like contraption with dozens of oddly-shaped pipes of varying sizes protruding from it at all angles. The six-legged being held the strange instrument up to its beak-like mouth and blew into a metal straw, using the fingers on its two spindly arms to activate the pipes by means of small levers.
Around the piper, five small furry humanoids with large, bulbous eyes and stumpy limbs jumped up and down and danced around the stage, adding to the intricate jazzy melody by playing bizarre stringed and percussion instruments, their fur painted black with streaks of white, creating a vaguely skeletal pattern. A scantily-clad girl with pale lavender skin and oddly human features – apart from her tail – pranced about, singing and dancing, making sure to show off her slender, curvaceous body at every opportunity.
Surrounding the entire stage was an outward-facing bar with a glass countertop, staffed by a handful of similarly lavender aliens of two genders, apparently male and female, each of them sporting an assortment of tattoos, piercings and odd hair colorings that Marcus had no way of judging were natural or not. The patrons, drawn from many different races, hovered about the dimly-lit club, whose décor was mainly a mixture of pure whites and deep red hues. The walls were clad in a smooth white leathery substance, with three levels of balconies looking down upon the stage, each one lined with booths and tables. Crimson curtains covered arched openings on the far wall beneath the balconies, with some of the more furtive-looking patrons frequenting whatever lay behind them. Disturbing images hung from the walls, most of which depicted nude individuals of various species in what appeared to be horrid scenes of erotic death.
“Up the ssstairsss,” Roshana shouted over the booming bass, gesturing them onwards.
Warily, the group made their way through the throng, past the bar, and towards an elaborate staircase, ornately carved from what seemed like a single solid piece of bleached wood. Each step was lined in red velvet, with gold rims running the length of the banister. As they ascended, Marcus paused briefly to take in the spectacle. It was a sight far more debauched than the Zonaka had ever been. Each of the patrons in the secluded booths was carefully cared for by more of the fair-skinned dancing girls, who were enticing their customers to give in to their desires. As he focused on one particularly beautiful dancer gyrating in a booth directly across the stage from him, he felt a firm tug on his shoulder. As he turned, he was greeted by a stern look of disapproval on Serena’s face.
They climbed the staircase all the way to the second balcony, where Roshana led them to an area towards the back. Two muscular, reptilian humanoids, armed with sleek yet bulky carbines, halted their procession. The spiny, olive-skinned monstrosities looked weathered, as if they’d seen more than their fair share of war and would be only too happy to find more. Roshana leaned in to whisper into the ear of the closest guard, who stepped aside, signaling for the other to do the same.
“Nerokan bodyguards,” the Sheshen explained just as the group passed them. “The very best the galaxy has to offer.”
* * * * *
On a slightly raised platform approachable via three wide steps lay an arrangement of white leather couches surrounding a curving glass table. Seated on the far couch, surrounded by a selection of lavender skinned males with fine, feminine features, lounged Roshana’s mistress.
Her segmented suit bore the same lavender sheen. Unlike Roshana, she wore boots and gloves made from the finest white leather, and her mask seemed to have been made from delicate white porcelain, plain and sleek, with no features save for the swirls of black paint surrounding the tinted glass covering the ocular cavities. Long raven-black hair, entwined into thick locks, streamed from the back of her head, spreading out behind her.
“Missstressss Shikari, I have brought the Terransss,” Roshana announced, falling down on his knees before her.
Shikari tilted her head to the side, studying her new guests while she nursed a small beaker filled with a translucent red liquid. She crossed her long legs and leaned backwards, gesturing for Marcus and his group to join her. Almost immediately her cohorts rose from their seats and darted past them, obviously not privileged to the conversation that was about to take place. Hesitantly, Marcus took a seat on the couch to her left, with the others cautiously following suit.
“Welcome to Xhalpithia,” when she spoke, Shikari’s silky smooth voice was every bit as hypnotic as that of her assistant, “the quickessst way to blissss.”
Serena and Taz looked at Marcus with questioning gazes, and Dr. Gehringer still stood awkwardly behind a banister at the edge of the raised dais, a safe distance away.
