by Dante King
“I’m coming for you, asshole,” I whispered to the room. “And death comes with me.”
Chapter Ten
With the immediate threat neutralized, I motioned for Reaver to back away from the doorway so that I could take her place. I watched with approval as she began gathering weapons from the dead guards and handed them out to those on our team who didn’t have one. The extra firepower would give us a huge advantage for our next fight—a fight I had no doubt would be coming soon.
The room beyond was small and looked more like an antechamber. It was about fifteen feet wide and deep with a ceiling much lower than the garage’s. I leaned into the room a little and found that both the left and right sides were furnished with ornately crafted wooden chairs of at least six different styles. Each was fitted with cushions attached to different parts of the chairs, and some looked impossible to use. Probably to accommodate all kinds of alien species, I thought.
The center chair on each wall had been knocked over and crushed by dozens of pairs of stomping feet. Beyond them, through a narrow doorway, I could see what was obviously a holding cell, clearly where the mind-controlled guards had come from. Judging by the precise doorway and matching door, it was unlikely any visiting dignitaries were ever aware that the door was there. When closed, the door was probably invisible from the anteroom. It was a decent defense system. Layered security always worked better than a single theoretically unbreachable wall.
On the far wall was another doorway, the same size as the one I used when I carefully walked into the room. It was different, though, as it was ornately carved with images of what looked like exotic alien flowers. It had been painted a rich green. The carvings were gold. The real purpose of the room was clear. It was insulation from the outside world by people who didn’t want to believe it existed. I suspected that unless the outside door was closed, the inside would refuse to open. I also suspected that anyone inside who wasn’t military or a guard would have no idea as to what just happened. They’d be insulated from Tortengar’s poor choices.
There was a gold-framed square button to the left of the door. When I pressed it, a soft, high-pitched bell sounded somewhere. I pressed it again and got the same result.
“Why does it not open?” Beatrix asked.
“It’s a noise barrier,” I said. “The bell is to let us know it can’t open until the outside door is closed. Whatever’s immediately inside seems to be important enough that Tortengar doesn’t want it disturbed. A laboratory, maybe. Or formal chambers for a welcoming ceremony. Either way, we’ll need to get everyone inside and close the door behind us before we can continue forward.”
“We will not all fit,” Beatrix said, glancing at the mech.
“Agreed,” I answered. “Get everyone in here, except for Skrew. Someone will need to stay with him and help him with the button so that he doesn't destroy it when he comes in after us. We might need this working if we want to get out.”
She nodded, conveyed the message, and returned with the others a few moments later.
Nyna and Timo-Ran had decided to stay back with Skrew so that the priestess could start checking his systems. He’d taken a lot of damage, and she was worried about his mech’s ability to go on. The short time it would take us to assess and enter the next room would be enough time for her to accomplish that.
I agreed—we needed Skrew. His minigun was out of ammunition, but he was still a huge, hulking, guard-smashing war machine. The longer we could keep his mech working, the better off the team would be.
I was standing to the left of the doorway, close to but not touching the wall. I didn’t want to accidentally bump the wall and let anyone on the other side know exactly where I was. Reaver took her position behind me, rifle in hand.
I nodded, and Beatrix pressed the button on the far wall. The door slid shut behind her, and she moved off to one side, out of the line of direct fire if there were guards waiting for us on the other side.
After I received a nod from each of the others in the room, I raised my pistol and pressed the button on the wall near me. The door to the next room opened, and we were greeted by a blast of cool, humid air.
I entered first and scanned the room. There was a lot to see, and at least 30 people representing around 20 different alien races. Nobody was taking cover, pointing anything at me, or otherwise doing anything resembling hostility. I walked about four yards down the wall and took a knee, scanning for threats.
Most of the people ignored us, but a few appeared to be vaguely interested. They chatted among themselves and glanced at my team as if we’d tracked in mud and were getting it all over their imaginary carpet. I was surprised they didn’t seem frightened when a small army appeared in their midst. I wondered what kind of reality they lived in where we weren’t a threat.
Reaver had followed close behind, and I saw her kneeling about the same distance down her side of the wall, but she had to stop short or she would be kneeling in a stream that was bracketed on both sides by short, leafy plants with little pink flowers.
The rest followed, doing their best to imitate our movements. I made a mental note to practice it with them after we were done. It was a good skill to know, and I suspected there would be a time I’d have to send them out on their own missions while I took care of other tasks. I needed to train the future trainers.
The room I found myself in was not what I’d expected. From the outside, the building looked like it was ten or fifteen stories high. I’d expected to enter a well-lit office environment, the breeding and hunting grounds of every beaurocrat I’d ever met. Instead, I found myself in an oasis right in the middle of a fancy garden, complete with statues on pedestals, gazebos, several small streams, fountains, and tiny pinpoints of light in nearby trees, and bushes along the walls.
It was late in the day, but there was light pouring in from huge openings at the top of the dome. They looked like someone had cut concentric circles from the dome, added three-foot-wide supports between, and called it art. With everything else I’d seen so far, I suspected the openings were only there to allow light to pass through. There would be active shielding, and in case the shields failed, doors to close the oasis off from the rest of the world.
