“What faith is that?” he asks, easily twirling the other huge blade.
“Why the faith of Allah. I believe the demon’s words on the YouTube were something to the extent of, if you are going to believe in good, do good – believe in evil, do evil. But don’t think doing either in the name of the other is anything less than being corrupted. I realized my faith is mine. That what I choose to believe in does not have to be dictated by others’ interpretations I do not agree with.”
“Missed that on YouTube. Think I heard about that guy in Russia recently. What does that have to do with me?”
“I found my way back to the path, mostly. I still make weapons that could be used for evil purposes. Tell me, Mr. Zebediah Newell. Mr. Z, Newell, have I made implements of evil?”
Crap sticks. He knows.
“Can’t say. These? No. At worst they’re just implements of death; should they be needed that way. Otherwise, they’ll look really cool in my office.” Znuul sets the other blade in the crate and returns the magnet to its box, tossing it into the crate. “You probably wouldn’t want to meet that Znuul thing anyway, being one of Allah’s.”
“No, but perhaps he may wish to meet me and my god.”
“Sounds nice,” says Znuul, wrapping an arm around the guy and leading him out. “Your work seems great. Thanks for coming by.”
They stop at the door, and a few moments of silence pass between them.
“May they decorate your office well, Mr. Newell.”
Znuul says, “Thank you,” and closes the door.
“He knows,” I call out.
“He suspects, strongly. You going to summon the troops?”
“Not for another two days. They’re helping the librarian rebuild.”
“Sucks for you. I’m heading to Syria, and you need to keep quiet here. No phone, no nothing. They suspect we’re here. So, pull the battery and the chip. They’ll be scanning cell-com for words linked to us, voice patterns, and who knows what. Silithes can handle a day or two without your call.”
If he only knew – a little alone time is not a bad thing for me, at all.
“Arthur, seriously, a day to get to the war zone. Two days to track down who I need to speak to. Maybe time to track down anything they share with me, assuming they do. Plan on four to five days on your own.”
He takes another slug off the bottle, and I can see he’s serious.
“This isn’t a something-the-armor-told-me-to-do-it kind of thing, is it?”
“Planned all along. But know this, if these… people… decide to harm me, unprovoked, I will set upon them with a fury they are not ready for.”
“Please tell me you’re not going in there picking a fight.”
Another chug of the bottle follows.
“No, I will be the model of restraint and decorum as father would have me be. But if they turn on me, I will send a message to The Protectorate and the world at their expense. Ahtsag Znuul is not to be trifled with. I grow tired of being nice with no nice in return. Arthur, I am…”
That moment hangs. Hangs way too long.
“I am the most dreaded Destroyer of Hope and Devourer of Souls. It always comes back to that. I try, but, at my core, there is much darkness. There is no escaping what I am.”
More silence hangs, and he slurps the Stoli again, leaving the bottle done. I’m not afraid. This is just Znuul speaking his feelings. We’re all entitled to that.
“You know, I’m reminded of a certain fiancée of yours. She told me something once, and I’m paraphrasing: that what she is doesn’t define who she is. Don’t let what you are define you. You define you, Ahtsag Znuul.”
“Well, aren’t you a do-gooding little ray of sunshine?” he says, with a smile taking over his face. He stalks over, puts that huge arm around my shoulder in a man-hug, and gives a fairly gentle slap on the back – for him. “My Karred’s words. Grey would be proud of you for that one.”
He toasts me with the bottle, another belt diminishing it. He looks away from my eyes; why, I have no idea.
“Let’s hope they don’t do anything foolish. Because if they do, I will enjoy being able to assert myself for a change. I don’t lie, Arthur,” his eyes returning to mine. “If they come for me, I will kill them all and relish the experience. So we’re clear, as I do not lie; I won’t be picking a fight or pushing for one. But if they cross the line, there is no return. The Protectorate needs to know that I’m not ducking for fear of them.”
“Yeah, Z, I get it.”
“Five to seven days, Arthur. Then we get you back home.”
Chapter 40
Shenyang, Liaoning Province, China
Blood splatters on the plastic sheet set up as a barrier. The ambassadors see the silhouette of the group that just came through the gate and smile that someone on the other end was thinking so efficiently as to push so many through at the same time.
Jvarg stands, looking at the support incanters who have passed out on the floor – like they always do.
“Welcome to the Earthen realm,” Jvarg proclaims. Then he moves to the plastic barrier and pulls it down, revealing a Bularj holding two smaller Genois engineers and an A’rl Skaar sorceress harnessed to its back.
E’Fenk smiles and says. “Come forward, all so we might see you better.”
The Bularj moves ahead covered in blood, as are those he carries. Its deep voice says, “This blood is tasty. I want more.”
“Then you are to be disappointed,” Jneailith says. “You serve these creatures until our dominance is established.”
The Bularj drops the Genois from its arms. “Free this creature from my back,” it shouts, referring to the A’rl Skaar sorceress on its back.
“Yes! Please release me from this humiliating position,” the sorceress exclaims.
Attendants surge forward and release her from the bindings. She shakes the human blood from herself.
The Genois immediately start communicating in their strange binary language of rapid-fire clicks.
