by P. K. Tyler
@dcwrites
Fringling
by J.D. Harpley
Summary: Slave to the Klekan on a foreign planet far from his race's birthplace, Baylin discovers there's something powerful lurking within him. He fights the desire to slaughter his slavers, and as the moral battle rages inside him, a new anomaly threatens to remove his identity and transform him into something entirely different.
Where is my true home? Why did we come here?
As my eyes trace the pink-hued sky, I know a Fringling like myself shouldn’t have these thoughts. Was wherever we came from so bad that my ancestors would rather endure the rule of the Klekan rather than return? Maybe we didn’t have a choice.
“Move!” An Obilusk hide whip cracks next to my ear, snapping me back to action. I shoot a glare at my taskmaster, a particularly vile Klekan by the name of Pog, as I return to pushing the cart full of boulders.
Pog pulls the automatic translator back over its mouth, eyes staring into mine, and clicks it to life. The rough, guttural sounds of Klekick issue from Pog’s face before the translator picks it up, turning my gut with nerves. “If you do not work, I will have a not problem with your end life.”
Good old translators don’t always get it right, but I get the gist. My teeth grit, but a quick jab in my side turns my attention back to the task at hand. The girl next to me, my little sister Corina, utters from pursed lips in a language I know, “Don’t be an idiot, Baylin.”
We struggle to push the overflowing cart along the uphill path from the newly blown-out mine to the pile of boulders the other Fringlings are working from. They don’t all look like me, the other Fringlings, creatures from distant worlds, lost to space and time. In fact, most of them aren’t my race. How did the Klekan planet become such a haven to wayward species?
We didn’t originate here, the Klekan make that well known to us. This is their land, their home, and they host us in exchange for labor. We should be grateful, they tell us. My heart burns as I hear the words echo in my mind. I’ve never known anything else, but I know this isn’t how these Fringlings, desolate and desperate creatures, should exist; living as slaves, like vermin.
Pain stings my throat and I’m tossed to the ground. Dust clouds my vision as I look at an upside down Pog against the dimming skyline. It holds the Obilusk hide whip tight in its green clawed hand, smiling. I roll to the side, unwrapping the end of the hide from my neck as I stand to face my enemy.
Pog sprays spittle over my face as it says, “Graah eck mogaighu trach frunglen klagh.” Frunglen, it means me, and mogaighu, a great pain. Something about my suffering a great pain, or causing Pog to suffer a great pain. More likely the former. I spare a quick glance at the workforce observation turret; it’s not pointed at us.
This is my chance.
Trembling in my shoulders betrays me as I try to stand my ground and Pog laughs. All eyes are on us as Pog dares me to make a move. My fist clenches, flexing a well-defined arm from years of labor, but I do not raise it.
“Down!” It points to me like I’m vermin, demanding my submission. All is still but the racing of my heart. The world around me dims as my eyes focus on the tall, brutish Klekan.
“Baylin.” Corina’s whimper pulls me from the tunnel vision. I bow my head, one knee dropping as I bite into my lip. I hate Pog. I hate the Klekan. But I want to live.
A taloned foot swings up into my gut in slow motion, but there’s nothing I can do to avoid it. My stomach throbs and my eyes close as wind rustles my long hair; then the air is stolen from my lungs when I hit the ground. My head smacks against the jagged rock and a warm trickling begins at my neck. Another agonizing stomp on my chest and something snaps. My throat burns as a scream escapes me into the star speckled night.
I roll to the side to get away, but it’s futile. The whip is at my throat, squeaking as it constricts. I can hear Corina crying for Pog to stop, but her words are muffled behind a rushing in my ears. I don’t want to die. Not today, and not like this. As my eyes slowly dim, my hands reach out for anything I can use, but they touch nothing. There’s something else, though, some feeling, in the palm of my hand. I sense the cart of boulders; it’s right in front of me.
The world returns as I gasp for air on my hands and knees. Heart thumping wildly, I turn to face Pog—but there is no Pog. Twenty paces away, blue dust circles a splatter of putrid orange blood against the gray rock wall. I spin again to see the cart is tipped, empty, and the Fringlings look on in horror.
