by Reiter
“Ever since you shot Soft Bone,” she replied. Jocasta said nothing as she approached the large bald man.
“The dunk in the river rinse away some of that stupidity?” she asked.
“I was wrong to come at you like that, Captain,” Hunro admitted. He was not sure what sort of angle Agatha was playing, but she was a very good pilot; just had rotten taste in men. Still, pilots were never to blame for their decisions made when they were on the ground. If anything, he had words for Marlene for letting a louse get that close to the Star’s best pilot and eventually the Akonsha Star herself. Until better times were upon them, he knew to follow a lead of a fellow crewmember.
“Any hopefuls report to Mr. Z here,” Jocasta said as she withdrew from the group. “He’s my First Mate, and in my absence his word is law. If he says ‘no’, don’t bother coming to me unless you want to be shot. Tank, Llaz, you’re with Z. The rest of you are with me. We need to recon a township. Take your time, First Mate. I want to make a gentle approach to this place. Gods know I doubt that’s how we’ll be leaving it!”
No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected.
Julius Caesar
(VIII)
So many shuffled their way off the transport and into what was loosely referred to as a town. They had come from many different places, various cultures and many different tales to tell. The only thing any of them had in common were their air tanks. There was still a slight burn to the air, but that was to be expected. The rhythmic whirring and thumping of the environmental engines could be heard in the background. In terraforming terms, this planet was still cooking, but it could support human life… provided that human was willing to change their definition of what living meant. The Foreman stood with his hands on his hips, looking over the faces as he weighed the worth of the fresh batch.
“Listen up. Tik. Because I’m only going to say it once. Tik.”
“Oh no,” one woman whispered to her husband, “I think he’s Fazbred!”
“Yeah, the four hands might’ve given that away, sweetie,” the man replied, pointing at the fact that the man was scratching his head and adjusting his hat as he stood there with his hands still on his hips. “I’m not sure, but I think that’s a sign too.”
“Why don’t the both of you just shut up?” a Terran man barked, smacking the back of his hand across the smaller man’s face. The man was stunned and he spun his way to the sandy ground. “The man said he’s only gonna say it once, and I’ll be damned if I can hear him over your yapping! Now lay there, bleed, and shut up! You can go ahead, Mr. Foreman.”
“No he can’t,” a slightly muffled voice replied. “Sir, are you the Sheriff for this settlement?”
“I am not,” the Fazbred man answered quickly, “Tik. But I can get him. Trust me, you don’t want to cross him. Tik.”
“I’m not crossing the Sheriff,” the voice stated. People began to move away from the sound in an effort not to be mistaken for the source. The large man looked to be the sort who could kill men with his body odor and not care about the collateral damage. “I mean to stake a claim.” As the crowd parted, one would-be settler stood alone, his hood pulled over his head and his air mask strapped to his face. His head hung low and he leaned into the wind. His head came up slowly, facing in the large man’s general direction. “I mean to claim Cavidon, Kraygull K., Trooper in the Imperial Army. Rank of Sub-Private, currently AFAP… away from assigned post.”
“Star-damned Bounty Hunter!” Kraygull hissed through clenched teeth.
“Not normally, no,” the man replied. His robes fell to the ground, revealing that he was wearing a customized charcoal-gray poncho-cape combination, black leggings, and over-the-knee boots of the same color as the poncho, save for the heel and toe which were covered with polished steel. A gloved hand came out of the poncho, also the same color as the boots, with metal plates over the knuckles. The very ends of the fingers were bare, and the gloves were tucked under steel bracers. “But these are not normal circumstances.
“Two false identities back,” the man continued, “you and your people blew through Silver Springs. Not much as cities go, but the Ardrians are pretty proud of it. You made a stop by a weapon-smith’s shop… you stole a blaster, and I can understand that. On the way out of Silver Springs, you were blasting away, trying to keep the Marines off of you. My guess is the woman moving around to my back is the one who was driving. That would be Cavidon, Ophani R., another Trooper and your big sister. Rank of Sergeant, also AFAP, and wanted in connection with the murder of your commanding officer. Again, I don’t really care.
