Of Crimson Indigo: Points of Origin

by Grant Fausey

  “Is he conscious?” asked Salnex. Kala Nar leaned in for a quick glance at the body. The apparatus hissed and glowed.

  “Give it a moment.”

  A finger twitched.

  “Well––did he survive the process?”

  “Yes,” answered the fuzzy little man. “But it will take some time, before …”

  The aquatic cut him off.

  “Good, then prep him.”

  “Prep him for what?” Salnex glared at the aquatic, a slip up now, and it could come back to bite him in the ass. “It takes time to complete the regenerative process …”

  Claris cut him off with a hand gesture to end all hand gestures.

  “That’s not wise,” interrupted the dark skinned Kelfin. “What if he remembers?”

  The fish-faced ambassador referred to the bio-scanner, pointing out the image on the screen. The device hummed over his half naked body, sweeping across the bounty hunter’s upper torso, along the north/south axis.

  “That’s not likely.”

  Salnex prodded the bounty hunter. “He’ll do the job,” snapped the fish-faced dignitary. “Put him back into circulation.”

  Indigo opened his eyes, reached straight for the ambassador’s throat, but missed; his hand passed straight through the dignitary without so much as a snap of his neck.

  “Hologram,” said the bounty hunter under his breath. He was on the move. A second later, Kala Nar’s body hit the floor; his torso draped over Salnex’s twisted remains. Both men dead, their necks snapped like a twig in a single movement.

  Anion screamed––blood splattered across her flowing robes. But it was possible. It was a simulation.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” he said smashing the tiny handheld projector against the wall. Claris vanished almost as quickly.

  Indigo grabbed his gun off Kala Nar’s dead body and glanced back at the frightened researcher, taking every detail of the room. “The name’s Ramious, Jake Ramious!” His voice was cool and calm. “People call me, Indigo.”

  The researcher stood absolutely silent for a moment, her pulse racing as she heard the familiar click of a gun. The old bounty hunter put his wide-brim hat to his head, and stepped out the door and vanished. “You––”shuttered Anion. She was faced with the well-dressed African American, who was no longer standing in the shadows. “You were in the back of the tavern.”

  Inquisitive, thought the temporal agent. But dangerous! She had to be eliminated.

  “Computer,” shivered the scientist. She new she was going to die. It was inevitable.

  “End simulation,” she insisted. The image of the makeshift libratory faded, once again becoming the research facility. The agent, however, didn’t disappear; he was as real as the long barreled pistol he drew from his holster.

  “Too bad you recognized me, Kak,” said the agent. The researcher’s head vaporized, her body instantly dropped to the floor in bubbling goo. The agent squeezed the trigger again, popping off another round. “Gamy, this place gives me the creeps,” cringed the temporal agent. “It’s just crawling with leeches.”

  “Agent Nomad…!”

  Rallumn’s voice roared from the depths of the foggy biomass at the center of the abyss. The runner turned around, a single step that ended with a nod. He acknowledged the presence, but said nothing. The menagerie of wires rose from the primeval ooze to confront him on the platform, at the center of the research facility. “Must you always disrupt the flow of a perfectly good Skellon!”

  “You should get better housekeeping,” mimicked the bounty hunter.

  “It will take some time to grow another one with such outstanding qualities, you know? Not to mention the loss of the research.”

  “Sue me––” The agent had no choice but to ignore the comment. The Kak knew too much about their business and he couldn’t let matters alone. Not when his life was on the line.

  The Agent gleaned, I’m here on official business.”

  “How are things in the Assembly?”

  “You should know,” said the temporal runner. The menagerie of dark biomass dredged itself across the ledge, itching to get its slimy tentacles around the agent’s neck. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be out of a job.

  “Thanks for asking.”

  “Looking for charity again, are we?”

  Agent Nomad pulled back his overcoat with a slight brush of his hand, revealing a pulse weapon strapped to his leg like an old time gunfighter.