The soil I was kneeling on was covered with a thick, well-manicured grass. It was soft to the touch, unlike Martian groundcover, which had been genetically designed to help prevent erosion. Being comfortable to sit or walk on came in dead last when compared to the groundcover’s ability to survive the harsh climate and lack of water.
The walls and ceiling of the dome were expertly painted to resemble a cloudy day outside. A skilled artist had also managed to get the perspective right, so that the clouds at the top of the dome, roughly 50 yards overhead, looked like they were the same size as the rest of them.
I’d also expected I’d hear the sound of gunfire, shuffling feet, and panicked orders shouted into various communication devices. Instead, my ears were greeted with the gurgling of the streams, trickling waterfalls, and happy talking.
The one sense that dominated them all, though, was the smell. The air was humid, and carried with it odors I hadn’t expected to encounter. There was food, and lots of it. The smell of damp soil after a good rain, and flowers.
I started looking at things closer to me. There were little lawn ornaments, most of which appeared to be made of the same concrete as the rest of the structure. Some of them were painted and resembled the two-legged rabbit-like aliens called shiggits. Another looked like a steakapede playing with—or more likely, preparing to eat—a kakul.
Further out, I noticed food piled on little plates around a statue standing on plinth. At first, I didn’t recognize what the carved white figure represented, but when I squinted and turned my head a little to one side, it struck me like a sledgehammer to the chest. It was a statue of a Xeno holding a hand out as if it were pleading to be someone’s friend. Xeno were nobody’s friend. They destroyed everything they touched, and no matter how the day turned out,
I swore to myself that the statue would be broken before I left.
I found my attention turning from the things nearby to the details of the people. They had all lost interest in us. Most were lavishly dressed in gold or red robes, gowns, and what I could only describe as togas. I found it peculiar that none appeared to be dressed in both red and gold, though. Tortengar, it seemed, kept that privilege for himself.
Then, I noticed the slaves. They were all vrak, and they were all dressed in toga-like robes that looked like they were made of some kind of gauze, and they all had the same stupefied look in their eyes. I had no doubt why.
The vrak were serving drinks, cleaning up after the 30 or so finely dressed slavers, or stood around with their arms dangling at their sides as they waited for orders.
Whoever the slavers were, they were obviously important enough for Tortengar to spare no expense spoiling them. They had everything they wanted, while their average citizens languished outside the oasis with barely enough food to survive.
A moment later, the door behind us opened, and Skrew stomped in, followed closely by Timo-Ran and Nyna, who was looking proud of herself. She turned to me, smiled, and walked over.
“So, Skrew was having all kinds of issues,” she said in rapid-fire speech. “He didn’t know what the red lights meant. He thought they were pretty, you know? So, I told him red is bad. Green is good. Other colors, well, I’m still not sure, but they’re probably bad, too. Got him loaded up with ammo from another mech, so he’s good to go. And, wow, look at this place!”
Before I could respond, one of the guests peeled himself away from a group who looked as if they were working very hard at getting drunk.
He was a kakul and looked to be a little tall for his kind. He wore a blood-red toga, and after he crossed the small, ornate bridge over a stream, stood in front of us and crossed his pale, green arms.
His appearance struck me as being odd. Most kakul I’d seen were dark in color. They were either green, brown, or fell somewhere in-between. But none I’d seen had been pale. I wondered if the guy ever got outside.
“Such pretties…” Skrew whispered into the comm.
“What is that doing in here?” he asked as he pointed one long, pale-green finger at Skrew’s mech. “I don’t want that thing traipsing across the grass and flowers. Do you know what it costs to keep flowers like this in bloom all year? Are you stupid?”
Had he pulled a gun and taken a quick shot at me, I would have been less surprised. Here he was, two and a half feet shorter than me, no rifle or pistol, and he was trying to insult me? I wasn’t insulted—not even a little. But I was surprised.
“Is horkelberry?” Skrew breathed. “Is faaaaavorite.”
“And you are…” Nyna said, motioning for him to go on.
“I am the Chief Inspector of the Guard, you dolt, and I do not approve of you or anyone else bringing those monstrosities into the garden. They are only for outside use and do not belong in here among the civilized. Come to think of it, human, neither do you.”
Reaver came over with an angry look in her eye, and I knew that if I didn’t do something, she’d get the party started early. I wanted information, and I was pretty sure someone as important as the Chief Inspector of the Guard would have it.
I wiggled my hand a little, hoping Reaver would see it. She slowed her pace and stopped a few yards away.
“Is sad, though,” Skrew continued. “All stuff will be broken. All things dead when fight. Is pretty now, but then, for to make fire, screams, smash. Is sad. Maybe Jacob can make this at Yaltu house?”
I liked Skrew’s idea, and the jabbering vrak distracted me enough to laugh. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to do.
The kakul’s eyes went wide and seemed to bug out of his head. His mouth curled down into a frown, and he took a couple of steps toward me, stopping less than a yard away.
“You dare laugh at the Chief Inspector of the Guard?” the kakul bellowed. The room went quiet and all eyes turned to us.
