by Lee Bond
What was going on?
Morali leaned forward worriedly. Even though the SpecSer agent was probably a galaxy away, even though there was no reason to be successful, he hoped she found him at least a little intimidating. “Are you fucking with me right now, Technical Expert Tendreel Salingh?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Outright hostility? Tendreel flared up, ready to roundly lambast this … this … civilian peace officer, intending to dummy him up with the full weight of Specter might if need be to get the answers –and the respect- she was due. “Who do you think you …”
Morali slammed a hand onto the button. It was a button that was the same on every console in every Tenerekian police station across the planet; the button was connected to a program that broadcast an important volume of data to anyone who was completely unaware of what was happening on their homeworld.
Easier to beam folks coming to Tenerek the huge volume of data at the press of a button than to waste time explaining things the slow way and besides, political soothsayers deemed it unwise to broadcast their … crisis ‘unnecessarily’. The few remaining politicians claimed spilling their woes to the rest of the system would only serve to exacerbate the situation. Morali thought it had more to do with their unwillingness to part with tourism dollars, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
There were more of … them every day.
The powers that be weren’t truly worried about what happened to visitors once they landed, so long as they spent money before they either wound up dead, stranded, or, worse still, adherents to the Church of the End. Every dollar in official coffers was one more chance to route the growing enemy.
Morali spoke when his AI announced the data had been received on the other end. “Jerry Seinfeld, Steve Smith, Richie Rock and Gary the Evil Chicken, as they call themselves, are spokespeople for a new religion, Tendreel Salingh of Special Services. They are currently not available for casual chats. They’re … hiding.”
Religion as practiced by Humanity was mystifying to Tendreel. There was the Pattern, which made sense. Some few Myco’s found solace in holding the Pattern in a kind of … idealized grace, but religion, where men and women prayed to beings that almost certainly did not exist and if they did exist in the usual format such deities seemed to take, would have very little concern over mere mortal lives. “I … I don’t …”
“We are IndoRussian, here, Tech Expert.” Morali flashed the pendant he wore under his uniform angrily then tucked it away just as quickly. Strictly a no-no because when you were on-duty, you were about the Law and not your Faith, but with the fucking Church of The End ripping through Arturii and the other cities like wildfire, you needed solace on you at all times. “And these … these londybazz bastards are ruining our spiritual lives with their preaching …” Morali shook his head. “The men you want to talk to are awful, evil men, Tendreel Salingh. The worst sort. They are twisting and perverting the faith of the Common Man. Their so-called ‘houses’ bringing ruination to everyone. Why on earth would you want to talk to them? We’d like for you to come here and assassinate them now, please.”
Tendreel motioned for the police officer to fall silent as she read through the date he’d beamed her. She hadn’t recognized the names as Morali had given them verbally, but looking at them on screen, the similarities between their proper Tenerekian format and what the officer had said were obvious.
This Church of the End that these four men had spontaneously created one day several years ago was … distressing. The main tenet, at least according to the propaganda material attached, espoused the belief that everything was going to end. There was more in there about rebirth and beginning, but to Tendreel, it was mystical claptrap.
“This is a Dark Age cult, Morali.” Tendreel said this as kindly as she could, though Pattern-motes were now floating around the Tenerekian police officer.
“It is not.” Morali insisted. “We deal with that kind of thing all the time. They never find soil to grow. This is … different. When Jerry Seinfeld speaks, he speaks about nothing, but with such passion that their … ‘church’ grows every day. They incite riots. Dark Age cults cause people to wither and die, Tendreel Salingh. This End Church does the opposite. It inspires them, it inflames them.”
Tendreel pursed her lips thoughtfully. She’d backtracked Garth’s travels through Trinityspace to almost the very beginning, picking a spot where she’d –mistakenly- believed her interviews would be easiest; his brief stay on Tenerek before traveling to Latelyspace had yielded a few definite points of contact, civilians to a one.