Corina grabs my arm, “You killed it! What have you done?”
I wonder the same thing as I scratch the palm of my left hand, remembering the magnetic tingle of the boulders. A siren sounds nearby and we cower, knowing what comes next. Ten well-armed Klekan emerge from the workforce observation tower, weapons raised towards us.
I step to the front, arms raised. “Don’t hurt them! They haven’t done anything, it was me! I did this.”
And I can do it again.
The nagging pain of broken ribs subsides as wonderment fills me. My hands direct the rocks, carts, tools, and rifle fire in a spectacle like a dark dance. A languid burning radiates up my arms, exploding in my chest as a raging inferno that melds with my desire for freedom, for their damnation. Fringlings and Klekan alike shout in fear as I make quick work of our enemies. Ten more join the ranks, but I dispatch them with ease.
“Baylin, stop!” Corina pulls on my arm, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t need my hands. I can move the weapons with my mind. Crunches, splatters, squelches, and screams evolve into a seductive symphony as my deadly ballet rages on. Corpses of my enemy carpet the ground, and too few remain to fight. I need to find more.
The squish of my bare feet against the mutilated monsters brings ecstasy as I march on to the tower. “Down,” I say to it. Deep reverberations of crumpling metal bounce along the stone walls of our prison and the tower we once feared is reduced to shards.
“You’ll get us killed!”
“I won’t. I’ll save us, all the Fringlings.” My eyes lock on her misty blues. “Don’t cry, Corina. They’re not worth your tears.”
“I’m not crying for them.” Her hand rises to a shining object in the distance of the pale purple night sky. “I’m crying for us.”
Drop ships, filled with Klekan.
Perfect. I need more enemies.
The ships dip and dust off as they come in range, dropping their soldiers before they rocket back towards their port. I use the metal shards of the tower to form a wall, shielding my precious friends from fire as I hurl stone after stone.
Another round of ships soar towards us and I turn my attention to the sky. It’s as easy to pull them down as it is to wipe sweat from my brow. So natural, so simple. How did I not know this was inside me? The remaining ships retreat and a smirk blossoms on my face. They fear me now, and know my power. I can change things for the betterment of all Fringlingkind.
“We need to move.” I part the metal, reaching for Corina.
She recoils. “I can’t go with you, Baylin. You frighten me.”
I frighten her? I saved her! I fought off the Klekan. I can fight them all, and win. “If you stay, you’ll be a slave. Follow me to freedom. Please, Corina.” Her terrified eyes avoid mine as she shakes her head. I’m doing this for them, the helpless, the hopeless, but they do not want my help. They do not want to be free. Freedom is frightening.
Thunderous jets tear my eyes from Corina to the sky. I stare towards the ships, becoming distinctly aware of something new, something amazing. I can hear them. Not just what they’re saying out loud, but the thoughts they keep inside. More importantly, I understand them. They’re going to drop firebombs on the entire mining facility.
With a quick blink of my eyes, four of the ships collapse in on themselves. The crumpled heaps rip through homes on their way down and distant shouts begin the symphony anew. I cannot stop. The Fringlings deserve retribution. I allow the fifth ship to survive, reaching into the pilot’s mind as I tell him t
o turn around. The commander shouts angrily through the speakers, questioning the Klekan pilot’s choice to retreat. Should I spoil the surprise and force this mutt to utter my words of revenge? No. Not yet.
Show me, Klekan scum, where I can force you to drop these bombs to cause the most damage. Images of the city center rush into its mind, my mind. Perfect, that is where you will go. The ship veers left, and accelerates to its new destination.
The sun sheds its last rays of light over the horizon, highlighting the launching of missiles against the deep blue night. I’m disembodied. I see the images both through my mind, and the Klekan pilot’s. Hear both my thoughts, and the pilot’s: its fear and desire for revenge, to kill me, and my desire for total annihilation. This is what the Klekan deserve.
