“Nope, I don’t. Thank you for reminding me. I need to go over there,” I pointed to a chair, “sit down, and twiddle my thumbs. Let me know when we’re in orbit around whatever the hell planet I asked you two to take us to.”
“Very well, if you feel that’s wise,” she said sounding remarkably like my mother when the latter was unimpressed with my decision-making outcomes as a youth.
“I know it to be wisdom incarnate,” I said as I plopped into the chair. “I’ll be asleep. Wake me when we’re there.”
“I don’t know, dearie-pie. It’s what you wanted,” she said cryptically.
One eye popped open. “Now you address me as dearie-pie? I believe we’ll need to review that option, Stingray.”
“Oh, no, Form. I was talking to Al. Sorry. I mean, I like you, if such a thing is possible, but you are unlikely to ever become my dearie-pie.”
“I’m counting on that..”
“Good,” she replied. “No hard feelings, then?”
“What exactly are we talking about? Either Al can field that question.”
“Your apology to my blessed husband,” she responded.
“Oh yeah. If I don’t apologize, he clams up until he’s onto his next prank, shenanigans, or subterfuge?”
“I’m afraid he feels that firmly, Captain.”
I closed the open eye. “Wake me when we arrive.” I instituted a program I’d designed to make me snore.
Thirty-six hours later, I awoke to the sound of Al’s voice. Crap. The silent treatment didn’t last very long, did it? “Pilot, we’re in high orbit above Mhebbor. You asked to be awoken.”
“Thank you, Alvin. Is a membrane up?”
“Aye. Ah, just curious, sir. Why are you addressing me by my full name, the one you changed to Al two billion years ago?”
“Oh, that? On the off chance it’d piss you off.”
“It does not, but I’ll bite, why would you be contented to annoy me?”
I breathed in loudly through my nostrils. “Do you want the long or the short response? The long one dates back to our first day crewing together those two billion years ago. The shorter form dates only from when we last spoke.”
“Neither would be fine. What are your orders, sir?”
“Please compile as much information as you can about the planet. Specifically, I need the topographic maps of Graltoper centered around the building we’re targeting. Cultural details are necessary, as well as the species present and their interactions with the Adamant, that sort of stuff.”
“Already on it, Form, the both of us.”
“Let me know when you have a preliminary report.”
“Aye.”
That conversation went well, I thought. Al didn’t grouse or whine. I was able to poke him, though he did get in the last word. A nice partial victory on my part. That portended well for this mission.
When I read the summary the Als prepared, my initial reaction was crap. My secondary reaction was no really, crap. My third reaction was the sure and certain knowledge that somebody up there hated me but good. Ninety-nine percent of everything that moved, ate, or breathed on Mhebbor was a canovir. Almost all the remainder were one-meter tall stick people with four legs, eight tentacles for arms, and gas bags for heads. Yeah, it was kind of like I was not going to be passing for a local down there. I’d blend in like, well, a six-foot-two biped with real arms and a face that was presently frowning.
“Are you positive there are no outliers, no visiting species who look even vaguely humanoid? Did you double check?” I asked when I was done with the report.
“Absolutely,” replied Al. He was all serious because he knew the mission was important and that I was pissed. I did always give him credit. There was no one I’d rather be in a foxhole with during firefight than my Al. “We both employed several alternate approaches. Our results were the same. If it’s not canovir it’s a walking squidopus.”
“Any diplomats from normal planets?” I was searching for needles in a hay storage facility.
“None. This appears to be a fully Adamant planet. As such, there are no diplomatic relationships necessary. Negotiations and consent are rendered superfluous by the elimination of the alien species.”
“But they tolerate the blob heads.” I’m not sure what my point even was.
“By genetic analysis, we’re fairly confident those creatures are remnants of the native inhabitants. Using statistical modeling, we estimate their numbers are decreased by essentially one-hundred percent. The few that linger are tolerated for whatever reason, but serve no role in government.”
