by Craig Gaydas
A hand fell on the big bear's shoulders. “Calm down Arcturus, he is only trying to get a rise out of you,” Vanth consoled.
“It's working,” he growled. He lowered himself into his seat and fixed Vayne with an icy stare.
“Do we have news from Scribe?” asked Grillick.
All eyes turned to Menjaro the Messenger. He had been tasked with carrying the messages from Scribe to the Timeless. Menjaro shook his head slowly. “Unfortunately, security activity has amped up since they grabbed Moro. It is too risky to reestablish communications at the moment.”
A smug, raspy chuckle rose from the far end of the table. All heads turned toward the source. Mortem sat with his feet propped up on the table. His hooded cowl concealed most of his face in shadow, save for the bright yellow orbs of his eyes, which flickered like candles in the shadows. “I warned every one of you. You wanted to try the scalpel, but this job needs a sledgehammer.”
“So what do you propose?” Grillick asked.
Mortem turned his head slowly and locked eyes with Grillick. “You know what I propose,” he purred.
Grillick's face darkened. “Absolutely not!” He turned to Ibune. “I hope you aren't even considering this!”
“The cycle of life has only one ending…death.” Mortem laughed. “This is fate.”
Grillick turned to him angrily. “Then how do you explain us?” He swept his arm across the table. “Death has yet to come for me.”
Mortem went silent. He pushed himself away from the table and stood. He moved toward one of the empty chairs in the room, momentarily hovering over it. The nameplate on the chair read: Baltazar the Astronomer. “I'm afraid Baltazar would think otherwise.” Grillick's protests died on his lips. Mortem surveyed the room and when he was sure no one else would offer an objection, he continued. “Death comes for us all. You know as well as I do that it is the most powerful force in the universe. People die, plants die, and even almighty suns die. I offered my assistance to you in this war, but I was spurned.”
“What you offer us is a mockery!” Horus scoffed.
“Now wait a minute, let's hear him out,” Lapiz interrupted.
Horus turned to him with a shocked look. “Surely you can't be serious! What he proposes is a slap to your face. You are the protector, Lapiz. What he proposes is an affront to the laws of nature!”
“You are so dramatic, Horus,” Mortem countered. “What I propose is an affront to nothing, except your sensitivity. I will win this war, if you choose to accept my help. I believe everyone in this room agrees the new Consortium is not what had been envisioned upon its inception. Calypso is a power hungry tyrant wielding the Consortium like a broad sword. He has his own twisted vision for the Consortium and he is making them come true, either by charm or by force.”
The room quieted in silent agreement. Despite the misgivings toward Mortem's “proposal,” Ibune understood that defeating the new Consortium was top priority. Even Grillick and Horus, Mortem's most passionate dissenters, stifled their protests.
She turned to Grillick. “Has there been any word from Sam?”
Grillick shoved his hand in his beard and scratched his chin roughly. “Intergalactic wormholes remain at sixty-six percent stability. He is working as fast as he can, but for every wormhole he stabilizes, three more become volatile.”
Ibune turned to Menjaro. “I need you to relay a message to Bree of the Erudites. We need men to assist Sam. See if he is willing to provide them.” Menjaro nodded his acknowledgement and she turned toward the remainder of the group. “I'm afraid we have no choice. We can ill afford any other setbacks. I recommend we put Mortem's proposal to a vote. I vote aye.”
“Aye!” Mortem cried gleefully.
“Nay,” Horus grumbled.
Grillick shook his head. “Nay.”
“Aye,” Menjaro said reluctantly.
Arcturus sat at the table with his head in his hands and hesitated. “Aye,” he spat.
Vanth did not hesitate. “Nay.”
Vayne drummed his fingers on the table methodically. He was deep in thought and surprisingly, seemed to be taking his decision very seriously. “Nay,” he muttered.
