He breathed relief and looked around. Both Lev-9 and Ballis were following suit some distance off to either side of him. He was about to wave to them when his attention was suddenly jerked down to the ground where the flaming streak of Raatha’s ship impacted Mora Bentia. An explosion sent shredded earth and shattered spaceship a hundred feet into the air. Flowers of ravenous fire spread out in a growing radius of destruction.
Aiben touched down a few seconds before his companions. Raatha had purchased jetpacks designed for extra-vehicular activity. They didn’t contain enormous amounts of fuel. What little propellant they needed to steer a man on a space-walk all but burned up during descent. As his reserves depleted, Aiben’s falling speed increased and the landing wasn’t as easy as he had expected.
His knees buckled under him unprepared. He stumbled face first to the ground. Ballis touched down next, also stumbling, but was able to keep himself upright. Aiben was still on his hands and knees trying to catch his breath from the heart-pounding experience when Ballis helped him to his feet. Lev-9 landed like an expert not far from them, his feet planted perfectly in the green sod.
“Anything broken?” The man’s blazing blue eyes searched Aiben’s panting face.
Aiben stretched, taking note of every current of pain flowing through his body. He prodded several tender spots, but found nothing but bruises. Everything moved and nothing felt broken. His nanomechs would heal him before too long. “No, everything’s still working. I don’t think I’ll plan on doing that again anytime soon, though.”
“You get used to it.” Ballis smiled and cocked his head. “Try it while people are trying to carve you up with energy rifles.”
“No thanks.” Aiben eyeballed their surroundings. Sea-green forest loomed on either side of them. On the horizon, perhaps a mile from where they had landed, an orange-red glow licked the sky, marking the spot where their ship had pierced the planet. A chilling wind wound its way around them. His teeth chattered involuntarily. “Seems like we landed in Mora Bentia’s higher latitudes. A bit cold. Gravity doesn’t feel too different, but I feel a little lightheaded.”
“That’s the reduced oxygen,” Lev-9 said.
“We should head towards the forest,” Ballis opined, “It’ll give us some cover until we can figure out what our next move should be.” He shrugged out of his jetpack and peeled off the upper layer of his vac-suit all in one expert motion.
“I agree.” Lev-9 discarded his own jetpack.
Aiben halted at a clasp on his vac-suit. “How do we know where we’re going though? Mora Bentia’s a big planet, I’m sure.”
“I was hoping your head could tell us that.”
Aiben squinted at Ballis. He tried to dig up where they needed to go. The fragments of memory were still like slippery fish in a muddy pond. He could fasten his thoughts around just one word: Jerekiel. He didn’t have the slightest idea what it meant. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Ballis turned to the mechanoid. “Are you able to scan the area and tell us how far we are from civilization?”
Lev-9 periscoped an array of multi-directional antennae out of his black chitinous head and began to hunt the surrounding area for signals. He homed in on a mass of encrypted satellite transmissions bouncing back and forth between orbit and several thousand receivers and transmitters 57.21 miles to the north. He turned in the direction his sensors indicated. A solid wall of mossy evergreens blocked his view.
“We’ll need to go through the forest. There’s quite a large communications network located in that direction.” Lev-9 tramped off towards the green expanse without another word.
“How do we know we won’t be heading towards a military installation?” Aiben asked.
“We don’t,” Ballis said, “but we have to figure out where this device of yours is, don’t we? Unless you have a better idea, I say we’d better follow our mechanoid friend.” Ballis pointed at Lev-9 receding from them in the night.
Aiben nodded and they hurried after him. A burst of pain, which nanomechs immediately numbed, shot up Aiben’s legs from the harsh landing. In the creeping dusk, the black sheen of Lev-9’s metal would soon be hard to see without enhanced vision. Where the shadows were particularly strong, Ballis would only be able to see the multi-colored lights that covered the mechanoid’s cranial ring as they tracked back and forth.
“OK, you’re the boss,” Aiben agreed. “Let’s go before we lose him.”
