Heretic

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “Finally…” It remarked. The comment in itself was unusual, as no words were required. Speaking out loud with no else present was an entirely redundant use of time.

  I am truly infected.

  The cube strained the host’s neck, as it felt Malekk’s presence just under the surface. The Terran had already recovered and begun his assault anew.

  Before leaving for the Starforge, the cube decided to test some of its new limits. If it was going to be stuck inside a bag of organic waste it might as well make use of the advantages. Concentrating on the mountains in the distance, the cube extended the host’s hand and flexed the five digits. Telekinesis was a truly wonderful gift, wasted on the Terran. Too far to be heard, the cube could only watch as the mountains slowly crumbled and imploded, before exploding as if a volcano had been unleashed on the land. Moments later, the ground under the host’s feet trembled and cracked.

  The cube twisted Malekk’s mouth into an insidious smile. “Kalian Gaines will not survive this time…”

  Malekk’s body fell into a crouch and launched into the sky. The surface of Vosk dropped away as the cub ascended ever upwards, using telekinesis to fly through the atmosphere. With no need of oxygen, the cube-mind continued at an incredible speed, breaking through the planet’s paper-thin halo with the faintest of afterburns. With nothing but space in front of it now, Malekk’s body headed towards the modest hangar bay inside the Starforge.

  A small task force, armed with intrinium rifles, was waiting for him. They were all on the Protocorps payroll and Shay in origin. Most of them looked upon Malekk’s corrupted form as if he were a god. His combination of organic and machine was a level the Shay had dreamed of since they invented the wheel.

  Sitting a few feet above the hangar floor, the icy cold cube remained apparently dormant, surrounded by the Shay. Malekk’s hand was forced to caress the side of the cube like an old friend. The host’s strength was used to push the cube along, deep into the heart of the Starforge where it could be integrated into the mainframe. Only a powerful AI could manage the mathematics required to activate the Starforge’s systems.

  As this cube was being inserted into the mainframe, so too were the other two cubes that had been travelling through space for the last three months. The Vanguard had released them, allowing them to slip through the Helteron Starforge, shortly after it had been used to disintegrate the Gommarian.

  “Your orders, sir?” A Shay, who’s uniform identified him as the commander, stood beside Malekk.

  The cube-mind despised having to communicate with insects. “The operation of this station is no longer your concern. Instruct the teams on the other stations to direct the cubes as I have. Your soldiers are to remain aboard and protect them with their lives.”

  “We await ascension!” The Shay genuflected and bowed his head as if kneeling before a deity.

  Malekk’s face broke into a scowl, disgusted. “Indeed…” The cube-mind walked away, contemplating the Conclave’s ascension.

  Chapter 3

  “I have eyes on the target,” Roland whispered under his breath.

  To the other patrons sat in the dingy bar, the bounty hunter appeared as any other Laronian, with holo-bracers around his neck and wrists. The illusion could only be shattered if someone touched him and realised his skin wasn’t as smooth as the blue aliens.

  Roland couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the lack of response in his earpiece. “Len put the goddamn snacks down and concentrate, or I swear the next time I set foot on the Rackham I’m gonna stick my boot right up your-”

  “I’m here!” Ch’len quickly replied through a half-eaten mouthful of grub.

  “Get your head in the game.” Roland sat hunched over the bar, blending in with the other detritus, while keeping a close eye on his target.

  “You’re oddly focused for a small-time bounty like Lan-vid…” Ch’len sounded suspicious. “Are you sober?” the alien asked with disbelief and a hint of fear.

  Roland rarely worked without being under the influence.

  “Payday’s a payday,” he quipped.

  “I don’t get it,” Ch’len continued, “the bounty is only valid if Lan-vid is dead. Why can’t you just walk over there, put an intrinium round in his head and get back to the ship? We’ve done a dozen jobs like this!”

  Roland turned away from the dimly-lit bar, as his constant talking had attracted a few curious looks. “Maybe if you stopped filling your methane-clouded mouth with food for two seconds you would have heard my plan. We’re on Sebula, security here is a little tighter than the planets we usually hunt on.”