“You will speak so we understand you,” says E’Fenk.
The two look at each other and share a quick click of an exchange. The larger one looks at E’Fenk and says, “It is not our fault you cannot comprehend our language. The fault is yours.”
E’Fenk looks to Jneailith.
“Fair enough,” says Jneailith. “E’Fenk, please let Emperor Zebelbuub know that it is our fault we cannot comprehend their language, and because of that, they choose to disobey us.”
“Oh, yes. I will. Adding in my report that, of course, they understand us totally.”
The Genois look at each other with some urgency.
The larger one steps forward.
“Perhaps we have mistaken the fault – it is obviously our own.”
E’Fenk nods at the strange gray creature with a bulbous head and two sets of arms.
“Yes, it is… now did you bring the weapons and schematics as requested?”
“Yes. Old, non-nanite weaponry, consisting of one gravity gun and two energy pulse weapons. We have schematics and basic theorem behind the weapons we believe translated so these humans’ so-called technology might read it. I would be surprised if it took less than decades to decode and comprehend our less-than-advanced technology.”
“The showers are over there,” says E’Fenk. “Enjoy them – water is clean and plentiful here, for now. Clean yourselves and then join us. The Earthen politicians must see us as we are. Think of it as honesty.”
“Then why are you in their form?” asks the Bularj.
“Because they already know what we are, and it is uncomfortable converting back and forth to human form,” Jneailith says.
“Do as you are told,” says E’Fenk.
The newly arrived contingent head for the showers.
“They question us,” says Jneailith to E’Fenk.
“Silence. Those new to a realm always try to assert themselves. You should know this already.”
“Of course,” she says, her ha
nd stroking his back gently. “Sometimes I need the guidance of a more experienced hand.”
“No, you don’t, sweet one. But nice try.”
Jneailith smiles at E’Fenk. “Surely you can’t blame me for trying.”
E’Fenk looks at her imperiously. “No blame; just remember our mission. I would hate to have to feed you to the emperor. That would make me sad. So very sad.”
⁂
Dr. Jvarg and his assistants disconnect the politicians from the gate apparatus and bring them glasses of juice. Once everyone is assembled, they are brought to a receiving area, where E’Fenk, Jneailith, and the sorceress Kirtijix, await them.
“The other travelers are still cleaning themselves and your gifts,” Jneailith purrs, gliding toward them. “May I present the most wise and powerful sorceress Kirtijix? Please pardon her attire, she is fresh from the shower and thought it most important and respectful to be here promptly.”
Kirtijix smiles, knowing that she has been given political credit.
“Kirtijix,” E’Fenk says, “This is General Cho and General Yang. Also, allow me to introduce ambassador Zang Jun. This fine gentleman is Bai Yi, of the Academy of Science, and his second, Zhou Lu. They will be in charge of interpreting and producing our technologies.”
They all stare at Kirtijix, with her pale white skin, elongated limbs, and upside-down tear-drop-shaped head with a slit above her eyes.
“I am honored to meet you all. Please excuse my clothing,” she says, holding her arms out in a presentation of the bathrobe she wears. “I have not had time to unpack my things. I thought it more important to meet you than to put on airs.”
“So you will be assisting us with the technology?” asks Bai Yi.
“That is not my specialty. I am more of the arts arcane. The engineers would be of greater assistance to you. My role is to help in attuning the gates for longer and greater openings. Calculations and mathematics get you close, but feel is needed for true optimization.”
“What is that slit above your eyes?” asks General Yang.
She responds by opening her glowing third purple eye, to their awe.
“This is my third eye that allows me to view the spectral and energy spectrums. I am pleased you appreciate its beauty.”
General Cho turns to E’Fenk, “Where are the weapons promised to us?”
“Being cleaned of blood sir, please allow us to present them to you in a pristine state. My understanding is that our engineers have brought technical specifications for your team as well. You will have one gravity rifle and two energy weapons of differing strength – as promised along with schematics.”
“Most excellent.”
⁂
The ambassadors and the sorceress arrive at their hotel in human form and get Kirtijix her key. The engineers and the Bularj left with Bai Yi to give a more robust introduction to their gifts. All are in a good mood as things could not have gone better.
They take the elevator in relative silence, as most likely it is under surveillance.
Once up to their floor, Jneailith nods for Kirtijix to follow them to their room. Now inside she says, “silence please.”
Kirtijix nods and mutters some words in their guttural dialect. “We may speak freely now.”
“Most excellent,” says E’Fenk.
“We appreciate your sensitivity to the politics before us; your play was flawless,” Jneailith says.
“You set the direction, lead ambassadors. I only followed.”
“Continue this performance, and you will gain rank,” says E’Fenk.
Kirtijix turns her head to the left, exposing her neck – a sign of subservience.
“Let us return this fine service,” says Jneailith, “What pleasures may we offer you?”
“Are you of the order, madam Jneailith?”
“No, I am not.”
“Then there would be no intellectual enhancement. As you know, our race is not inclined to the carnal pleasures as yours is.”
“Perhaps a neural rub of the spine? While not erotic, it is considered most relaxing and pleasant by your kind.”