  “How perfect,” said the beast. “I’m sure your services will be compensation enough for your misdemeanor.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” said Samuel putting his hand on the canon as he flicked off the safety. “I have no intentions of working for the likes of you ever again. I’m here for the symbiont.”

  “Don’t be so hasty,” rebutted the ooze. “There’s always profit to be made from our little endeavors. After all, if you want to save this precious symbiont of yours, you’re going to have to play the game my way. Otherwise, I’ll put a hound on both your trails.

  “Right––” Samuel glared at the entity. “But I think I’ve had enough fun and games for one day, so tell me: What’s on your mind big fellow?

  “Another boss out of line?”

  “Ever been to the Eden sector?”

  “It doesn’t exist.” Nomad told Rallumn.

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong,” answered the beast, peeking the runner’s interest. “I’m going to send you there. After all, that’s where you’re precious symbiont is bound.”

  Samuel looked at Rallumn with renewed interest. “And how am I suppose to know you’re not just sending me on some wild goose chase?”

  “You’ll have to trust me,” said the Acreen.

  “Yeah––what’s the job?”

  “I want you to kill Crimson and Indigo,” gurgled the biomass. Nomad stared at the beast, watching as he retreated from sight, returning to the recess in the cesspool of primordial gunk. “Alter the course of history if you have too, but get rid of them.”

  “You want them dead?”

  “Yes,” said the dark entity.

  “Fine––” answered the agent. “But when I’m done with them I’ll be back for you.”

  Samuel backed away from the oozing biomass ready for the task, but it wasn’t going to be easy. He knew that neither Crimson, nor Indigo would go easily. Finally, the bounty was worth the prize.

  METAMORPHOSIS

  _________________________

  With the passing of one event into another, the blending of time becomes recurrent unless a catalyst is introduced to supersede one existence with another. It is only then that the forerunner and successor can be seen as they truly are within the threshold of their convergence.

  Samuel Nomad, Temporal Agent

  THE FOURTH UNIVERSE

  _________________________

  The Third Dimension

  TWENTY-THREE: Destination Sodin

  • • •

  The Haulers Incorporated transport, Tigress, had a wide berth and six container cargo pods. Its drive mechanism was a simple three-phase wave generator, barely capable of keeping up with the load. Still, she was fascinating to look at: a thing of virtual beauty. A dragon wing nicknamed for fanlike arrays that spanned equal distance from both sides of the coupling mechanism just behind the lander and Chariot ground transportation. Like any good charter, set adrift in the dark emptiness of uncharted space, the crew of the Tigress had only one significant destination … the lovely corporate liaison, Krydal Starr. The young beauty stood a magnificent five foot seven, had a spontaneous wit, mysterious eyes and silky hair as dark as the recesses of the cosmos itself. Her complexion was that of fine pearl, a blend of flesh tone fused with a hint of pink as rich as a Rampian sunset sky. For years she had been a simple clerk, an office worker with as much clout as a watercooler. Now, she was on a transport with the man of her dreams, a handsome, square-jawed individual with dark eyes, radiant smile and his hands on the controls. She w
as in love.

  “What do you think, Rooka?” asked the handsome example of manhood and object of her lusty heart, Jake Ramious, propping his size eleven boots atop an instrument panel riddled with colored lights. “What you say we fly over to Rusty’s bar and soak up a few suds, before we shove this load down Rex’s throat and burn’er home?”

  Rooka grinned like a dim-eyed lab rat smacking his lips, as he pulled up his shirtsleeves, ready and roaring to go. What could be better than a beaker of foamed-topped piss water on a mountain of ice? Jake pushed his seat back, took a second look at the corporate suit around the mechanic. He definitely wanted a piece of her action, but for the life of him; he couldn’t figure out why she was ignoring him. There had to be something he had overlooked. After all, he was charming, a man of the world, not to mention debonair. Nevertheless, the prospects for a brightened future had dimmed, altered by an incursion of the opposite sex. A little side trip down memory lane potentially altered the very fabric of his dating history; it had been sometime since he pondered over the delicacies of womanhood, enjoying the fruits and the flavor of a young beauty looking his way. There had to be something he could do to get her to notice him––but what? His guess was anything but productive.