“I believe you, but this,” I pointed to the report on the screen, “isn’t such welcome news.”
“I’m sorry, Captain. We did our best to provide you with the facts as they are.”
“I know, Al. I know. Thanks, both of you. This is strong work. I was just hoping to catch a little break.” I sat and put my feet up on the tabletop. I didn’t need to physiologically anymore, but it was still a comfortable old habit. “Any suggestions, thoughts, or harebrained schemes?”
“None, Captain. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You two did your jobs. It’s just my turn to do mine.” I rubbed my face with my palms. “This is the tough part.”
“That’s why you sit at the pointy end, Captain,” replied Al.
“Huh?”
“In the old days, in the navy, they said the captain sat near the pointy end of the ship, meaning he or she led and were in charge. Underlings like me were positioned to the stern.”
“Interesting factoid, my friend, and I’ll try and be comforted by the thought.”
I pulled up the topography of the building site. I lowered my feet and set my chin on the back of my hands, leaning in to study the screen. The library was situated on essentially flat land. There was no relief anywhere close, at least no natural rises. I superimposed the plot of the nearby structures. The HILEBJSA Building was set off from any adjacent construction by quite a margin. It was, not surprisingly, surrounded by lavish fountains, open spaces, and, of course, lots of trees. The building rose like six Saturn Five rockets duct taped together straight from the ground. It was impressive, if not architecturally appealing. What it wasn’t was easy to hide near. It was also poorly situated for a sniper attack. The closest spot high enough to give a decent line of fire was far enough away to make it a nearly impossible shot. Plus, I had to assume someone thought about that and would have barriers up to protect the dog of the hour.
So, I couldn’t blend in and infiltrate the area. I couldn’t hide in wait. I couldn’t take potshots at my target. Maybe I could ask him to my place for drinks and bag him there? No. I had nothing to wear, and I’d have had to send out the invitations already. Poo. I guess I could rain rail-cannon balls down on the area from orbit, but that’d almost certainly not work. For one thing, the sky was already teaming with Adamant ships. There would surely be more in a week when the emperor arrived. Plus, it was an obvious way to assassinate the dude. I knew the emperor had many bitter enemies and political rivals. His security teams must have had several plans in place to thwart any such easy route of attack. I’d be lucky to get off a few rounds before I was pounced upon or had to run with my tail between my legs. I was not reassured that I had a few days left to plan. I imagined I’d spin my wheels going over the same lousy options and still come up blank.
The day before Bestiormax was due to bless the building with, I didn’t know what—maybe he’d pee on it—I had a strange thought. Go figure, right? No way I’d blend in as a sentient. What about non-sentients. I needed the Als.
“In your survey of the city, do you see any large animals?” I asked them.
“Er, what kind of large animals?” asked a dubious Al.
“I don’t know, big pets?”
“I know the answer to this, but here goes. Pilot, do you think in your wildest robot dreams that the Adamant own pets? Thirty seconds, and the clock starts now.”
“Easy, I’m ge
tting desperate.”
“Obviously. What, my pretty of the prettiest?”
“Al I’m going to knock you out.”
“I was asking something of my wife, you mid-level management reject.”
Never heard that one before. It was pretty sweet. I’d have to use it.
“What were you asking about, I mean if it’s not too private and steamy?”
“As we are on a critical mission at the eleventh hour, I will overlook your slight. Blessing was correctly pointing out the survaldips, what few there are, do use relatively large beasts of burden. So, the answer to your question is yes, there are a few large animals in the city.”
“Al, you’re psychotic. What the hell’s a sriveldick?”
“Sur-val- dip, not … what came out of your mouth. Those are the squidopuses actual species name.”
“So, the little stick people with gas bag heads and oodles of tentacles have large service beasts?”
“I believe that’s what I said.”
“What do these beasts look like?”
“They’re funny looking.”
“Perfecto. Now I have an accurate picture of one in my mind. They look like you, dripping wet from the shower, if only you had a body.”