Kirtijix smiles. “I think not. I am here to serve the mission, and you are the leads. I should not be served, but serving.”
E’Fenk laughs. “You mean you should not allow yourself to be so easily manipulated by a pair of well-practiced Cubati, good sorceress?”
Kirtijix doesn’t blanch.
“Yes.”
“Good.” E’Fenk says. “I am glad we understand one another so well, and we speak without pretense.”
“So there is nothing we can do for you?” Jneailith asks, pushing the point.
“Well, is it true that the one who killed Maldgorath still lives?”
“Oh, yes. Do you want him?”
Kirtijix smiles at Jneailith.
“Not exactly, I want Arixtumin. He is bound to this human. I was apprenticed to Arixtumin in the academy, and he was beyond dreadful. Should we catch his wielder, I would wish to be the one to deliver the death strike, preferably while Arixtumin watches powerlessly.”
“I always heard he was… pompous,” says E’Fenk.
“That is an understatement.”
Chapter 41
Qa’im, Iraq
Znuul lands on the roof of the main building of the phosphate plant. Still under camouflage, he’s careful of his steps and surveys his surroundings.
“No sign of potential aggressors,” comes the AI’s voice into his mind.
Znuul says nothing, merely nodding an acknowledgment which is more than enough for the AI. He glides over to a ventilation unit, using it to hide his presence, and drops the camouflage spell.
After a moment of concentration, he speaks the guttural words for a shielding spell, then the words for another.
“So considerate to include me in the shielding, eminence,” the AI says. “Few consider that the armor should be the last resort.”
“Set view to my flanks, protect and advise of threat. Do not bother me with idle chatter,” Znuul responds via the mental link.
“Understood,” the suit replies. “But one question before we enter battle.”
Znuul pauses, then gives a mental affirmation to the AI.
“Will we be consuming lives today? I do enjoy how that makes you feel and how it builds our reserves.”
“Hopefully not,” he responds, meeting with confusion from the AI. “I enjoy it also, but the devouring is not conducive to creating good company.”
“I have much to learn.”
“Yes. Now… we are on tactical. Silence.”
There is no reply. The AI knows what to do.
Znuul recasts the camouflage spell and moves ahead carefully, being remarkably quiet for a being of his size. He carefully addresses the door, noting it is locked. He twists the knob with force, and it comes off in his camouflaged hand. That failing, he reaches into the open cavity from the knob and pulls. Enough metal exposed, he takes grip and pulls the door open.
Once inside the building, he makes his way down the stairs and to the door leading into the main facility. His vision shifts to the life energy spectrum, and he sees the way to the door is clear. He enters the facility, scanning his surroundings. He counts twelve soldiers on the upper level. One is walking his way. He jumps over the railing and, with an expanse of wing, lands lightly on the ground and makes his way to cover as the camouflaging is not invisibility, just a blending of the background.
He scans around, noting a concentration of people in the midst of this building. He allows his vision to transform back to the normal spectrum as running into inanimate objects would defeat the purpose of his camouflage. He moves toward that concentration, noting that they appear to be in a manager’s office.
Perfect. He had tracked the field commander, Abu Adan Deir Ezzor, to this location, formerly used by the man who held the position before him. He knows this man is the number two or three in the People’s Islamic State organization. He shifts again to the spectral view, n
oting all the people in that room seem to be surrounding one man.
The one man he needs to speak with.
Znuul moves across the floor and takes a position, putting himself in front of that office door. He drops his camouflage and yells out, “Abu Adan Deir Ezzor! Ahtsag Znuul wishes to speak with you. Come forward in peace, and let us discuss our mutual enemies.”
⁂
Everyone in the office jumps at the deep voice that carries through the walls. Abu Adan Deir Ezzor looks around to the people in the room with him. “The demons return. Prepare our soldiers to converge upon this one, like the last. We shall overwhelm it and show its evil head as we have before.”
The men around him begin giving instructions through their radio-devices.
“Abu Adan Deir Ezzor, I still await your company,” booms the voice from outside.
He looks to the people around him. “Are we ready to respond to this demon?”
The ones with radio devices, stammer various forms of “Yes.” Those without radios bring their weapons to bear, making sure that any safeties are off.
Abu Adan Deir Ezzor strides to the door of his office, with all the confidence of a man that knows he has just deployed a significant army against one foe. He opens the door and sees the one calling him, sitting on his knees with hands on his thighs and clad totally in black. He sits in a nonthreatening posture. The large horns and wings belie any real humanness.
“You come groveling before us, after the others who failed before you,” Abu says, “Allah shuns you; so do we. Speak your words and leave us, unclean beast.”
“I am not affiliated with any of the others. They are not my associates. I hunt them as they present a threat to this realm. You saw through their false promises. I applaud you. Help me hunt them.”
“More lies, demon. Why would one demon hunt another?”
“Why would one human kill and persecute another?”
Silence follows.
“I propose a discussion. You tell me what you know of these ambassadors. I know your organization has intelligence: where they stayed, where they ate, patterns of action, and communication. I will use this information to find them, stop them, and if you wish, bring them to you so you may claim credit for their demise.”
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