  Hum yum, thought the rodent.

  “All right, you two,” said the corporate liaison startling Jake back to reality. She leaned in displaying curve and cleavage, damned near toppling him over backwards in his jump seat as she handed him something that looked a lot like a computerized vid-sheet, but unfolded in the palm of his hand like a piece of paper to reveal a holographic map. The thing was made of some sort of synthetic parchment, a millimeter thick.

  Impressive, thought the pilot. Technology fascinated him, especially non-standard issue items like the circuitry paper. There was something about it that intrigued him. He had more in common with her than he was letting on. It was likely he had met her somewhere before their introduction in the main hanger, a little less than three days ago. His boss, Vex Redford, didn’t seem to know her either. Even though there was an aire of familiarity about her that he just couldn’t shake. Not that it mattered; he was happy to know her now, even if he didn’t know her before. She was real eye candy. Whatever it was that was nagging at him, there was more to it than he could remember.

  “Is that it?” asked Krydal nodding to the screen directly in front of the copilot. Rooka looked over at her, then shifted his attention to the three optical windows above their heads. Each interface, pitch black as the day it was made, tested functional. The lab rat had jacked the hardware during preflight; every piece of equipment was functioning perfectly, except the number four engine!

  “Yeah, that’s it,” confirmed the pilot, distracted. “Damned if I know why anybody in their right mind would come here, damn corporate bangers.”

  “Suits,” said Rooka.

  “Corporate suits.” Krydal repeated the phrase under her breath. Their destination was a single pinpoint of light that flickered with an iridescent glow; nothing else was visible at first glance in the middle of the black void. Jake admittedly had his shortcomings, but the copilot didn’t have much use for corporate bureaucracy either. On three of the last five off-world excursions, he had contact the Industrials, and enough was enough. “This place is a freak’n death trap,” interrupted the pilot. “You sure you wanna go there?”

  “I’m sure,” said the corporate liaison. “You want paid?”

  Jake looked up at her kind of curious, and huffed. “What a waste.” There was no point in arguing with the young woman; she wasn’t flirting. He had already crashed and burned without ever trying. Then again, there was always the return trip. She wasn’t trying to encourage the freighter captain; it was about the money, it was always about the money.

  “Don’t worry, hotshot,” said Krydal. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

  “God, I hope so!” Rooka sniffed the air, springing forward in his seat like a dog in heat. Pheromones. “Sure you wouldn’t rather hit Rusty’s bar? Maybe have a few laughs?” Krydal leaned back against the compartment bulkhead, turning headlong for the cabin. Admittedly, the idea had crossed her mind. The pilot was attractive and there was that little moment between them, when she first came aboard. “It won’t be as much fun down there,” said the pilot. “I promise you that.”

  Krydal glared at him, but didn’t answer. She just. There was a fire in her eyes; not the same glare she had given Rooka entering the freight hanger the day she first approached Vex Redford about chartering a quick trip to the Sodin moon.

  “If you don’t mate with her––I will,” yipped Rooka.

  Jake hiccupped, announcing his inadequacies. “Well, there you go!” Krydal laughed. If only she wasn’t under strict orders, there would be time to play.

  “Just sit us down on those coordinates,” she told him pointing to the computerized parchment. “Nice and easy, please.”

  “You got it, beautiful,” he said with a smile, half expected her to strip him of his pride, but she didn’t. She simply tapped a finger on top of the map. Rooka, on-the-other-hand, grabbed the stick and groaned, anything to get on with the mission. He had no recourse but to sit there like a bump on a log, embarrassed. He glared at the pilot, calculating the inevitable. Three days out, three days back, plus whatever time the charter wanted on the surface, and Walla: A week minimum. The thought of spending seven days in the copilot’s seat with Jake acting like it was mating season was enough to make him want to puke. They were delivering a team of archeologists down world, not a busload of children to a damned wilderness camp. Somebody had to take responsibility and from where he sat, Rooka figured he was going to be the one in charge.