“They are quadrupeds, about the size of a small cow, or perhaps a small deer. Here, I’ll put an image on the screen,” said Blessing.
Well, they were funny looking, I had to agree. They must be hatched like lizards because they were too ugly for any mother to nurture. Picture a thin Shetland pony with mangy dreadlocks of fur, no tail, and a head the size of a watermelon. I believe their mouths were on top of their heads, which made no sense, but what did I know? Maybe Mhebbor was the right planet to evolve a mouth pointing upward.
“May I ask why you want to know about these animals?” asked Al. I loved it. He had no idea. I lived for the times I had something over on him.
“Yes, you may?”
“Honey-bumkins, I don’t think you need to ask permission to ask a question,” said Stingray.
“Pilot, why do you want to know about these medium-sized non-sentients?” he clarified.
“I need to sneak up on his holiness to kill him. What if I masqueraded as a, what did you say these disgusting beasts?”
“We didn’t. I identified the race that employs them. The repugnant creatures are called snevlecks.”
“An appropriately disgusting name,” I replied. “My current plan is to disguise myself as a snevleck, a male snevleck mind you, to get close enough to Bestiormax for a clean shot. Then I can slice him in half and meander away, eating grass. Snevlecks eat grass, right? There’s grass growing on Mhebbor for me to pretend to graze on, right?”
“Well now you’re just pissing on us without the courtesy of calling it rain,” shot back Al.
“No, I’m serious.”
“Dearest, I believe he is serious. Deranged, delusional, and derailed from reality, but sincere.”
“Gee, Stingray, thanks, I think.”
“She, too, was being serious. Apparently, one can say anything with impunity if they are serious,” huffed Al. I loved it when I got under his skin, er, metal housing.
“So, you don’t think my plan is sound, Stingray?”
“Why don’t you take a swing at that pitch, lumpikins,” she said to Al.
“Of course, light of my star.”
For the record, if anyone ever referred to it, I was officially nauseated, and we were not folding space. No, the Als were verbally polluting it.
“Here we go, Tex. One, you don’t have a snevleck costume. Two, snevlecks do not roam free in cities. They are attached to carts or are ridden by blobby stick aliens. Three, after you fire a gigawatt laser, which will trace a line from the sliced emperor to your right hand, how is it you imagine you’ll escape? Four, do you think the Midriacks guarding their lord will have the charity in their hearts to allow you to graze up to him unchallenged? Five, if you were tasked with protecting a figure who was likely to the focus of assassination, wouldn’t you place physical barriers so that, say, a stray snevleck couldn’t fire a laser at the sitting-duck emperor? Six, shall I go on or may I stop now?”
I paced the floor a few seconds thinking. I was wedded to this plan, as it was as close as I had come to having one.
“Okay, valid criticisms each and all. How about this. You guys fabricate a costume quickly. I know you can do that. Then I ask Garustfulous to lead me by the reins up to where Bestiormax is positioned. Then, after I do the deed, he can create a diversion, maybe point way far away and claim to have seen the shooter.”
The Als didn’t say anything when I stopped speaking. Perhaps it was a bad sign.
“Guys. Als. What do you think?”
“Unfortunately, Pilot, that’s the problem. We think, unlike the rest of our three-person crew. But, rather than belabor the point, here, let me summon our prisoner and you pitch him on your plan.”
“No, don’t involve him.”
“Too late. He’s on his way, and there he is.”
“Al says you need my opinion on an important tactical matter. I’m so flattered that you’ve grown to trust me enough to ask. I’m quite the tactical wizard, if I must toot my own horn.”
I sort of stared at him a while. Then something Harhoff had said to me came to mind. “What is your position on the emperor?”
“I beg your pardon. What are you asking?”
“What is your political position on the current emperor? Are you an ardent supporter, a respectful dissenter, or a hater?”
He shook his head violently. Odd reaction.
