Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin)

by Christian Matari

  “I have heard it said that there are other humans in this galaxy, Master,” Luneia proclaimed, revealing her knowledge of current affairs.

  “You are well informed. How did you come to know of this?” he asked sternly, with a modicum of surprise.

  “The news is all over the station. People are saying they are our long lost brethren. Should we not embrace them as such?”

  “I have struggled with that very question,” he conceded.

  “So that is why you have been so distant.”

  He smiled.

  “What would Gaia do?” she proposed pointedly.

  “There is more to this story than you know, child. Things are not always so black and white.”

  He caught himself envying her simplistic view on life. If only he could let go of his inner turmoil. She was right of course. They were kin. Yet, if she knew Gaia’s heart as he did, perhaps she would understand. He only hoped that one day she would be able to forgive him.

  “Your tea is getting cold, Master. Should I reheat it for you?”

  “Please,” he said, as he raised his cup before her.

  She laid her hand over the cup, and a flash of energy escaped from her bare palm. As she withdrew her hand, steamy tendrils ascended into the air.

  “Luneia, you are indeed the child of Tysob Agashi.”

  Chapter 38

  Once Reid had recounted what he’d heard from the server in Zazunitse, Captain Mitchell had Marcus establish communications with Dasaan, who was waiting with the rest of the crew at the hotel. As their new alien crewmember had been on this world far longer than they had, he no doubt knew a good deal more about the inner workings of its society.

  Marcus made use of his newly-acquired wrist computer, transmitting the footage they’d obtained from the docking foreman’s console, before establishing a communication link. Within moments a miniature holographic image of Dasaan appeared, hovering in the air before them and looking concerned.

  “Dasaan, we need your help, urgently,” Captain Mitchell exclaimed. “Reid said that those lizards… things… at that club we were at earlier wore the same type of armor as the Banthalo in the footage. We were hoping they belong to some local faction.”

  “The ‘Dark Sun’,” Reid added. “It was something the server in the club said. ‘Lishan’ and ‘Dark Sun’.”

  With that, Dasaan’s expression went from grave to worse.

  “Are you certain you heard him correctly?” the Ganyatti asked.

  “Positive,” said Reid. “Why?”

  “If that armor is indeed the same as those of the Nerokan guards in Zazunitse, then Raven’s kidnappers belong to the Black Arm, a notorious group. They perform all manner of nefarious deeds for the Dark Sun Empire, Sheijan’s ruling cartel. They are essentially a private army.” Dasaan explained.

  “Why would they want Raven?” Captain Mitchell asked.

  “They wouldn’t,” Dasaan said. “But the Dark Sun Empire certainly would.”

  “What? Why?” Taz pressed.

  “No Sheshen is known to have developed psionic abilities, and most accept this, but the ruler of the Dark Sun Empire is well known to covet them desperately,” Dasaan explained. “As such, Nos Shana is not a world where psionics are to be wielded lightly. Those who show such prowess have a tendency to vanish without a trace. Some say he collects them. Most likely, the Black Arm mistook your pilot for a Gaian.”

  “Why would that matter?” Marcus asked.

  “The Gaians are well known for their high psionic aptitude,” Dasaan answered.

  “That’s… just great,” Doc Taylor observed from the rear.

  The thought of Raven being reduced to a showpiece in some madman’s zoo nearly drove Marcus wild with rage. What was worse, he worried that he would also have to overcome her loss, just as he would that of Juey and Knoles. What was it that Reid had said? With each loss, they grow a little more accustomed to death, lost a little more of their humanity.

  “What do we do, boss?” Jago muttered, still clutching one of their captives by the neck.

  Captain Mitchell perched on the edge of the console, deep in thought.

  “Against opposition like that… I really don’t know, Ape,” the captain muttered under his breath.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Marcus roared. “We go after her!”

  “Just like that?” Mitchell chortled.

  “Yes. Just like that!” Marcus bellowed.

  “It’s a suicide mission!” Captain Mitchell snapped. “I’m not going to risk all our lives just to save one, at least not without proper intel.”