  The copilot looked back at the passenger compartment, taking a visual inventory of the survey team. It didn’t matter what repairs the number four engine needed; he was a babysitter, plain and simple. It was all he could do to keep his fur on. Hudson Warner, on the other hand, a big fellow with arms the size of legs, immediately identified himself as a Neanderthal. He stood next to a shorthaired scientist who was more or less attached at the hip to his assistant, Brenda Hutton; a springy brunette with the legs that would strangle a mountain climber. Then, there was Jennifer Riggs, a cute blonde-haired bimbo with ruby red lips, a pleasant figure and a playful smile. She had the pleasure of bantering back and forth with Renniska Brennan, the man in charge; a rather coarse individual with a short temper, less than friendly attitude, and the folly of thinking he had all the right moves. Finally, Jake and Rooka made up the last two slots, they where considered members of the expedition for accounting purposes. But Jake had the sneaking suspicion there was more to their charter than a little excursion.

  “Can we concentrate now, please,” resounded Brennan, his voice echoing from the shallow end of the passenger compartment. Krydal looked back at the survey team, and huffed. Whatever it was she said, it was completely under her breath and inaudible. Brennan was definitely one of those suits Rooka had referred to: A big man in a confined space, barely able to fit between the table and the oblong restaurant style bench along the back half of the counter. The middle-aged man slapped his hand down on the oval wooden table at the rear of the flight deck and looked straight at her. Krydal returned the stare, looking at him dead in the eye, no love lost between them.

  “All right,” said Brennan. The corporate liaison took her place at the edge of the semi-circular wood grained table and sat surrounded by jumpsuits. “Here’s how it is going to go people …” The young woman listened, but didn’t hear the dictation, her attention elsewhere. Indiscriminate perhaps, but Jake’s charm was hard to resist. There was something about him that fascinated her. If only he wasn’t so pompous. The vision of loveliness she saw in him wouldn’t have vaporized along with his personality. But fate was playing a little trick on her, one that would take a hundred lifetimes to connect.

  “I’ve got a NO-GO on number four,” Jake told his savvy copilot. A flash of red on the flight deck interrupted Ja
ke’s moment of self-indulgence, a warning light on the main drive instrument panel flickered off and on in a rhythmic pattern just out of his reach. The illumination caught Rooka’s eye just the same. The copilot slammed his fist down on the top of the console, waiting for the light to go out then smiled a quirky little rat-faced grin. “

  That’s got it,” he told the pilot, as if he had just saved the hauler captain’s ass pulling him out of the frying pan into the fire. The pilot grinned. He knew the Tigress was old and past her prime, but he loved the relic. Vex Redford had refitted her after the decent years, figuring it was cheaper than buying a new one. Jake believed she still had a few good voyages left in her. Being aboard her was like being in love. Unpredictable. The Tigress, however, was the last of her kind, a work of art left over from the time of the Genesis Wars. The forward cabin was made to hold six, but Vex had refitted the compartment to enable the crew and six passengers to uncomfortably endure each other’s company for short periods of time: About a week; beyond that, it was everyone for himself.

  Jake strapped in. Rooka glanced back at the captain half expecting his approval, while hoping for at least a nod from the young beauty. But the beeping continued like a bad heart-monitor. “All right, people,” said Jake. “You might wanna take a seat.” The passengers looked up in unison from where they sat around the multipurpose conference table.

  Krydal turned her attention to the skylights above their heads, yelling instructions over the thunder of deceleration, so anyone standing near her got the message. The world of Sodin spiraled across the observation windows as big as life, a dark blue-gray marble hidden beneath a crucible of churning, cloud-covered electrical discharges; each the earmark of temporal wave distortion hidden between layers of atmospheric disturbance. Reentry was sure to be a bumpy ride and Jake didn’t want anyone hitting the ceiling when he reversed thrust, disconnecting from the cargo pods.