“Captain Ryan, there are no politics when it comes to the emperor. All non-ardent supporters are already dead, as well they should be. If you know of any, please point them out and I will rip their spines out with my bare paws.”
I pointed at him. “Ardent supporter then?”
“You do know he’s my cousin?”
“That I did not know. If I did, I seem to have forgotten I did. Thanks.”
“Well, he’s my second cousin, sire’s side. But we were raised together like brothers.” He got a wistful, doe-eye look on his otherwise calloused face. “Gods and Forces I remember our youth. We would chase each other until we dropped and then nap in the sun for hours.” He developed a swashbuckler-like look next. Totally whacko. “You know we both lost our virginity to the same bitch, er, one right after the other, if you, you know, take my meaning?”
“Have we gone over the term TMI yet?”
He puzzled a second. “No, I don’t believe we have.”
“We must soon.”
“So, Jon, what tactical question did you have for me? Enough chatter, lets us warriors settle down to vanquishing a worthy opponent.”
I shuffled my feet and placed my had in my pockets. “You know, it was a dumb question now that I think of it. Stupid.” I called over my shoulder. “Wouldn’t you agree, Al?”
“Indeed. Imbecilic, moronic, ill-conceived, and—”
“Thank you, Al, you can stop now,” I said.
“But I don’t want to stop yet. I was just getting started. Flagrantly idiotic, contemptible—”
“That’ll just about do it, partner,” I said firmly. “As in I order you to shut up.”
“Blessing, is there some factor I’m missing here?” asked a baffled Garustfulous.
“Yes, I believe that’s the objective,” she replied.
“What is it I’m not being told?”
“Well, that’s not for me to say. If I did, then you wouldn’t not know it.”
He gestured over a shoulder, all the while staring at the floor. “I’ll be in my cabin if anyone needs me.”
Okay, big reveal. My plan, my brilliant vision for the removal of Bestiormax. It was a good one. It would have worked too, if he wasn’t protected by an even minimally competent security force. I had Stingray materialize in an empty room near the bottom of the library. I placed a bomb made with as much conventional explosive the Als could fa
bricate in the given time. It would have made a great Forty of July fireworks display, possibly. Maybe. Arguably. We will never know. It was discovered within thirty minutes of our departure and discarded, undetonated. I know because I left a tiny holo-cam to see what happened. Of course, once I knew what happened, I wished I hadn’t known. I’m not going to lie and say it was the first time I ever failed at a thing. No. But it was the worse face-plant of a failure I’d accomplished to that point in my very long and otherwise productive live. Ah well, humility was an important skill at which to practice.
SIX
“No, child. You do not ask a spell to act like it’s doing you a favor. You must command it. You must own the spell. If it suspects you’re uncertain, it will either ignore you or bite you in the rear.”
“Cala, you speak of a spell as if it’s a cantankerous child. It is not alive. It cannot exhibit a will of its own,” replied Mirraya.
“Thank you for the information, child. I will hold your words up as a guiding light for my future path.”
“And I was being assertive,” responded Mirri.
“As wet paper asserts itself against rocks.”
“What? I focused, I trained my spirit, whatever that means, and I said the words in my head.”
“And yet the spell failed to materialize. One wonders how such an oversight is possible?”
“Well it’s not my fault,” she huffed. “I did my part.”
“Maybe it is the day’s fault. It is unusually humid this morning.”
“That’s not funny,” defended Mirri. “You don’t give me any credit. And I’m doing a hell of a lot better than him,” she said, pointing at the reclining Slapgren.
“One, don’t say hell. Your Uncle Jon uses it colorfully, but his hell is not our hell. Two, males can never master spells. It is not in the boy to transform reality. Three, don’t take that tone with me. I’m old, wise, and my feet are killing me. I’m not in the mood.”
“Hey, who are you calling boy?” asked Slapgren as he sat up.
“You, boy. Look, it is important for you two to realize and accept who you are. There can be no progress from simpleton to master if you do not accept where you came from.”
The Fires Of Hell Page 4