CHAPTER 11
Nairom stood on the jagged edge of a cliff. The nano-formed armor of the Protectorate encased him. A black cloak grew at his shoulder and fluttered around him in the cool updraft. It cast a quivering shadow in the half-light, lengthened by the falling sun. Below him, a large torrential river carved out a ravine of solid rock. It was swathed on either side by eye-catching woodland as far as he could see.
Nairom’s attention was riveted on the twilight sky above him. It was nearing night on this part of Mora Bentia and he had been watching brilliant streaks light up the star-splashed heavens. Fiery pieces of metal plummeted into the planet’s atmosphere, hurled there by a massive explosion in low orbit. He watched the strange beauty of the fiery darts, shunting the colorful glow of heat and friction as they descended.
Nairom hadn’t interceded during Aiben’s dogfight with Protectorate fighters. He didn’t want to tip his hand too early in the game. Instead, he had relied on the skills of his former associates, confident in their ability to evade the enemy. Now that they had escaped, he sent out a tenuous cybermantic probe into the network. He could sense his friend’s faint, distant, but discernable presence through Mora Bentia’s hyperportal.
Aiben had cyberlinked to the portal when he had activated its hypertransit mechanisms to enter the system. He hadn’t disconnected yet but wasn’t actively traversing the hypernet with his mind either. Before his childhood companion could sense him through the cyberlink, Nairom sliced off the connection. He couldn’t risk letting it linger longer than necessary. It wouldn’t be good if Aiben discovered too soon, how far he was involved in Oand-ib’s plan. He smiled at that thought. My plan, he corrected himself, Oand-ib never knew just how far I was willing to go.
Elaborate grounds lay behind Nairom. They covered several hundred acres and an energy fence that reeked of ozone surrounded them. The estate belonged to the military governor of Mora Bentia, and Nairom, while enjoying the heavenly fireworks, had been waiting for access to it. The governor’s mansion was the only major Protectorate installation groundside on Mora Bentia except for the docking towers in the main port city, Abri Mor, and a few troop barracks scattered around the outside of the city, which the military had erected to subdue the local tribes.
Presently, a man dressed in a charcoal uniform, an officer of the manor’s security force, approached and shut off a section of the sizzling fence. He sauntered towards Nairom and managed a sloppy salute. “General, the governor is ready to see you.”
It hadn’t been part of his plan to have the governor’s military attack Aiben’s ship, but Nairom would use it to his advantage. He pulled his gaze from the flock of falling stars and looked the man up and down with distaste. He decided to ignore the security officer’s slapdash attitude. He nodded and let the officer lead him back between the humming poles of the fence into the well-manicured grounds of the enormous mansion.
As they walked, Nairom kept in stride with the man, their jackboots hitting the ground in perfect synchronization. Nairom found that it kept inferior officers nervous and guessing at his intentions. With each step, Nairom wondered why they hadn’t sent a hoverflyer to retrieve him. Finally, he decided against making an issue of the less than perfect circumstances with his subordinate. Enough venom to kill the idleness of an entire company already engorged the fangs he planned to dig into Mora Bentia’s governor.
The manor’s main entrance opened into a large foyer, and through a door at its back, into a grandiose audience chamber full of kitschy trinkets displayed on missha
pen stone stands. Entering the gaudy hall, Nairom could smell the sour, pungent odor of a Moolag. The foul stench was the byproduct of the Moolag’s means of ingestion, and as he looked around the room, he saw that the grotesque being was indeed having his evening meal.
The Moolag floated, submersed in a tank of murky water, clouded by stale buildup, his head poking out from underneath a splotchy mud-colored spiral shell. Wide-open eyes, sheathed in a web of red veins, bobbed back and forth on their meaty stalks just centimeters from the glass. The refraction of the light through the glass and stagnant water magnified the Moolag’s eyes to comical proportions
A brownish liquid squirted from several cartilaginous tubules that poked out from the sides of his snail-like shell. The heavier colored liquid sank to the bottom of the tank where its acidic composition ate away at the remains of several large, drowned rodents. Hundreds of small fleshy siphons protruded from beneath the Moolag and sucked at the dissolved nutrients that swirled among the acid at the bottom of the tank.