All heads turned to Lapiz, who was the deciding vote. The big stone giant had his head down and his eyes closed. He knew the severity of the decision at hand. Mortem's proposal went against the very moral code they abode by, but it was perhaps the only option remaining. The whereabouts of the diplomatic party sent to Gliese was in question. Moro had been captured. Embeth made no gains in any of the skirmishes along the outlying star systems. For every planet they won to their side, they lost two. The deep breath he took sounded like the dull rumbling of distant thunder in the hall before he gave his answer.
“Aye.”
Ye Olde Tavern
His smile never wavered. The candle burned lower, causing flickering shadow dancers in his goatee. He swung around the bar and came toward me.
“Jori was a good friend,” he lamented. “If he felt it in his heart to help ya, than you must be worth helpin'.”
“You mentioned a secret?” I asked.
He leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper. “This is actually a place of refuge. The rebels consider me a friend.” He winked.
“I guess that makes you our friend by default,” I replied. I glanced at Vigil who nodded in agreement.
Our conversation was interrupted by a shout outside the tavern. “Fan out and search the area! Check that shed back there, also check those abandoned vehicles.” The voice belonged to Janero.
Vigil grabbed my shoulder and lowered his voice. “We need to go.”
Bofor grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and refilled his glass. “You won't need to go anywhere,” he whispered. His smile changed into a look of grim determination. “Come with me.” He led us to the shadowy far corner of the room, away from the lone window and the candle light. “Stay here and stand perfectly still,” he whispered before scurrying off to the back room.
“Is he serious?” Vigil asked. “Surely he doesn't think hiding in a dark corner will work.”
Before I could respond, Bofor returned carrying what appeared to be a thick blanket. “What I need you to do is to place this over yourselves.” He held up the blanket. “This is a shroud that the rebels acquired during a raid upon the Order's stockpile. It comes in quite handy sometimes.”
“I'm not sure a blanket is going to help us against Janero and his soldiers,” I scoffed.
Bofor tossed the shroud over us and laughed. “Oh, ye of little faith, just make sure you two hold still.”
The world went completely black underneath the shroud. The candles, Bofor, and even the fading sunlight trickling in from the window disappeared. All I could see was black and the only thing I could taste were the dust balls kicked up by the movement of the shroud. It was like being trapped inside a coffin. I felt the blanket close around me and claustrophobia set in, causing me to panic. My breaths came in short, spasmodic bursts while Vigil remained as calm as I had ever seen him. Before I hyperventilated myself into unconsciousness, Vigil placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Calm down,” he growled. “Vanth would punch you in the throat if he saw you panicking like this.”
He was right. I closed my eyes, slowed my breathing and regained control of myself just as the front door crashed open. Within the dark confines of the shroud all I could do was wait with my breath held, listen and pray.
“We're closed,” Bofor grumbled. It sounded like he had repositioned himself at the bar. “But even if we weren't, we don't serve their kind here.”
Heavy footsteps scraped across the wood floor. From my estimate, it sounded like three people. I prayed the androids couldn't see through the shroud.
“I'm sorry? You don't serve what kind?” Janero asked.
“Your droids,” Bofor explained. “They don't drink what I serve anyway. No offense, but they will have to wait outside.”
“We are not here for drinks old man,
” Janero replied. “We are here on official Order business. I suppose you wouldn't have spotted a couple strangers wandering around on your property at this hour?”
A long pause followed. I could only imagine what Bofor was doing. I pictured him taking a long swig of his drink with the same smug look on his face which greeted us at the door. Seeing that image brought a smile to my face.
“Well, you may have to be more specific,” he responded. “There may be plenty of strangers wandering around these parts, yerselves included.”
Janero snickered. “You have a point. Let me be more specific. Did you see a guy wearing an animal head for a hat wandering around with a young boy?”
During their exchange, I could make out the faint sound of metal scraping across wood. It seemed the robots were moving into the main room. Wood scraped against wood, which I assumed were the tables being moved, as if they were searching underneath them. Luckily for us, there were no tables close to us to investigate.
“Well sir, can't say I have,” Bofor replied. “You have piqued my curiosity, however. Can I ask who you might be?”