“Anyway, she’s driving, Molot is probably still nursing that nasty left shoulder wound, which sucks because, you know, he’s left handed. He got it getting between you and the smith. He’s moving in the opposite direction as your sister. Semperenska, the one that’s totally out of position on the gangplank… he was probably trying to beg you to stop shooting so that he could get into the hovercraft. And yeah, Flint, trying to get that launcher off your back is probably a really bad idea.”
“You were there,” Kraygull concluded.
“No, I wasn’t, but you’re not a hard man to track,” the man answered as he removed his air mask and pulled on a string around his neck. A gray, flat, wide-brimmed hat came up his back and he put it on his head. It was not particularly bright outside, being so close to dusk, but the brief unfettered glimpse of the man’s face revealed long, thick, wavy black hair that shined in the minimal sunlight. The circular brim of his hat, however, perfectly shaded his face. “Not even the vacuum of space can cover your stench!
“And I’ll say it one more time: I’m not here for all of you… just the one who shot the dog after the Marine transport wrecked,” the shaded man pointed at Kraygull. “You were gone, you had blasted free… not another armed soul in sight, and you shot the dog just because you could.
“You done reading me, T’Farra?” the man asked. Kraygull turned his head slightly to his left. Thavo T’Farra stepped forward, lowering his scanner.
“He’s not packing!” he whispered to Kraygull.
“Correction,” the man said, holding up his index finger, “I’m not packing energy weapons. Don’t think for a moment that I’m not armed. I think I’m done talking!”
“Good!” Semperenska said, kicking the man in front of him. He fell forward into several people and they tumbled down the gangplank as Semperenska drew his blaster from his hip. A high-pitched hissing sound came to a stop when a throwing knife sank deeply into the man’s shoulder. He screamed in pain, falling to his knees.
All eyes turned back to the slender man who was flipping a throwing knife of the same make in his gloved hand. The people started screaming and the Foreman shouted over their outcries, ushering everyone to safety.
“Take h–” Kraygull grabbed at his neck as he choked. Blood slowly ran down from under his hands as he too fell to his knees.
“Kray!” Ophani screamed, drawing her own knife. She broke into a run to her left as she threw it. The slender man spun around, full circle, stopping at a point where he was facing Molot with his hand extended. The left-handed man dropped his gun, gasping at the sight of Ophani’s knife in the center of his chest with only the hilt keeping it from sinking any deeper into his body. He had dared to breathe easier when he saw his comrade go down from a throwing knife. He had thought the chest plate of armour under his robes would have protected him from a simple blade. He fell to his back, choking on his own blood.
The slender man squatted just before he heard an energy pistol fire. It was T’Farra. “Dammit!” the man whispered. A woman screamed, reaching for the burning wound in her back as she slowed from her desperate sprint to find cover. The man stood up and made a wide, sweeping motion with his right arm. Before the woman could fall forward on her chest, her back was struck with a med-patch of high-grade Gwarthine.
“Enough of you,” the man hissed as a metal escrima in his left hand deflected Thavo’s se
cond shot. He deflected a third while reaching into his poncho.
“You’re a Chevalier!” Thavo exclaimed.
“Wrong again,” the man replied, thrusting his right hand toward the smallest of the group. A metal whip extended, drilling through the man’s chest. The man quickly pulled the whip free. “You know, I already used your knife to kill one of you. You attack me again and I might not be as forgiving. Yes, you lost your brother today… but close your eyes for a moment and genuinely ask yourself if that rage is covering up your relief.” Ophani wiped her face clear of the tears as she glared at the stranger.
“Was it even your dog?” she asked.