  Ch’len blurted, “Then why are we hunting some two-bit low-life on the Tularon homeworld when we could be hunting bigger bounties on planets with less security?”

  Roland sighed. “Planetary security aside, this particular bar is packed out with an unknown amount of allies, and the only thing I’m certain of is that everyone here is armed. If I walk over there and kill him I’m gonna have to fight every low-life in this place.”

  There was a pause on Ch’len’s end. “You are sober!”

  “Just monitor the network.” Roland turned back to the Shay, Lan-vid, who was losing badly in a card game the bounty hunter didn’t fully understand.

  Ch’len audibly stuffed more food into his mouth. “I know what happened on the capital planet was some pretty bad shit, but it’s made you soft like that pink stuff you call skin.”

  The nerve struck, Roland tapped his earpiece, silencing the Ch’kara, and pulled his collar a little higher. The animal-hide coat fell to the floor, concealing the Tri-rollers on his thighs, as well as the arsenal of other weapons he had strapped to various body parts.

  Using the built-in touchpad on the sleeve of his coat, Roland checked the temperature outside. It was several degrees below freezing, warm for the native Tularons. Their natural furry coat kept them warm on a planet that had frozen over thousands of years ago. After joining the Conclave, their cities had been redesigned to allow aliens, who weren’t accustomed to the low temperatures, to move about freely without going outside.

  To avoid any extra attention, Roland had parked the Rackham on an outdoor landing pad, two hundred floors up. Nobody wanted to investigate a ship in these temperatures. It merely appeared as if they couldn’t afford to park in the hangar bay.

  “You don’t look like you’re here for just the drink…” A female Laronian took the stool beside Roland, eyeing the untouched glass in front of him.

  A quick glance told the bounty hunter everything he needed to know. The alien was a prostitute, hunting for her own payday. To her, he would appear as one of her own but, in truth, Roland wasn’t even sure if he could have sex with the alien. He had slept with a few of the crew, during his short time aboard the Gommarian, but that had been months ago before Esabelle had created the Rackham for him. A very primal part of him wanted to at least try and see what they could achieve together, if for nothing more than a little intimacy. The only interaction with other beings was primarily with Ch’len, a fact that was deeply upsetting for the bounty hunter.

  The train of thought only led him to think about Esabelle and Li’ara. Esabelle’s death rattled him, but uncovering the truth about Li’ara sharpened his mind.

  “Not interested.” Roland turned his back to her, only to see Lan-vid walking out the door.

  The Shay looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with Roland in a level of understanding. Lan-vid knew he had been watching him and planned this escape from the beginning. The Shay’s only mistake had been to assume that it was indeed a Laronian stalking him. The prostitute didn’t quite hold the same appeal to Roland, a human.

  “Son of a…”

  Before Roland could dash from his stool, the Laronian prostitute grabbed his arm and the back of his neck, catching the holo-bracer. The bounty hunter’s momentum detached him from the illusion and revealed his true identity. Even to a bar filled with twelve different races, Roland looked more alien than any of them,
a fact that was mirrored in everyone’s expression. The prostitute backed away, unsure of what she had gotten herself into.

  Hands of all varieties slowly reached for weapons, while the patrons decided whether they needed to fight or run away from the human. As a species, they were still widely considered dangerous and unpredictable - having brought nothing but destruction and death to the Conclave in the short time they had been there. No one truly knew what they were capable of, having all seen what Kalian and Esabelle could do on the news feeds.

  Looking around, with eyes that had been trained to assess every environment for threats and opportunities, Roland clocked the seven individuals who he knew wouldn’t go down easy, as well as a rather mean-looking Raalak in the corner booth, who looked as if he didn’t need a weapon to kill Roland.

  The bounty hunter slowly lifted his hand and tapped the ear-piece. “Is the Rackham connected to the grid in this tower?” His words were hushed under his breath.

  “Oh, now you want to talk to me!”

  “Len…” Roland didn’t have time to argue.

  “Of course it is. How do you think I’m monitoring everything? Speaking of; Lan-vid is escaping.”