“My name is Janero and I represent the Order of the Sun.”
Another pause accompanied by more darkness. At that moment, I would have sold my soul for a periscope to grab a view outside the shroud.
“Hmmm, you don't look like anyone from the Ministry. I have never seen you around these parts before.” A long pause followed. “Anyway, I don't want anyone to think I am being rude to representatives from the Order. Would you like a drink sir?”
Before Janero could respond, one of his robots interrupted. “Sir, I am picking up another life form inside this establishment.”
My eyes widened and I held my breath. Vigil went rigid next to me. I could feel his hand sliding over his wrist ready to blast his way out of what may soon become a messy situation. At that moment, I would have given anything for my voltaic weapon. I cursed myself for leaving it back on the ship. The room went silent for a few seconds, but from within the confines of the shroud, it seemed like an eternity.
“How do you explain that?” Janero asked.
Bofor laughed. It wasn't the laugh of a nervous person, but rather the confident laugh of a person firmly in control of a situation. “I really don't feel the need to explain myself since you folks are inside my establishment.”
“Perhaps I didn't explain myself correctly,” Janero responded. “We are here—”
“You explained yourself just fine,” Bofor interrupted. “To answer your damned question, this other 'life form,' as you put it, happens to be my wife.” A shuffling sound followed as Bofor stepped from the bar. “Shmee!” he shouted.
A woman's grunt was heard from upstairs followed by a strange squeaking sound, similar to a rusty hinge. “SHMEE!” Bofor called out again.
The rusty hinge sound ceased and was immediately followed by a thump. Footsteps shuffled along the wood floorboards upstairs and a woman could be heard muttering to herself. “What in da hell do ya want?” she yelled from the top of the staircase.
“Come down here woman!” Bofor growled. “We have guests!”
“Guests? At this hour? Tell them we're closed and to bugger off!”
Bofor sighed. “Women! What can you do, eh?”
“We are sorry to have disturbed you,” Janero stated. “If you do happen to see any strangers, please forward that information to any available Ministry officer.”
Their footsteps faded and the front door slammed shut. I let out my breath with a gigantic gust of relief. Vigil removed his hand from his wrist and shoved the shroud aside violently.
“What the hell was that?” he asked angrily.
Bofor looked confused. “I'm sorry. What was what?”
Vigil pointed toward the staircase. “What was THAT?”
Bofor looked at the staircase. “Oh that? That was my wife.” He strolled over to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. “Sorry dear, our unwanted guests are gone. However, we do have some special guests here that seem to be in a bit of a pickle.”
“Special guests?” she crowed. “What are you blabbering on about?”
Light drifted down from the top of the staircase and her heavy footsteps rumbled throughout the bar as she made her way down. When she reached the bottom of the stairs I stepped back and winced. She had to be one of the ugliest women I had ever seen. Her hair was just as wild as Bofor's, except it ran the entire length of her head. Her dark, beady eyes studied us from atop a crooked, swollen nose filled with pock marks. She examined us with mild curiosity as if we were animals in a zoo exhibit. She pursed her lips and made a wet, smacking sound with them, as if she had just swallowed a bag of lemons.
“Who in the bloody green hell are these fools?” she asked.
“I'd like to introduce you to friends of Jori,” Bofor replied.
She closed one eye and studied us through the other. “Friends of Jori, ya say?” She smacked her lips together a final time before her demeanor changed. Her sour look softened and her lips curled into a smile. “Why didn't you say so in the first place?”
She threw her arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close. Her breath smelled as bad as she looked. Raw sewage smelled like roses when compared to the foul stench that leaked from her mouth. She took one look at me and her smile faded.
“You aren't from around here, are you?” It was a statement more than a question.
“We are a diplomatic envoy sent by the Insurgents to negotiate with the Order of the Sun,” Vigil explained.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Didn't go too well for you, did it?” Instead of waiting for an answer, she turned to Bofor. “So what are you plannin' ta do with them, put them to work scrubbing refuse bins?”