“Pleassse, if there isss anything that you wisssh, you have only to voice it,” Shikari proclaimed. “Food, wine, companionssship?”
“We’re fine,” Marcus hurriedly refused, and was rewarded with a look of appreciation from Serena, who was obviously feeling very out of place.
“Hold on,” Taz stopped him. “I wouldn’t mind a…”
“No Taz,” Marcus hissed. “That’s not what we’re here for.”
Taz shook his head in disbelief, his face flush with disappointment.
“Temper, temper,” Shikari sniggered, clearly enjoying the display.
“Why did you call us here?” Marcus chimed in.
“Hmmm, why indeed?” Shikari mused, pausing briefly to lay her beaker on the table. “I have a proposssal, one that will ssserve usss both greatly.”
“What kind of proposal?” Marcus asked, slightly nervous.
“My sssources have informed me that you are stranded here. You have traveled over vassst distancccesss only to find that you have no meansss of returning to your home. Your classssification forbidsss you from purchasssing the drive needed for true interssstellar travel. Like it or not, Sssemeh’yone isss your new home. Without the meansss to earn a living, you will mossst likely end up ssstarving on the streetsss like a common Lenek.”
“And I suppose you are going to offer us riches beyond our wildest dreams?” Marcus snapped sarcastically, his hackles raised by the sibilant alien’s condescension.
“Not exactly,” Shikari giggled. “How would you like to have a sssuperluminal drive of your own?”
“A superluminal drive?” Dr. Gehringer burst out from behind the banister, obviously agog at the implications.
“It isss a drive technology which will allow you to travel between sssolar sssystems in a matter of daysss,” Shikari explained. “With it, you will be able to do as you pleassse. You can return to your homeworld as heroesss, or explore the galaxy at your own leisssure.”
“Isn’t that illegal?” Marcus inquired. “The c
ustoms officials warned us we were forbidden to acquire such advanced technologies.”
“Legal, illegal, it isss a, how do you sssay, ‘grey area’?” Shikari explained. “If we conduct our transaction outssside Etheran ssspace, there isss very little they can do about it.”
“And what exactly would we have to do to earn such a prize?” Marcus asked, now fully on his guard.
“I have sssomething of a dilemma,” Shikari confessed. “You sssee, our people have been at oddsss with the Hrūll for thousssands of yearsss. They are our closessst neighborsss. They conssstantly raid our bordersss, kidnap our people and sssell them into ssslavery. Recently, a Hrūll raiding party captured an old Sssheshen gasss refinery, a sssmall outpossst orbiting a gasss giant on our bordersss. Membersss of my own family were on board the ssstation when it happened, and they are now being held to ransssom.”
“And you want us to go and rescue them?” Marcus asked. “Surely there are other far better candidates.”
“Oh, without quessstion,” Shikari continued. “The Nerokan, for example, are fierccce warriorsss. The Zillari are massstermindsss when it comesss to ssstrategy, and the Vreen would rather die than give in to adversssity. Yet they all ssshare a point in common which rendersss them incapable of the job at hand.”
“And what is that exactly?” asked Serena, still suspicious of Shikari’s motives.
“They all have ssstrong tiesss to the Etherium, in one way or another,” Shikari explained. “The Sheshen are not membersss of the Etherium, the Hrūll are. This leavesss usss at a disssadvantage. They can call on the aid of the councccil, whereasss our pleasss fall on deaf earsss.”
“Why don’t you simply rescue them yourselves?” Marcus inquired.
“We fear the retaliation it may bring,” Shikari muttered, the sadness in her voice was unmistakable, as was the growing anger with which she spoke. “The Hrūll are a ruthlessss, brutisssh race. In our past, we ssstood up to them, held back their advancesss. The cowardsss called upon the Etherium for aid, and within daysss a mighty armada of shipsss drove us all the way back to our homeworld, where Hrūll dreadnaughtsss bombarded our planet from orbit.” She paused briefly to regain her composure. The revelation of her species’ history had obviously taken its toll.
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 12