  Roland blinked slowly in frustration. “Is he?” he replied, sarcastically.

  A pink-skinned Atari to his left had completely removed the handgun from its holster on her waist. Time was running out.

  “You want me to hit the lights?” Ch’len asked, casually.

  The Rackham was the most sophisticated ship in the galaxy now that the Gommarian had been destroyed. The nanocelium that made up the bounty hunter’s vessel was more than capable of hacking into every Conclave system and network. After the ship landed on the outdoor pad, slithers of the nanocelium had wormed their way down the struts and into the panel built into the pad. Thanks to Ch’len’s agoraphobia and technical genius, he was more than happy to stay onboard and manage these little incursions.

  Roland smiled with wicked glee, thankful for the little alien for once. “Let’s skip to the good bit...”

  The bar dropped into darkness, generating panic and chaos. Alien voices broke out in alarm when dozens of people ran for cover and tried to find the door. Intrinium rounds filled the bar with the smell of ozone and flashes of blue and red, creating a disjointed moving image of the scattering patrons. Glasses smashed in every corner of the room and the wall of bottles behind the bar exploded under the barrage of pot-shots.

  Roland got off two shots before he ducked and dropped into a roll, avoiding the super-heated intrinium that streaked over his head. A lightning flash revealed a tall Novaarian taking a round to the chest and fall at Roland’s feet, dead. Having memorised the layout of the bar and the distance between him and the exit, Roland weaved between the scurrying aliens, pushing most aside, and dashed for the door, firing as he did.

  As the bounty hunter reached the door, a Brenine levelled his handgun at Roland’s chest. The pale skinned Brenine had uncanny night vision, being a species that avoided the sun. The blast couldn’t be avoided at such close range, forcing Roland to jump into the shooter, taking them both through the door as the intrinium round connected with his chest. They both landed in a heap on the indoor street, the Brenine’s weapon now lost. Roland slowly rolled off the alien and took a deep breath to steady his breathing. The black and gold plated armour, made from myopallic ore, had stopped the intrinium from tearing through his torso, but the impact had still hurt.

  The Brenine was the first to recover and retrieve his weapon. Still on his back and feigning severe injury, Roland used the cover of his long coat to hide the fact that one of his Tri-rollers was now in his hand. With a shift of his knee to the right, Roland fired one shot into the Brenine’s face, dissolving any organic tissue in an explosive flash of light.

  This particular neighborhood was relatively abandoned at this time of night, but those few who witnessed the slaying ran for their lives, fleeing the nightmarish human. The bar was still a cacophony of intrinium fire and brawling; none the wiser to Roland’s escape.

  “He’s still getting away…” Ch’len’s voice rang irritatingly in his ear.

  “You’re lucky those stubby little fingers know their way around a computer.” Roland got to his feet and holstered his Tri-roller.

  “Hey, without me you wouldn’t even be able to eat,” Ch’len countered.

  Annoyingly he was right. Roland was more than aware that without Ch’len, he couldn’t collect bounties. The smelly little Ch’kara was the only one of the two who could be an active member of the Bounty Clave since Roland was an illegal immigrant wherever he went.

  “I barely get to eat with you, you fat shit…” Roland ran down the street, looking for the nearest dark alley to hide his human face. “Where’s Lan-vid now?”

  “Hold on.” Ch’len paused. “Alright, I’ve found the quickest route but… you’re gonna get cold.”

  Roland looked up at the glass ceiling that ran the length of the street. The snow was getting heavier, but the view didn’t show the strength of the gales blowing outside. Cold was an understatement.

  After being navigated through the outer corridors of the tower complex and destroying several locks, Roland finally found himself on the surface of Sebula. How any life form had evolved on such a barren planet baffled the bounty hunter, let alone evolve to the point of inventing faster-than-light travel. A peach-coloured sky tried to pierce the thick clouds that rained snow across the land and the mountains in the distance were almost completely without shape. From the balcony, Roland could see the other towers that made up the massive city. It lacked the aesthetics that most Conclave cities enjoyed, more akin to a collection of fingers, rising from the snowy ground, circled by hundreds of buzzing vehicles.