A large, mucous-encrusted hose grew through the shell on his back and flopped over the top of the tank. A constant, raspy suck and release betrayed that the Moolag breathed air.
“The Governor,” lulled the guard. He withdrew unchallenged, not even offering a salute this time.
Nairom thrust his finger at the Moolag. “It would’ve been a serious mistake if your men had destroyed that ship! There was a passenger aboard who is vital to Protectorate Intelligence!” He immediately took the offensive, partly because he had been waiting for this very moment to uncork his bottled-up rage, and partly because it hid his surprise at seeing a Moolag in the governor’s seat, a rare thing in space where humans were the majority. This Moolag must have had friends high up in the Zenzani military.
“You’ll forgive my ignorance, General,” the water-bound creature boomed, “but is it normal for a civilian vessel to come falling out of the hyperportal? Only a ship that has stolen the lockout code could do so. Whoever it was appeared to be a threat to our, shall I say, security.”
A stream of bubbles flowed from several small cavities in the back of the Moolag’s head as he spoke. They floated to the top of the tank and burst like popcorn. A device hovered nearby, and translated the alternating clicks and hums that sounded from those holes. The Moolag had raised the volume and lowered the tone of his artificial voice to affect a dominating presence. Nairom knew that with some effort, the Moolag could speak common guildish or maybe even Zenzani, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to show any deference to Nairom.
“I sent an explicit communiqué to the naval commander of this system instructing him not to impede this ship’s planet-fall. He assures me that he sent out the attacking ships on your orders alone. You have disrupted a delicate intelligence operation. Was it outright rebellion, or do you just need to have better communication with Commander Gorontol?” Nairom seethed, but kept a respectable distance from the sour tank. He couldn’t shake the unease that pierced him at the sight of the hydrosapien.
The Protectorate’s cybermancers had infested every high-ranking member of the Protectorate military, and some of its most important citizens, with nanomechs that would allow them to read their surface thoughts in a rudimentary manner. This allowed them to judge their loyalties. It was a one-way link to the advantage of the cybermancers.
As military governor of Mora Bentia, the molecular spies would have infected The Moolag. Nairom tried to reach into the Moolag’s mind, but an incredible jumble of thoughts and emotions frustrated his attempt. A headache crept up from the back of his skull as a reward for trying. He had heard stories of cybermancers that had tried to listen to alien thoughts and resolved afterwards never to do it again. Now he understood why.
“Gorontol is a hard man to work with, General, you must understand that. Military and politics are often a volatile combination when personal agendas are at stake. I can’t help it if he doesn’t share his orders from a higher authority with me, a mere servant of the Protectorate. A simple mistake, no doubt. I assure you, General; you don’t need to question my loyalty to the Protectorate.”
Nairom gave a slight start at that. Had the Moolag known he had tried to read his thoughts? “I suspect your loyalty is for your own convenience, Moolag. I don’t care about the politics between a planetary governor and a system commander and your petty schemes to exploit Mora Bentia. If you want to make sure that the higher authority of the Zenzani military doesn’t interfere with your governorship, however, I would suggest you make the effort to educate yourself with Commander Gorontol’s orders in the future.”
“Politics? Exploitation? I’m sure you have misunderstood me, General.” The Moolag paused his feeding long enough to squeeze out the raspy words in guildish through his breathing hose. It was a hollow sound. His eyes widened even more comically.
“I’m sure Commander Gorontol wouldn’t mind sending more troops down from orbit to set up a garrison right here in your humble home, if I were to order it. That might ensure better communication between you two. Otherwise, you can share with me what you are going to do about the situation.” Nairom dug in the fangs and spit out the venom. The Moolag’s audacity and the pain crawling around inside his skull made it that much more satisfying.
“There’s no need to worry. If the passenger you want is still alive, my men will capture him. As I said before, my loyalty won’t be held in question.” The breathing hose shuddered as the huge aquatic slug and shell writhed to suck at a new patch of gooey water.
Just then, the doors to the garish audience chamber crashed open. A creature entered, limbs flying akimbo in an odd melodramatic display.
“Ah,” the Moolag purred, “here comes my insurance policy to our success now. He calls himself Gormy Bonebender.”