  Marcus felt the rage building up inside him. How could the captain speak that way about Raven? She’d been with them from the very beginning and there wasn’t a soul among them she wouldn’t risk her life to save. He lowered his head in disbelief. There was no way he would abandon her so easily, no way he would give in to loss and lose another piece of what it was that made him human.

  “If you won’t save her, I will,” he proclaimed defiantly, not raising his head.

  “No, Corporal,” Captain Mitchell forbade him, using Marcus’ rank to hammer home his authority. “You will follow my orders.”

  Marcus felt his anger beginning to take over, extending outwards, tendrils of pure rage consuming him from the inside out, touching everything in his vicinity. He clenched his fists and tensed his jaw, trying to keep himself under control.

  “We’re going back to the hotel and that’s final!” Captain Mitchell concluded.

  With that, the lights in the foreman’s office began to flicker. As the others looked up at the luminescent tiles in the ceiling, the windows suddenly exploded outwards, thousands of shards of toughened glass raining down on the streets outside. Marcus barely even noticed, so overcome was he by his emotions.

  “Marcus!” Reid shouted, realizing what was causing the bizarre phenomena, his voice barely registering on the raging clone as crates and barrels began to vibrate.

  A tremor shot through the floor, shaking the very foundations and breaking cracks in the walls.

  “You have to stop, Marcus!” Reid shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders and trying to shake him out of his uncontrollable rage. “We’ll find a way! We’ll save her!”

  Marcus couldn’t feel anything. His anger was so all-consuming that it left him numb. It was as if his beaker had been filled with rage, and there was no way to prevent it from overflowing. Reid moved his hands up, grabbing Marcus by the sides of his head, staring intently into his eyes, struggling to maintain his grip.

  “Marcus, stop!” he shouted. “We’ll get her back!”

  Marcus focused his attention on Reid’s merciful eyes, drawing strength from his determination.

  Slowly, the quakes began to reside, and within seconds, Marcus slumped to the floor, so emotionally and physically drained that he could barely even keep his eyes open. As he slowly began to fall into unconsciousness, he saw Captain Mitchell kneeling over him.

  * * * * *

  Marcus awoke lying on his bunk back at the hotel. Serena was sitting at his bedside, affectionately wiping his forehead with a damp cloth, her long dark hair gleaming in the dim light of the room.

  “Where am I?” he managed to mumble.

  “The others brought you back to the hotel,” Serena reassured him. “Drink some of this.”

  She handed him a glass of water, but he could only take a small sip before having to lay it back on his bedside table.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “They went to that club,” she told him.

  “The club?” he probed, bewildered. “Why?”

  “Reid said something about someone there who might be able to help with finding Raven,” she replied.

  “Wait, they’re not giving up on her?” he mumbled, astonished at the captain’s change of heart.

  “Give up on her?” she wondered, her eyebrows raised. “Why would you say that? The captain said they’d continue the search until the Tengri
is ready.”

  Marcus smiled as he leaned back in his bed. Serena laid her hand on his forehead, running her delicate fingers across his skin.

  “What exactly happened to you?” she asked. “The captain said you hit your head, but I can’t see any bruises. Even Doc Taylor said you just needed to rest.”

  It took him a minute to remember that she wasn’t privy to their abilities.

  “Oh… yeah, I guess I must have,” he dissembled awkwardly. “I should get up. I want to go with them.”

  “No, you should stay in bed!” she told him, pressing her warm hands on his chest. “You’re still weak.”

  “No really. I’m fine,” he lied. “I really have to speak with the captain.”

  As he tried to sit up and reach for his clothes, which lay on a small footstool near the edge of the bed, his muscles ached with every movement. Finally he gave in and leaned back once more.

  “I guess you’re right,” he said. “Perhaps I do need some rest.”

  She stared at him, clearly wanting to say something, but she held her tongue. As she prepared to stand up and leave, Marcus caught hold of her wrist.

  “Don’t leave,” he said. “I mean… you can if you want to.”

  “I can stay,” she answered with a small smile, sitting down once more, which began another awkward silence.

  “Do you… like him?” Marcus asked eventually, immediately regretting it.