The man walked over to collect his weapons, shaking his head. “I fed him after I landed… your brother shot him before he took off. So yeah, that day, he was mine.” The man looked down on the dart shuriken he had killed Kraygull with. He would have to dig it out.
“Not sure I want it that bad,” he whispered.
“You might be needing it,” Prynsura said as she stepped off the transport behind him. The man’s nostrils flared wide for a moment.
“MajiK,” he concluded, turning to face the woman. “You weren’t on the transport.”
“No, I wasn’t,” she replied. “I am Prynsura.”
“Vynko. May I help you?
“I certainly hope you can,” the SpellCasteR said as she slowly approached. “May I leave something with you? Wait, that is misleading. I’ve already left something with your ship. Gez has it.”
“Gez took something off of a Spell-Casting stranger?!” Vynko asked, glaring at the young woman.
“I can be very convincing.”
“So it would seem!”
“It is only a means of getting in touch with you when I need you. I give you my word.”
“And I’m supposed to–”
“You have just as many reasons to trust or distrust me,” Prynsura interrupted as she started to fade. “The need is great and the possibility for reward is even greater!” The woman faded from sight and Vynko nodded his head.
“That’s how she got him to take it!”
** b *** t *** o *** r **
It was hard to describe his surroundings without using the word impeccable. The walls were made of a glass that somehow allowed the wind and the light of day to come into the room, but kept the rather motivated, and unspeakably feral, two-headed cat at bay. The ceiling was made of the same material, but appeared to be dealing with several clouds that flew against the wind. The way the air moved around the clouds, Freund knew the cloud image was nothing other than a device used to mask the massive entity hiding within it. Extending his thoughts even further, Freund came to a very hard surface which took hold of his projected thoughts and dispelled them without attempting to induce a feedback which might trigger backlash. Before his thoughts were scattered, he could see eyes looking down on him and his rather forward host… or at least that is how it seemed. Freund could not trust the impression, or little else in the place in which he now found himself.
The tray was made of a very fine metal, though it did not have the feel of silver. Freund took the goblet offered to him and smiled. The bouquet of the drink was sweet, but very strong, and it almost masked the presence of the nectar of a flower that reminded Freund of the poppy. He took a sip of the wine and sampled the poison. It had been enchanted to make the victim compliant. Of course, that spoke only to the condition of the wine. The goblet was another matter entirely!
“So, I am a guest who is not permitted to leave?” Freund hypothesized, taking another sip. “Such fine hospitality!”
“How is it they let you remain?” the Gamesman inquired as he once again removed his helmet and gloves, taking a goblet of wine for himself. “You are as next to useless as dead matter.”
“Ho now, Gamesman, is it? Even dead matter has a use here and there,” Freund argued with a pleasant smile, contending with all the eyes he could feel viewing him.
“I did not say on which side of uselessness you were, blind one,” the mysterious man explained. “I just said next to. Even uselessness in and of itself has a use – if only to define a position of significance.”
Freund chuckled a bit before finishing his drink. “So am I less than useless? That makes for one noodle-frying concept.” He dropped the glass to the floor, attaching his ThoughtWill to the breaking of the stylized goblet. “So, we are to fence then, eh?” he asked, smacking his lips. “You would think I had enough of that poison in me for you to have seen the desired effect right now.
“Just how did you manage to carry me out of my own universe and into yours?” Freund asked. The Gamesman was lifting his glass to his lips, but stalled for a very brief moment; long enough to make Freund smile. “To say nothing of how you managed to miniaturize us to fit into this rather impressive holding cube that has been designed to feel like a chamber of an estate. You’ve even seen to it that there are minds of the supposed staff for me to scan, should I feel the ambition to engage my abilities. There’s one particular young lady who seems to be anxious for your next ‘inspection’,” Freund laughed at the complexity of the ruse.