Bofor shrugged and turned to us. “She may be a cranky old nag, but she has a point.”
“We need to return to our ship. Can you take us there?” I asked bluntly.
Bofor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm, that would mean driving out to the intake terminal. If you are who you say you are, than I am sure the Order is guarding the area heavily. Your ship may already be lost. You may want to think up a backup plan, lad.”
My mood darkened at the thought of Lianne in trouble. “That will not an option,” I growled. “We will not lose the ship or the crew.”
Vigil nodded his head slowly. “I'm sorry, but we have no backup plan. I agree it will be dangerous and I realize it is unfair to place you in this situation.”
Bofor muttered something under his breath and exchanged a look with his wife. After a brief pause, he turned to us. His expression was serious. “I understand where yer comin' from. Your Insurgents are not much different than our very own rebels. The Order has been runnin' things for centuries, taking more and more power away from the people, leaving them with nothing but hope. Braxii has been working extra hard this year to take away even that.” He fell silent and sorrow filled his eyes.
“Will you help us?” I begged. “We have nowhere else to turn.”
Bofor held up one finger and moved to the window. He slid the grime-covered curtain aside and looked out. “It appears our ruse has worked. Your friends have left the area.” He turned to us with a frown. “Or they could possibly be hiding, waiting for you to make your escape.” He turned to Shmee. “Get the van ready.”
A shocked expression bloomed on her face. “Surely ya can't be serious! Driving them to the terminal would be suicide.”
Bofor whirled on her angrily. “Dontcha think I know that woman! It's the only chance they got to get there, unless you have a better idea!”
She looked downward and kicked at the floorboard with the tip of her boot. The front of her boot was worn with age while a hole weaved its way around the side. It was obvious they were not rich people despite owning a business. With a growl, she disappeared into the back room.
“Ye gods, she could be a stubborn one, but I love her anyhow,” Bofor grumbled. He eyeballed Vigil and I. “You two seem ill equipped for
this journey.”
“What do you mean?” Vigil asked.
Bofor cocked an eyebrow. “Weapons,” he replied plainly. “You seem to be short. What is your plan once you reach the terminal? If it's heavily guarded, do you plan to scare them to death with your ugly mugs?”
As gruff and uncivilized as he was, he had a point. Lianne and her crew were well-armed and well-trained soldiers. If they had been overwhelmed by Order of the Sun troops, what could Vigil and I hope to accomplish?
Vigil placed his hand over his bracelet. “Don't worry, I can improvise.”
Bofor narrowed his eyes. “I bet you could.” He turned his attention to me. “What about you lad? Do you conjure magical weapons from the depths of your socks?”
His cynicism was palatable. “Nope. What you see is what you get,” I muttered sourly.
“And that ain't much,” replied Shmee, who had returned from the back room. She turned to Bofor. “The van is ready to go, your majesty.” She offered us a mock bow. “Your pursuers are nowhere to be found. They must have moved on.”
“Well, let's not delay our good fortune.” Bofor drained his glass, slammed it on the bar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I have a sidearm in the van. It ain't much, but it's better than being caught with your hand down your pants.” He brayed laughter before leading us into the back room. Close to the exit door hung a guitar. It looked like a normal acoustic guitar, except it had twelve strings instead of six. Bofor grabbed it and opened the door.
“Do you plan on singing us a song on the way there?” I joked.
Bofor looked at the guitar and his expression became serious. “You better hope I don't.”
“Why not?” asked Vigil.
He removed two small foam cylinders, no bigger than dimes, from his pocket and placed them in his ears. “Why? Well let's just say if I start playing, and you are close by, then you better cover your ears.” When he noticed my look of consternation, he simply shrugged. “Sorry kid, I only have this pair of filters so you two are left with the option of fingers or buyin' a set of ear muffs at Doc's on the way to the terminal. This instrument is a sonic guitar. It emits sound energy which renders people in the target area unconscious.”