  “Who?” she asked, tilting her head so that her raven locks swayed away from her kind eyes.

  “Dasaan…”

  “Of course,” she admitted, shooting him a naive smile.

  Marcus felt his heart skip a beat. He’d waited too long. He’d had all the opportunities in the world to tell her how he felt, but now she-

  “He’s a purple alien with a tail,” she continued. “He’s fascinating! There’s so much I can learn from him.”

  “Oh,” Marcus sighed, realizing that her admiration for their new cook might be more academic than anything else.

  “I must be starting to get on his nerves, because I honestly can’t stop asking him all sorts of questions.”

  “There is that,” Marcus chuckled, suddenly feeling rather relieved, and much better.

  * * * * *

  The dimly-lit corridor beneath the Zazunitse was lined with arched alcoves along both sides, concealed behind velvety turquoise curtains. A few shady characters occupied the hallway, well-armed and fidgety as they stood guard whilst their employers enjoyed the company of a variety of exotic consorts behind the curtains.

  Captain Mitchell spotted the two Nerokan bodyguards near the rear and immediately alerted the others.

  “I hope you have a plan Captain,” Dasaan urged, “Kesha Kun is the most powerful figure in all of Sheijan, and Lishan is the youngest of his three sons.”

  “Then we’d best be discreet,” Mitchell answered sternly.

  As they approached, one of Lishan’s bodyguards stepped forth, blocking their passage.

  “Kho aygoshi,” the reptilian escort grunted, baring its teeth as it hefted its spear.

  “We’re not allowed to go any further,” Dasaan worriedly explained to the others.

  “Well, then you’d better explain to him that we’re not leaving without first having a word with his boss,” the captain instructed him, drawing an even more troubled look from Dasaan.

  As soon as he relayed the captain’s message, the guard began shoving him aggressively, shouting harsh words in its guttural tongue. Startled by the sudden display of hostility, Taz lowered his hand to the sidearm on his belt.

  Almost instantly, the second Nerokan guard twisted the handle of his spear, and in less than a second its metallic shaft had morphed into a nasty-looking sword blade with a keen serrated edge, much better suited to use in the confined quarters of the corridor than his spear had been. He pointed the tip in Taz’s direction, gesturing for him to remove his hand from the weapon.

  Behind them, Reid saw that other patrons were beginning to take note of the confrontation. “Guys,” he said softly. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  Captain Mitchell assessed the situation and saw the futility of their attempt. The bodyguards were clearly no ordinary foot soldiers he could bluster his way past, but highly-skilled mercenaries armed with incredibly advanced weaponry.

  “Alright, let’s back off,” he ordered. “We’ll have to find another way.”

  They raised their hands in the air in a sign of surrender and began to back off slowly, the two Nerokans watching them with cold, reptilian stares.

  “No!” Taz blurted out in protest, clenching his eyes shut and tensing his muscles as he tried to shift his focus inward.

  The captain grabbed his shoulder, attempting to shake some sense into their upstart scout, but Mitchell’s protest only strengthened Taz’s conviction. The vein on his neck was throbbing, his whole body begging to tremble as he fought desperately to summon the lethal strength he’d somehow called upon on Strom. He let out a faint groan as he clenched every muscle he could. The closest Nerokan bodyguard tilted his head, staring at him with great interest. Taz focused on his anger, his self-loathing, and felt-

  “Are you trying to shit your pants?” Reid asked, his voice disbelieving.

  Taz wheezed, inhaling and exhaling rapidly, his muscles relaxing. After a moment he turned to Mitchell.

  “Sorry, Sir. I thought maybe if I tried really hard, I could do what I did on Strom,” he explained, somewhat embarrassed.

  The Nerokan guard let out a deep, gurgling laugh, mocking the scout in his alien tongue.

  Taz felt so disappointed. If only he could transform into the same ravaging beast he had become on Strom, he knew he could show these lizards that he was no one to mess with! He glared at the laughing mercenary, who noticed him and stared right back, its mocking laughter ringing in his ears. Without even thinking Taz reached out, seizing to the side of Taylor’s belt and grabbing one of the medic’s atmos canisters, thrusting the metal cylinder at the Nerokan, his thumb firmly on the protruding valve. Startled, the Nerokan jumped back, as did the rest of the shady patrons close enough to see what was happening.