Pattern-motes were thick and growing thicker on Morali. This spiritually outraged officer had come into direct contact with one or more of the men who’d spoken with Garth Nickels on the one day he’d been on the planet. Whether he knew it or not, Tendreel was almost positive that before too much longer, this … End Church would find themselves a new parishioner.
“I will require all the data you have on this Church of the End, Officer Morali. As well, if you please, any and all video recordings of any public orations they may have done.” Tendreel nodded once, firmly, one of those body language techniques she’d discovered meant ‘this conversation is over’. She reached to end the comm.
“Will you … will you send someone to help m … us?” Morali fingered the holy pendant given to him by Father Indel through his uniform. “Please?”
Tendreel pursed her lips a second time. With the activity around Latelyspace, there was absolutely no chance Commander Aleksander would send anyone to deal with the problem on Tenerek, even though it was precisely the sort of thing SpecSer existed to deal with. She knew the Commander didn’t even especially like the fact that Armageddon Troop Too was in Jade Whisper, and whatever was going on there was of particular importance.
“I will do my best, Officer Morali.” Tendreel ended the Q-Comm, eyes recording the Pattern-motes around the suffering Tenerekian.
A single day in a single city. With barely any real contact with four men. And all four had become –if the files that were coming through now were true- eloquent and passionate religious men preaching things that grabbed hold of people with shocking speed.
Tendreel called up the roster of SpecSer agents Nickels had traveled with. There were hundreds. Many, like the Heavies, were dead or lost in the stars beyond The Cordon. Many more had perished at Tannhauser’s Gate. For which, Tendreel admittedly guiltily to herself, she was thankful.
But many still lived.
What other changes had been left behind in Garth’s tsunami-like passage?
***
Eddie looked back and forth amongst his crewmembers, ears still ringing from the loud shouting match they’d gotten themselves into. Naturally, the topic at hand was Tech Expert Tendreel Salingh and her skillful digging into Garth’s past.
A few times during their travels, Captain Nickels had mentioned that the pen was mightier than the sword, only none of them had really understood until now precisely what that meant. For them, it meant that Tendreel Salingh and her ‘pen’ were nothing but trouble. The worst kind.
Babel wanted to fire up their black hole ship and zip back to the front lines so he could have a quiet word with the Mycogene-Alzant, to see if there wasn’t some way his particular line of smooth talking could convince the Offworlder that it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. He was standing at the open doors leading out to a comfortable garden, wearing a bathrobe, flip flops, and drinking his fifth soft lime green beverage debating on a better way to bring this up again, only with less shouting in his direction.
There was no proof –anecdotal or otherwise- that Babel’s particular line of bullshit would work on an Offworlder. Trial runs performed on Dagon had had no effect, much to the con-man’s disappointment. Didn’t stop the guy from to get the stony alien to do all his ship-chores, though.
Dagon, skulking about Alistair Katainn’s private property and communicating via heavily encrypted feed –their Soul-HUD had transmission errors over great distance
s- had made his point painfully clear; the Offworlder’s nearly casual suggestion they simply assassinate the Myco nuisance had been tinder to an already unstable powder keg, transforming a relatively calm discussion full of passionate words into an inferno of heated shouts and popped vessels.
Telgar, the impassive warrior with the ridiculous chin, was stroking his wife’s cornflower hair as she made another run at Katainn’s strangely programed EJ artificially intelligent security systems; since they hadn’t resolved the Tendreel Problem, she’d decided to see if she could gain some worthwhile data on the identity of Jade Whisper’s notorious plague.
Tel’s solution was similar to Dagon’s, though in terms of overt overkill, his was nearer to something that Garth –on a bad day- would go for, simply so he could go and light a cigar over the smoldering metal wreckage. Being surrounded by the unsurpassed hostility coming from every single Yellow Dog lackey they came across was driving their tank batshit insane. If the man didn’t have an opportunity to erupt into violence soon, well, he was going to erupt into violence.
