Date point: 8y 9m 2w BV
Unnamed personal vessel docked with stolen Hunter raider
Dear journal,
3 months, 2 days
My excitement quickly faded. I was not – as I had hoped – able to immediately undock and begin my journey to Quym’s moon. Vakno’s engineer friends still hadn’t installed the Hunter cloaking device on my new ship, and I wasn’t going anywhere without it. Without a cloak the Mutant would know something was wrong the moment he approached the war criminal’s hiding place. I couldn’t afford to scare him away when I was so close.
So I waited. Finding something to do for the first thirty minutes or so was easy. I was still starving, and while my thirst for the Mutant’s location had momentarily driven thoughts from my mind, I was quickly reminded by my rumbling stomach the moment I returned to pensive inactivity. Dough spheres had never tasted so good, which was an odd thought since they had less taste than purified water. They had never once been living, breathing, sapient beings, though, so I wasn’t about to complain about the flavor. After polishing off eight of the little buggers I felt contentedly full. Vakno’s friends still hadn’t brought in the Hunter cloak, so I took a tour of my new ship.
It was more spacious than the Phantom, but didn’t really feel like it. Though the Phantom had been furnished in a functional way, there had been an elegance to its purpose, creating a comfortable, relaxed environment. This ship’s rooms, though more numerous, had hardly any lighting – the Allebenellin cargo ship had been more cheerful. Dark rooms combined with sharp, angular architecture gave the vessle a muffled, oppressive ambience.
Moving to the bridge I acclimated myself with its systems. I’d learned enough to know the weapons were shit – the dropships had been better armed – but the engines were reliable enough with a solid mix of maneuverability and speed. It didn’t compare to the Hunter vessel, but if Vakno had been completely honest with me then I wouldn’t need systems as good as the Hunter’s, aside from the cloak. Where were they? The chair on the command deck could spin. I hadn’t had a decent spin on a chair for what felt like years. It wasn’t as amusing as I’d remembered, but there was nothing else to do while I waited for the technicians to finish masturbating or whatever else they were doing other than hooking up my cloak.
I had just started wondering whether xenos masturbated or not when the engineers waltzed through the airlock at a leisurely pace, completely at ease. I stifled the biting remark that leapt immediately to my lips. It wouldn’t make them go any faster – if anything they’d slow up just to spite me, being Corti and all. I still don’t trust those Yodas. Vakno’s okay I guess. Suffering in silence, I waited for another hour as the two slowpokes worked their magic.
After an eternity of fuming quietly in my spinny chair, one poked his head into the bridge. “We’ve finished incorporating the Hunter cloak into this ship’s rather paltry sensor countermeasure suite. It should activate along with the few systems that were already there. You may depart the moment we leave.”
“Hopefully that’s sometime today.” I muttered, careful not to let him hear.
Moments after the airlock closed behind the pair of decrepit mechanics, I turned the gravity up to Earth standard. Looking at the flight plan Vakno had entered into my ship’s – which I unimaginatively named the Beetle – navigational array, I’d be traveling for a good two weeks. I planned on spending that whole time eating, exercising, and resting. Activating the cloak and locking in Vakno’s course, I strode to the largest room on the ship and began my routine.
Private Mansion, class 3 planet Peace
Dyllyo stretched, luxuriating in Peace’s famously bright sunlight as he lay completely relaxed on his private beach. Peace was a class three temperate world, although every half dozen cycles some scientific coalition or another would petition to have it reclassified as a class two. He guessed it spoke to the quality of the Peace’s environment that some thought it deserved such a designation, but such trivial things were below him, and as such didn’t bother himself worrying about implications. The only thing he needed to know about Peace was that it was exclusive, and – simply put – the best. It wasn’t as though there were any laws keeping the dirty masses from ruining the planet’s pristine beauty with their small, economic homes. But when a modestly sized home on the cheapest of Peace’s continents cost enough standard credits to commission a Dominion Battleship, there wasn’t really any need for legal intervention. Money was its own law.