  “Dasaan,” Taz said calmly, his eyes locked with those of the bodyguard. “Tell this piece of shit that unless we get to speak to Lishan, I’ll blow us all to hell.”

  It was a tremendous lie. At best, the atmos canister might exude a slight wheezing noise, but certainly nothing that could cause them any harm. However, there was no way his opponent could have known that.

  “Isn’t that-” Reid began, eyeing the object in Taz’s hand.

  “Yup,” Captain Mitchell cut him off, grinning. “Dasarn, tell them.”

  After rolling his eyes at the way the Captain mangled his name, Dasaan nervously conveyed Taz’s threat in a loud, clear voice. As he did so, there was a rustle of movement behind them as patrons and girls made themselves scarce. Even a wobbling, stark-naked Banthalo tumbled out of from one of the alcoves behind them, hurriedly making his way towards the exit as he tried not to drop his bundled clothing.

  “What’ll it be?” Taz pressed, wielding the phony grenade in as intimidating a manner as he could muster.

  Before the guards could reply, the turquoise curtain at their side slid open just wide enough to reveal the slender hand of the alcove’s Sheshen occupant as he calmly handed one of them a piece of bone-white cloth. As the black-armored hand disappeared once more behind the curtain, the disgruntled guard unfolded the fabric and briefly scanned its contents, then tossed it on the floor at Taz’s feet.

  Dasaan scurried to retrieve it as Taz kept his dead-eyed stare fixed on the Nerokans.

  “What does it say?” Mitchell asked as Dasaan returned to his side.

  “Guahashou Bath House, tomorrow at eight.”

  Chapter 39

  Marcus awoke to the discomforting feeling of cold steel pressing against his flesh. The chamber was cold and dark. The bitter scent of disinfectant filled his senses. He
tried to struggle, but his head, hands and legs were bound tightly by black synthetic straps which disappeared into long narrow slits along the sides of the operating table. He heard a soft thumping as his ankles and elbows slammed into the table as he writhed, furiously trying to break free.

  “Tahashiu shalit ish,” a voice in the darkness whispered. “Shao stugomi subuchi kho ang mumagi shito sakdoy.”

  His mind was racing. When he’d fallen asleep he’d been lying in his bed at the hotel, safe in Serena’s company. Had he been abducted under the cover of night? Was he alone or had they all been taken? A hundred questions clouded his mind as his heart began pounding harder and faster with each passing moment.

  His struggling had slightly loosened the thick strap around his forehead, allowing him to wriggle his head slightly from side to side. Looking around his limited field of vision, he could see all manner of blinking consoles and scientific equipment lining the wall on his right. A tray holding a variety of gruesome surgical tools stood on a stand near the corner of the room, some of them covered in a yellow viscous fluid. The real terror set in when he managed to twist his neck to catch glimpse of what lay on the other side of the darkened chamber.

  A lone, slender figure slouched over an identical operating table, its back turned towards him. The sound of metal grinding against flesh and bone sent shivers down his spine. A small puddle of the same yellow liquid he had seen on the surgical tools was pooling at the base of the table, dripping down to the floor.

  The shadowy figure turned, revealing its narrow bony head and cold, black eyes as it lurched over to one of the consoles in the far corner of the room, adjusting a series of knobs. Marcus nearly froze when he saw the focus of the figure’s work.

  A female Hrūll lay strapped to the table, her chest cavity spread wide open and held ajar by a fearsome mechanical arm hanging from the ceiling, her tiny breasts still visible on the slabs of meat that had once formed the front of torso. Rows of spindly manipulators clasped onto flaps of skin and the tips of her ribs, spreading them outwards. A series of transparent tubes extended from the base of the mechanical arm and ran down to her neck and skull, pumping her body full of some God-awful liquid. With a start, Marcus realized he was almost certain that he could hear her heart beating. Whatever was being done to her, she was still alive. He couldn’t believe what was happening. It had to be a dream. It just couldn’t be real.