“I order you to remove that mech and your smelly companions from the garden at once! What is your name, guard? Wait, don’t tell me; you’re that new one, aren’t you? Cara… Curi… Carodona, right? That’s it, Caradona! Wait until your commander receives my report. I will include with it a demand that you be executed for your insubordination!
“In fact, I’m going to find out who trained you. Obviously, that guard failed as well. Who would hire a soft, weak human? You’re useless. You’re worthless. You don’t deserve to lick the cheese out from between my toes! If you were my slave, I wouldn’t feed you to a teloc!”
“Wow. Rude,” Nyna said.
I sighed. In typical bureaucrat fashion, the Chief Inspector had decided that instead of speaking like a professional, he’d toss around some threats and raise his voice to get his way. There was no logic to his words, only emotion. He was nothing more than a spoiled street-thug. There was no way I’d keep him on the payroll when the city was freed. Not after that terrible display.
He continued to rant about how unprofessional I was, something about my breath, and the exact manner, in detail, of my execution. Meanwhile, Skrew was trying to explain his plans for Yaltu’s new underground oasis. I’d already tuned both of them out, though. Nyna had gotten up from her position beside me. She’d donned the Spirit-Watcher and was wandering toward a short sculpture of a flower approximately the size of her head. She wrapped her hands around it, one on each side, and gave it a twist. When she did, it came loose, and something began to illuminate her face. Whatever it was, she was thrilled. She leaned forward and began touching it.
Timo-Ran joined her, peered down at what she was looking at, then back at me. He made a little motion with his head to indicate that I should join him and take a look at what Nyna had found.
Meanwhile, the other aliens in the room were inching closer. It was likely that such ass-chewings were rare in the gardens, and though they had everything they needed, what they really wanted was entertainment. The Chief Inspector was providing it by the bucket-full.
I’d heard enough. I didn’t like getting yelled at by someone who was in no way my superior, but I also had a mission to accomplish, and for that, I needed information.
“Listen,” I started.
Although I saw the strike coming, I let him finish it. When the kakul’s hand returned to his side after slapping me hard on the cheek, I calmly continued.
“I need some information,” I said. “And I think you’re the person who has it. Where is Tortengar?”
“How dare you speak of the Vizier as if you are friends!” the kakul hissed.
“Look at that one,” one of the females, a very human-like woman with a huge nose and gray-blue skin said as she pointed at Beatrix. “She has dangly things growing out of the top of her head. How embarrassing. She can’t even grow hair. It would be one thing if she had scales or horns, but what are those?” The women laughed.
“Maybe she uses them to wipe the butts of the slaves?” another suggested.
“Or maybe they are her young,” a third said with a wicked sneer, “and she can’t find a mate to make them whole… so she eats them.”
“Gross!” the first one said as all three burst into raucous laughter.
I turned my head to Beatrix, ready to motion for her not to kill anyone yet. But she looked like she was enjoying the joke as well. Not nearly as much as those who were teasing her, but enough to show an appreciative smile. Somehow, it was more frightening than if she’d drawn her power-hammer.
“Oh, dear,” Nyna said from whatever she was typing on. “This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. Nope, this is definitely not a good thing.”
I noticed Timo-Ran had his ax in his hand but was concealing it behind his back. Several politicians, I’d decided, were gathering around and speaking harshly to both of them.
Nyna didn’t seem to mind. She didn’t look like she noticed them at all. Whatever she’d found had her completely absorbed.
I
turned back to the kakul and squatted down a bit so that I could look the froggy creature in the eyes. “How about you tell me what I want to know so that you don’t get hurt. Otherwise, I’ll find out anyway and kill you for the inconvenience.”
The kakul stammered, licked his eyes, and tried to stand as tall as possible. He took three deep breaths to steady himself for what I knew was coming next. When he reached out to slap me again, I caught his arm at the wrist and held it tightly. The creature croaked in surprise.
“I’m going to give you one more chance,” I said softly as I drew the kakul’s face close to my own. “Where is Tortengar?”
The sound of shuffling feet told me the audience I’d gathered had seen enough. They were slowly backing away, unwilling to go any further with their taunting.
“He’s in the tower,” the kakul said. “There. I saw him just this morning. He’s there. He hasn’t left. I’ve been out here in the gardens all day.” He pointed over his shoulder at the central tower.
“Confirmed,” Nyna said loudly from the thing she was staring at. “That’s his house… uh… fortress. Well, really this whole thing is his fortress, you know? But that’s like his super-fortress kind of place. His little keep. There’s a hovercraft on top. It’s still there, I can see it right here. There’s also an escape hatch, aaaand I locked it.He’s not going anywhere unless his plan is to fly around in little circles, it’s the only way for his hovercraft to get out. Oh, right, so this is a computer terminal. I hacked into the main server. Awesome, right?”
“Sounds like you were telling the truth,” I said to the arrogant kakul who was struggling feebly against my grip.
I was about to turn him loose after warning him against doing anything stupid when he pulled a short, thin knife from a hidden place in his toga and tried to stab me in the face.