I redirect the missiles, forcing them back down on the base they launched from. Blinding white light fills the sky and I shield my eyes. Dust rises around my bare feet as the ground rumbles, vibrating deep in my gut. The pilot trembles as the ship shudders, and I can’t help but smile; it feels dangerously good.
My tool of vengeance is nearly at its destination and I begin to salivate, hungering for the Klekan’s destruction. A loud crack sounds behind me, and my eyes go dark. I’m falling to my knees, blind and helpless. Why did I trust the cage-loving Fringlings not to betray me? How could I let this happen?
It’s black, cold, dark—but there are voices, close whispers. As I become aware of the world, flashes of a terrifying nightmare breach my thought. Blood and a sickly orange slime smear traces of fear through my gut as the words of others around me become audible. I dare not move and alert them to my eavesdropping.
“It could have been much worse; we stopped him just in time.”
“Did you? It seems it was allowed to wreak havoc far longer than it should have. Are your senses diminishing, or did you willfully allow it to bring destruction to its captors?”
Silence.
So, one is on my side.
“He’s awake.” The voice speaks louder, and artificial light bombards my squinting eyes. “Tell us, Baylin, what were your intentions with the Klekan?” I tug gently on my arms to find they’re bound, and I’m upright. A quick glance down verifies the objects holding me are not to be trifled with; they are some kind of energy restraint.
My eyes bolt up, tracing the beings in front of me. Neither are of the same race, nor are they my own, yet both wear the same garb.
I clear the residue of battle from my throat. “I wanted to free the Fringlings.”
A bark-like laugh erupts from the creature on the left, the one who questioned my motives. “You cannot lie to us, boy.”
“Then why ask?” Acid swirls over my tongue as I imagine the monsters still living, still enslaving, still killing my only friends.
“This sort of thing is common, High Lacron. The powers only show themselves in times of desperation, near death, as you very well know.” The creature smiles, but the High Lacron does not. It clears its throat and continues, “The embodied can become enraged, even blinded.”
These creatures will entrap me with devious, backhanded questions to prevent my action, my justice. I want to rip free of my holds and strangle the High Lacron with my bare hands, anything to return to the planet and complete the annihilation of the Klekan.
“It is too violent. Listen to it.” The High Lacron turns away as the other creature examines me with its eyes. A slithering sensation moves behind my face, between my ears, and I know it’s looking at my thoughts, just as I had done to the Klekan pilot.
“Yes, he’s quite upset.”
“Why are you holding me here?” I tug futilely at my hands, needing to be free.
“You’ve been embodied,” the second creature says, dilated pupils resting on my own. I avert my eyes furtively, not wanting it to see any further into my mind.
“Embodied with what?” How can I get free? How can I get out of this place and back to the surface? I need to save the Fringlings—Corina.
“See, High Lacron. Give him a few moments and the hatred begins to die out. He has no thoughts of dismemberment any longer. He wants to return to save his kind now.” My gaze turns icy as I glare at my feet. I do still want to kill the Klekan, but saving the Fringlings is more important. How do I hide these thoughts? I need to get them to let me go.
“You’ve become a vessel of the Eternal Energy, or perhaps you have been since birth, we’re still not sure how it works.” The inquisitive creature smiles again, stepping closer still. “I was not there at the moment of your awakening, but I assume,” it gives a chuckle, “that you were in some kind of peril?”
“Yes. I was dying, being strangled.” I think back to the moment, the feeling in my palm, the ease of movement. I commanded the world around me with a thought. So much power, and all I could think to do with it was kill. I could have gathered the Fringlings and ferried them away to safety. I could have stolen a ship, and plotted a course for home.
But I became bloodthirsty, vengeful.
My head dips and the grit of combat still trapped in my throat suffocates me.
“You judge too quickly, High Lacron. Listen to him now.”
I hear the shuffling of feet and the High Lacron’s boots appear in my view. “Perhaps I was wrong, but do you really think it’ll be able to cope, given its history?”