Eddie pressed his palms against his eyes and considered Cianni’s option. Ostensibly the least … violent of the remaining solutions, hacking into the Myco’s computer systems to plant evidence of wrongdoing or malfeasance or just plain old-fashioned criminal behavior not sanctioned by SpecSer was the best they could come up with that wasn’t just a mirror of Dagon’s ‘murder the mushroom’ idea.
Sadly, dropping incriminating evidence onto Tendreel’s computers wasn’t something that could be done from their posting in Jade Whisper; a casual foray into SpecterNet had quickly revealed that Tendreel was cagey enough to use non-AI computers to track Garth’s activities. Ci’s solution meant leaving Jade Whisper.
And whether the Yellow Dog Elder would admit it or not, they needed Specter help in combating this threat.
They were trapped.
Eddie wondered Nickels would do. Something flashy, for certain. And underhanded. Something that would –at some point- wind up with one or more of them in some kind of prison or something. But still, the job would get done.
Eddie chuckled dryly at some of the ideas their old captain had come up with. The man relied on a dangerous cocktail of sheer balls-to-the-wall mega-violence and the absolute height of purist absurdity.
An idea hit Eddie right in the middle of his forehead. “Babel. Babel!”
Good grief, the man was staring off into the night sky through the bay windows like a tourist.
Eddie snapped his fingers until the con-man turned his head away from whatever’d captured his interest like a simpleton. “You holding markers on that flotilla?”
Babel nodded as he sipped from the chilled glass in his hand. Like everything else in the system, the creators of the beverage had shoehorned ‘Jade’ into the name. This particular cocktail was ‘Song of Jade and Night Mysteries’. It wasn’t too bad, but the name…
That was a main problem, Babel was learning, with a ‘proper’ EuroJapanese solar system. They went crazy trying to prove their ties to ancient Earth and all that’d come before them when there was no actual way to prove anything. He drained the glass and belched mint.
“About a dozen, sure. But they’re all first tier contacts. People we’ve missioned with.” Because he’d kind of been hoping to use those markers for something more … Babel-specific, the conman tried sounding enthused about the possible loss.
Telgar turned his deadpan golden eyes at Babel. “First tier is too close a connection.”
“Gee,” Babel flip-flopped his way to the automated bar, running his fingers over the drink menu when he got there, “you think?” The Specter scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully; the … satellite … or whatever he’d been watching make maneuvers across the night sky was bugging him. It could be something Alastair was doing to keep a better eye on his frenemies, yet Babel couldn’t stop thinking that the Yellow Dog Elder was the kind of cat who’d find satellite surveillance to be so terribly gauche. Wired up whores and microphone transmitters was definitely more his speed.
Eddie held up a hand as Telgar made to snap at Babel’s snarky attitude. At the best of times, Telgar could barely tolerate Babel’s lackadaisical attitude towards life. In a crisis, half the time they were at each other’s throats within seconds. “Like as not, we may have no choice.”
Ci didn’t bother looking up from her BattleSystem, though in truth she could’ve been on the other side of the room doing her work, thanks to her innate connection to the machine; her eyes swam with encrypted data and her heart was pulsing in time to the rhythm of the hunt. “Krang here has limited Intel on the Mycogene-Alzants, but there’s some. If even an eighth of what our BattleBuddy has to say on these talking mushrooms is remotely true, it’s all too likely that we might have to risk… what in the hell is this shit?”
Telgar turned back to his wife, the only woman he’d ever loved and the only one who could keep the darkness in his soul at bay, turned and watched her slap her beloved BattleSystem with an open palm. On-screen, the data feeds she was trying to decrypt were spitting and stuttering with intrusion software. “That’s not EuroJapanese…”
Babel didn’t know why he turned to the garden, but he did. Captain Eddie turned at the same time, and a barked command from the man had Tel and Ci up and away from their indefensible position and to the bar in the blink of an eye.
“Armageddon Troop Too.” The Enforcer’s voice rolled through the fancy ground-level condo that Babel’d conned the owners out of with a metallic, echoey hiss. “It was astonishingly difficult to find you.”