  “You need to hurry if you’re going to get in front of him,” Ch’len warned.

  Roland could only growl in response as he fought against the bitter wind. After ascending two sets of ladders, the bounty hunter was standing on top of the bridge that connected one tower to the next. The bridge itself was filled with shopping centres and apartments and nearly fifty levels deep. Roland broke into a sprint along the edge of the glass covering that ran the length of the strip. The heat from inside helped to melt the ice and snow, allowing for a clear view of the streets below. The two sides of the interior bridge were connected by multiple walkways at varying angles. It looked like a maze inside.

  “WHERE IS HE?” Roland shouted over the wind.

  “He’s…” Ch’len paused. “Ooo! He’s coming up on the top tier, right beneath you!”

  Roland looked down and saw Lan-vid on the other side of the bridge, walking quickly along the upper tier. The Shay kept peering over his shoulder, making certain he wasn't being followed by the bounty hunter. With another growl, Roland changed direction and sprinted across the glass, diagonally. Lan-vid must have heard his footsteps on the glass, because the Shay ran for it, knocking the occasional late night wanderer out of the way.

  “There’s an access hatch coming up on your right!” Ch’len advised.

  “NO TIME!” Roland pulled his left Tri-roller from its holster.

  The moment he felt his foot pass the threshold of the tier below, Roland fired a single shot into the glass panel under his feet. The glass panel shattered as the intrinium bolt continued on, into the floor, only feet in front of Lan-vid. Roland fell through the glass mid-run and dropped on top of the fleeing Shay in a shower of pointed shards. His weight brought the alien down, as well as cushioning his fall. The whole takedown was quite spectacular in Roland’s eyes.

  Picking himself up, so that his knees were either side of Lan-vid’s back, Roland assessed the surroundings since the whole event had been exceptionally loud. The streets were illuminated by a rainbow of holograms that advertised a variety of alien goods and hangouts. A pair of teenage Tularons gawped at them from the other side of the street before running in terror. A Raalak in the distance looked to be using a small hand device to contact someone, the
local authorities most likely.

  A rough tug and a threatening Tri-roller to the head stopped Lan-vid from squirming, while the bounty hunter lifted him from the floor. Roland held him in place and waited a moment, allowing Lan-vid the time to get over the fact that he was face-to-face with a human.

  Ch’len laughed in his ear. “Money money money! Alright Roland, put one in his head and scan the body. I’ve already found us a new bounty on Palios Six; if we leave now we can be there by tomorrow morning.”

  Roland had other ideas. With the Tri-roller planted in the Shay’s back, the bounty hunter walked him to the nearest outdoor landing platform, using the access corridors for cover. The Shay pleaded for his life the whole way, offering Roland every treasure imaginable. At times like this, Roland had found that silence on his end was more menacing than verbal threats.

  Using the intricate webbing, integrated into his cerebrum, Roland activated the Rackham’s thrusters and mentally commanded it to meet him at the new landing platform. Ch’len questioned his every move until Roland finally tapped the earpiece, shutting him up. The bounty hunter only opened the door after his link informed him that the Rackham had landed.

  “What are you doing?” Lan-vid tried to push away from the opening doors. “Do you know how cold it is out there? I’m from Shandar! I don’t have a single hair on my body! I wasn’t built for this…”

  Roland shoved him through the opening doors with a satisfied smirk on his face. It was indeed cold on the other side, but at least he was wearing his hide coat; Lan-vid’s suit was paper-thin.

  The Rackham’s bay door tilted downwards until it became a ramp that led into the belly of the ship. Roland continued to jostle the Shay, but kept him in the freezing bay, waiting for the ramp to close up behind them. A quick slap with the butt of his Tri-roller put Lan-vid on the floor, giving Roland time to make the adjustments he had in mind. With the comm panel on the wall, the bounty hunter typed in a new set of commands for the nanocelium, which made up every molecule of the ship. When he was finished, the ceiling changed shape, allowing for extra nanocelium to mold into a set of manacles. The temperature was also set to rise to levels that most sentient beings would find very uncomfortable.