My head–why am I so tired? I feel so light and airy, but my limbs are lead weights.
“It may be beneficial not… disclo…” the words whistle in my ears, and a high-pitched whining begins to drown them out. “Time to settle, figure things…”
My eyes open to yet another new setting. No longer held aloft by energy restraints, I’m lying on a bed. Soft, comfortable, and warm; so foreign to me. I may not be restrained, but the room is definitely caging me: solid wall on every side and no door. Am I dangerous? Lingering pain in my ribs prevents me from making swift movements, but I glance about my confines.
The dim lights overhead let me know it must be late, or perhaps my captors enjoy darkness. Three blank gray walls and a fourth made of glass, which reveals only more gray walls and track light, confirm this is indeed a cell. I stare at the ceiling, following the pulses of energy in the lights as they surge from the source: a power station. It’s amazing, but not altogether overwhelming. My brain seems comfortable, designed even, to handle this additional input I didn’t know was possible to receive. It’s interesting to know I couldn’t see this, or through the wall, or hear the footsteps several rooms over the day before. Or the week before? I don’t know. I’ve lost track of the time.
I try, but can no longer recall the events leading me here. I knew at one time, but the memories were buried, hidden behind a wall of agony. Blurs of cracked stone, flying light, and something putrid orange is all I can see, all I remember. Wait, no. I remember the screams, and Corina’s frightened face. What was she frightened about? Ships. I brought the ships down! Me. She was afraid of me.
I remember now… I’m a monster. Not because of what I did, but because I loved it. Do I still love it? Do I still want the end of all the Klekan? No. I want to save the Fringlings, prevent the Klekan from enslaving any more, ever. Annihilation would ensure the Klekan could never hurt another race again, but I would compromise my morality, my soul. Is my soul worth saving millions?
“The battle rages on.”
I jump to my feet, tsking at the pain in my side. We eye each other, and the feminine looking alien, the same who defended me from the High Lacron, smiles.
“You’re trying to decide if genocide is worth the price of your benevolence because you’ll never get it back. You’ll never be whole again,” she says, pacing without a worry.
“Who are you? What is this place? Why am—”
She holds a hand up to stop me, “All in good time.”
“No!” She eyes me with the same surprise I feel in myself. When did I become this way? When did I protest and fight? “You’ve taken me from my home, the only family I had, and imprisoned me. I w
ant to know why.”
“We told you why,” she begins slowly, “you’ve been embodied with the Eternal Energy.”
“Yes, but what is it? Who are you? Why am I a prisoner?” My voice peaks into shouts as anger bubbles in the pit of my stomach. The space between us thickens, almost a liquid, and my lungs take labored breaths in hatred.
She inhales deeply—the air lightens—and then turns her back to me. “Let me start with your first question. I am Vorl, the last living thing to be embodied, before you. The one to help you transition into your new life. Initiate you, as it were.” She falls silent, unmoving.
“How—” I clear my throat, putting a lid on my anger, “long ago was that?”
“Three thousand, eight hundred and forty-two years.”
I can’t contain the laugh that erupts from my mouth, but Vorl turns, her face serious.
I scoff, “I’m sorry, but that’s preposterous. You’re telling me you’re almost four thousand years old?”
“Indeed, I am.”
We look at each other for what seems millennia as I size up her claim. “I can’t....” Standing in frustration, I pace to the glass wall, “I don’t understand. How? How is this possible?”
“The Eternal Energy. We don’t call it eternal for nothing.”
I rub my eyes, trying to comprehend what she said. “I—”
“It’s alright. It’s a lot to take in.” She approaches me, her hands out as if to touch me, but she retracts. “You are an anomaly. We thought the Eternal Energy was spent. The embodied before me was six hundred years old when I became embodied, and they thought I was the last.”
“Now, for your second question; where you are.” She offers for me to take a seat, and I do. “You are on a space station, a fair distance from the planet where we found you.”
“I have to go back.” I jump to my feet and she stands at my front as if to block my way, but block me from what? There’s no way out. Then how did she get in?