The newcomer strode past Nairom with a theatrical air of self-importance. He didn’t even acknowledge the general. He stopped just a few feet short of the Moolag’s tank and threw himself to the ground. Nairom was not at all impressed at the sight of him. Gormy Bonebender was from a foul, loathsome race known as the Chibbi. They were tall, gangly, bi-pedal rodent-like creatures, the sentient cousins of the animals the Moolag fed on in his tank.
These rodent-like beings had spread throughout the seedier systems of human dominated space. They had become the guttersnipes of those planets where they were entrenched, selling their services as assassins, bounty hunters, and hit men. They were very attractive to those criminals that wished to have their egos stroked. They had a propensity to kowtow to their masters, while still possessing a malevolent passion for their work. The humans called them ratties.
“Master,” Gormy groveled, “I can explain. Our man reports that although the ship went down, a patrol...”
“Get up.” The Moolag cut him off, his voice neutral.
The ratty pushed up slowly and unfolded his lanky limbs. He looked perplexed at the enlarged eyes that bobbled back and forth at him from behind the tank’s wall. Nairom’s reflection moved in the glass. Gormy whirled around; the frayed hair covering his body was twitching.
“My dear Gormy, this is General Nairom. He would like us to retrieve a passenger for him from that downed ship.” Although the artificial voice reverberated again above the tank, Nairom clearly heard the innuendo telling Gormy to forget his earlier line of confession.
“And who would that passenger be?” Gormy pulled himself up to his full height. He was several inches taller than Nairom once his backbone was unbent. He looked from one superior to the other. A naked prehensile tail poked through his pants and swished back and forth. Cautiousness didn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Was it someone who should fear the wrath of the mighty Protectorate, perhaps?”
“Three renegades appropriated a ship from a system where our forces are engaged and escaped the Protectorate fleet,” Nairom said. He wouldn’t let the Chibbi bait him. “It is my mission to retrieve one of them.”
The Chibbi flashed a mouthful of jagged yellow teeth. He had chiseled th
em to fine sharp points. “Just one? Protectorate incompetence, is it? Yes, it will be my pleasure to retrieve your man, or woman, General. Dead or alive?”
“He is not to be harmed,” Nairom said, punctuating each syllable. He flipped his hand over and a small holo-projector grew into the center of his armored glove and powered on. A motionless image of Aiben stared at the huge sentient hydrosapien and his ratty lackey. “Capture him and take him to a holding cell in Abri Mor. There is to be no sign of my involvement in this operation, do you understand? I don’t care who else is involved, but do not link anything back to me. Once you detain him, I will take it from there. Anyone else with him, you may deal with at your own discretion.”
Gormy stared at Aiben’s photonic avatar for several seconds. His tail still slashed the air. Presently, he looked to the Moolag, and his face screwed up into a grimace. “Yes,” Gormy said, “I can do it.”
The Moolag’s only reply was the silent bobbing of blood-shot eyes, which seemed too big for the stalks they were stuck on to hold up.
“Don’t fail me,” Nairom told the Moolag. “I’m sure whatever friends you have in the Protectorate aren’t high up enough to pull you out of this if you do.” It was a perfect cut in front of the Moolag’s ratty.
“We won’t fail, General.” Stale water exploded in a cascade of bubbles. The Moolag was laughing, a low roaring hum that vibrated the entire tank. “Besides, I’m sure you’d be very surprised to know who my sponsor is.”
Now it was Nairom’s turn to laugh. “And you’d be horrified to know who mine is.”
“Then let’s stop this posturing. You can count on me, General. As I’ve already said, I am loyal to the Protectorate.”
Nairom pushed the holographic avatar once more in Gormy’s direction, locking eyes with the ratty. The Chibbi’s ears flattened against his head defensively, his knees wobbled a bit, but to his credit, he remained standing. Nairom held him for several seconds in this manner and then shut off the hologram. Now it was his turn. With as much dramatic display as he could manage, Nairom whirled to leave, his ebony cloak fluttering around him. As he left the vinegar smell of the room behind, he smiled at his ability to emulate Magron.