“How long has it been, Raijh?” Freund asked, giving the Gamesman reason to pause. With what he knew of the entity calling itself Freund, the fact that Raijh’s name was known to the subject somehow had failed to reach the records. “… five… six centuries? I can scarcely mark the correct time. How are D’Aavra and the two boys?”
“Enough!” Raijh cried with a sweeping back-hand wave of his right arm. Everything in front of him, the table, the floor, even the centerpiece began to lose molecular cohesion, falling away from the room and the setting. Everything, save for Freund and his most immediate area. He, his chair and the floor tile upon which his chair stood floated above the abyss that was all around them.
“In my universe, they would call what you attempted to do as bailing!” Freund advised. “And were this entirely your construct, I am sure you could have… bailed!” Without giving any sign of concentration, a tremendous wave of psychic energy left Freund’s mind, blinding each and every one of the observers. “The moment that I dropped my glass, however… you know, that secondary agent meant to bind me? Yes, I detected that too, Raijh. The moment it shattered, this place ceased to be yours!
“Yes, ‘but how?’ you might be asking yourself. ‘How could he know all of this?’ And that is something of a mystery; one that I can take the time to explain, now that your superiors are nursing some of the most pressing headaches of their lives… perhaps you should join them!”
Raijh considered himself accomplished in many things, the knowledge and application of the known Energies being chief among them. With the warning the blind one had given him, he felt he had time enough to mount suitable defenses against a mental attack. His body fell as he grabbed the sides of his head, screaming from the worst pain he had felt in a very, very long time. Every sense of life he possessed had been augmented and over-stimulated.
“Please, release them, Rendell,” a voice called out to Freund and at the instant of hearing it, he stopped the feed into the minds of his would-be captors.
“This is a most surprising twist and turn,” Freund admitted. “Would you be so kind?”
“Of course,” she replied, waving her left hand over his head. Freund closed his eyes at the sensation; the way she could weave and reweave the strands of power with the most delicate touch. She was a gifted SpellWeaveR, and Freund found that he had come to very much miss her grace. They were taken from the place of observation to a cliff-side view, and even without his eyes, Freund knew where she had taken them. He extended his senses before thrusting his hand into her neck.
“Close,” he said with a smile as the illusion was shattered, and the mind creating it and feeding it into his mind was suddenly wracked with his assault. “But you are far from being my Unearii!”
“And you forget you have released us!” Raijh barked as he lunged toward Freund, his crystal pike forming in his hands as
he made a thrusting motion, seeking a strike to the heart. The construct shattered as soon as the pike blade touched the chest of the facsimile. His arm came out of Raijh’s chest from behind and the Gamesman gasped, seeing his own blood coating the arm of his opponent.
Raijh screamed awake as he sat up from the floor of the observation room. He looked around to see that all of his contemporaries and his three superiors were also recovering from an illusory attack. Raijh looked at his chest, clutching at where his wound should have been, but he was whole and unmarked.
“Always an interesting gambit,” Freund’s voice echoed in the chamber. “… whenever one opts to dance with FantasioR. Admittedly, it is not a popular Energy in my realm, and I can see why you would think it an intelligent approach to thwarting me. But I have forgotten more about the casting of illusions than you will ever come to know, Gamesman! It has been so long since I had a plaything, so forgive me if I do not stop our engagement here.”
“Overseer!” Raijh cried, looking up. “Send the subject into the heart of the nearest star!”
Again Raijh blinked and found that he was once again seated at the table, moments after Freund had dropped his glass. He looked across the table to see Freund rocking slightly, nodding and smiling.
“So, that’s what you call it,” Freund said just before lifting his left hand as if to point out something.
“Overseer,” Raijh could hear his own voice, but he was not speaking. The urge to speak, to move, to even think had been stalled in his mind. All he could do was observe. “Restore the subject and send him back to his domicile immediately!” A flash of light saw Freund whisked away in the next moment. As the chamber started to lose cohesion, in reality this time, the Gamesman was returned to his normal size and the grip on his mind finally gave.