If money meant power – and of course it did – then Dyllyo was at least a governor, he was oft to think. His four floored mansion stretched over [3 acres] of land, although recently he’d been considering selling it for something with a little more room. His current home had become a little stuffy, especially since his newest wife had joined him. Dyllyo shuddered to think of how crammed he would feel if he had had children. Thankfully, this wife shared a love of money almost rivaling his own – one of her many assets that had drawn him to her – so he felt reasonably safe that she had as little interest in starting a family as he did. Families were for lesser beings.
Perhaps he’d been in the sun for a little longer than he should have. His fur – soaking in heat for [hours] – had started to become uncomfortably warm, the fur on the top of his head giving him the first hints of a headache. Ugh. Pain. Dyllyo had never really understood pain. What’s the point of having so much money if I still get aches now and again? He’d looked for surgical procedures that would make him stop feeling pain, but for some reason no such procedures had been contrived for the healthy.
Rousing himself, Dyllyo ambled into the ground floor bedroom he used when he felt the desire to fall asleep to the sound of waves. Waiting for him there – an expression of cool professionalism affixed permanently to his features – stood Fulanil, his personal buttler. Such a position could have been filled by a computer – and indeed the house did have a system that could be used in such a capacity – but having a living being at your beck and call instead of a mechanical servant was a luxury Dyllyo could afford.
Smiling pleasantly, Dyllyo nodded, giving Fulanil permission to speak. It had been the first regulation Dyllyo had required of his butler upon first employing him: that he could only speak when given permission. What was the point of having a breathing, thinking organism as a personal attendant if it didn’t perform exactly as you wanted it when you wanted it to? Being in a good mood, he saw no reason to maintain his hireling’s silence.
“A Rrrrtktktkp’ch by the name of Rxt’rrq’kklt Zvvtl’xxrk has called. He claims to have several documents that he believes you will be very keen to see. As per your standing orders I have retrieved all information I could find about him. In summary he is a somewhat successful solicitor known specifically for his integrity and image as a ‘family man’. I believe it would not entirely be advisable to completely discount his claims. Shall I show him in?”
A family man of integrity? It sounded like the exact opposite person Dyllyo wanted to meet, let alone spend time perusing some musty old documents with him. Halfway through the long-necked being would probably start showing him pictures of his children, asking if he wanted to get a drink and swap personal life stories. Besides, he’d never heard of any Rtx’kklt-or-whatever-his-name-was, and if he’d never heard of him then the solicitor was no one of import. “Tell him I’m extremely busy at the moment and cannot be bothered by some random nobody who shows up to my door asking for a good recommendation or whatever it is he’s really after.” Dyllyo huffed brusquely. He was busy – there was that holovid he’d been wanting to see for a while now.
Looking nervous, Fulanil opened his mouth again, stretching Dyllyo’s permission, “He also stated that – in the instance of your refusal to see you – that I was to tell you that the matter of which he desires to discuss with you happens to be upon the matter of your wealth, mainly the means of its attainment, and that if you still do not wish to see him his next appointment will be with the authorities.” The butler was nearly cringing by the time he’d finished speaking, preparing himself for the physical abuse he thought would follow his utterance.
Nothing could be further from Dyllyo’s mind. Had it not been covered by fur, Fulanil would have seen the blood drain from his employers face as he had spoken. He hadn’t even heard the last few words about the authorities as his capacity to listen left him, chased far away by an overwhelming combination of dread and panic. And fear, mind numbing fear. Fulanil, picking up on his boss’ mood and supposing it safe to speak, continued, “So I shall show him to the ground floor’s third sitting room, then? Very good sir.” Bowing quickly, the attendant left to see to his self-given duties.
“Third sitting floor room ground. . . right.” Dyllyo said dazedly. Too many moments later his mind jolted back into gear, forcing him into motion. He would be fine. The Rrrrtktktkp’ch couldn’t possibly know anything approaching the truth. He was just trying to con him out of his money with some trumped up blackmail or another. Still, it wouldn’t do to appear slovenly. Quickly going to the mirror, he tried to make himself more presentable. Dyllyo, whose species were known as Cuuvloo, looked exactly like he had expected – as though he’d just finished relaxing on a private beach. The problem with it being private was there were no other people to see you. Had he been described by a certain member of a species unknown to him – but called “Humans” by themselves and others – Dyllyo would have been likened to a mole – though fatter – with the dorsal fin of a swordfish protruding from his back and two long tails, similar to that of a rat.