Eddie and the others watched the Enforcer shoulder his way through the patio doors, shattering the door frame and sending glass skittering. Panic grabbed hold of him. It was one of those things that happened when you were in the same room with an invading Enforcer. “Ident.”
Ci shouted to be heard over the crunching glass. The Enforcer was clomping over to BattleBuddy Krang, so she quickly … divested … herself of the AI link she’d forged. “Enforcer Tiv Solom.”
Tiv stopped walking towards the BattleSystem, head quirked to one side. Surely he’d misheard. Surely a Specter hadn’t identified him. He hadn’t been inside Trinityspace for nearly two hundred years, had only come out this way to spy a bit on this strange new threat the Yellow Dogs were bellyaching about before being repurposed, but Tiv knew that Trinity wouldn’t allow anyone the tech necessary to identify It’s Enforcers so easily.
“Armaments.” Eddie bellowed. Enforcers and Specters … didn’t get along so well, and that was when everything was peachy keen and rosy bright between the two unspoken arms of Trinity’s might.
When Specters were lurking around in the background, engaged in things that Enforcers suspected their machine mind boss wouldn’t like, things generally got downright ugly. Usually, Enforcers were open to bribery or were content to play a few rounds of semi-lethal Punt the Specter, but … Armageddon Troop Too was, as Garth would say himself ‘all the way off the fucking reservation’.
Tiv listened to the tall one, who his Suit identified as Telgar Wren, native of the Umshahdi-Holmes system and fine, fine representative of the large, tawny warrior species, rattle off an altogether too comprehensive list of the more unique weapons onboard his Suit.
Tel took a deep breath, adding, “Enforcer Solom’s Suit is designed for deep space combat in hostile physical environs, particularly in the furthest corners of charted Cordon-space, where there are challenges like the Albino Chain or Darkest Night Rotation. The bulbous sections of his armor …”
“Now how,” Tiv Solom turned away from the BattleSystem, which, infuriatingly enough, was just as secure against his Suit’s hacking prowess as had the Specter troop’s vessel been, “in this Universe could you know all that?”
Eddie stepped forward, breathing as deeply and calmly as he could. There was no sense in losing his temper. They couldn’t afford for things to go wrong here. He could sense Babel trying to find the right vocal harmonics that m
ight possibly slip through the Enforcer helmet’s filters, just as he could feel Ci trying to slide her way through the Suit’s defense systems. Telgar was just plain ready to start hammering away on the massive Suit, which, to Eddie, looked like one of those ancient, ancient deep sea diving suits they’d come across on Feberel-9.
“We’re Specters.” Eddie answered calmly. “It’s our job to know things.”
Tiv rapped the side of his giant helmet. “I’m one of the Enforcers Trinity doesn’t talk about, Captain Edio Tekmara. I am the stuff of nightmare and legend. Sounds pompous, I know, but it’s the truth. I haven’t been in Trinityspace proper since before you were born because I am nothing but bad sides. There is no data on me.”
Dagon’s inhuman presence filtered in through their connection, his stony mind parsing query after query. Eddie informed their missing comrade that the situation didn’t merit blowing his cover in the Katainn Compound. The Offworlder conceded the moment, but stayed telepresent anyway.
Eddie held up his hands again, trying to find a way out this situation that didn’t involve immense and sudden violence; the Yellow Dogs would find the abrupt detonation and/or destruction of much of the hotel they were in with some level of suspicion, and Trinity would be quite, quite upset if one of Its favorite toys got broken. Beyond that, Old Man Politoyov would get his tits in a wringer over their failure to stay under the radar.
What had he been thinking, panicking and demanding a breakdown on the Enforcer’s Suit like that? Both Telgar and Cianni had responded without hesitation. It had to be the situation with Elder Katainn. The EuroJapanese was a complete asshat and they were all on edge.
“You’re right.” Eddie said to Enforcer Solom’s comment. “You’re right. We’re…”