Swatting the few flecks of sand he could see in his fur, he gave up on getting his unruly fur in order. Taking a deep breath, he walked from his ground floor room, attempting to exude equal parts confidence and innocence. Entering the ground floor’s third sitting room he nearly stumbled. The Rrrrtktktkp’ch possessed a chilly, detached demeanor that would have made even stoic Fulanil envious. It was not the bearing of a con artist. Swallowing his growing trepidation, Dyllyo caught himself, sitting in a comfortable recliner directly in front of the cold solicitor.
“Solicitor,” began the rat-tailed-mole-swordfish, having long forgotten any syllable of the overcomplicated name, “I understand there seems to be some confusion concerning my financial state?” Was that the right way to start this – going straight to business? Maybe I should have tried some small talk first. It had been a while since he’d last needed to be polite to anyone.
“Hardly,” stated the Rrrrtktktkp’ch with a terse click, “But let us pretend for a moment that I am genuinely befuddled by certain aspects of your personal fortune which, you claim, was attained by your involvement in a mining expedition that was far more successful than its founders could have ever dreamed. The net gains made by the owners, I believe, were nearly ten orders of magnitude above the prediction because of the unusually large deposits of tellurium-128 that were discovered. The true identities of the owners were never disclosed, making the excuse of being one such owner a very convenient one to explain the source of your wealth. Not only did it explain the source of your money, but it also allowed you to keep your sudden rise in affluence as discrete as was legally possible.”
“That was [21 years] ago.” The Solicitor continued, “Only people in certain places know it, but the list of owners was released as of a year ago. Finding one such list is nearly as difficult as it was to put together. Needless to say the list was for validity but the important fact this list provides that matters to us here and now is that your name does not appear on it, meaning your mass of credits originated from somewhere else.”
Dyllyo tried to get a word in edgewise but the implacable Rrrrtktktkp’ch refused to pause. “Having discounted the fictitious tale, the only other possible means of your sudden rise to the upper class is a single shipment you made – your last. Here I really am confused. The location to which you shipped this final, shockingly fortuitous load is said to be the Irbzrk Orbital Factory. Yet while it is not unheard of for certain private trading companies to receive massive amounts of credits from timely special delivers to that station, you did not at the time have a license to carry any such lucrative goods. So it appears you did not make your fortune off a lucky Irbzrk run, and yet you did still send that cargo ship, carrying nearly [9000 metric tons] of mysterious cargo to an unknown location.”
The Solicitor of unknown name leaned forward, growing even more serious. “So now here is my question. Where did you send that cargo ship?”
Dyllyo’s mind worked feverishly as he thought through his options. He wasn’t anything close to a detective, but if the Rrrrtktktkp’ch didn’t know what the cargo had been, all he had – as far as solid evidence was concerned – was the guess that he may have shipped it somewhere legally dubious. It happened to be a very, very good guess, but a guess none the less. After all, if he wished to remain discrete about his affairs he had the right to do so. Nothing the solicitor had charged him with was strictly illegal. It denoted guilt, sure, but he couldn’t be brought on any serious charges because of mislabeling a shipping location [21 years] ago. A glimmer of hope began to blossom in his chest.
Twisting his face in outrage, Dyllyo shouted, “Are you accusing me of something, because all I’ve heard so far is slander against my good-”
Somehow maintaining his cool shell while yelling at the top of his lungs, the Rrrrtktktkp’ch shouted over Dyllyo. “Oh, did I forget the actual accusation of wrongdoing?! I’m so sorry, here are the documents and recordings the authorities would find most interesting.”
Dyllyo’s sentence concerning the fate that would befall the solicitor’s family died on his lips. Looking at the documents, he saw they were the inventory sheets of that fateful haul: [9000 metric tons] of equipment that would allow one to establish a permanent residence on an ultralow-gravity surface – either an asteroid or a small moon.
“If you were to listen to the recording it would prominently feature the voice of a being with the name of Quym, a notorious Robalin geneticist and war criminal who disappeared completely [21 years] ago. His ship was found abandoned near the same time, effectively eliminating any trace of him. As of today his location is still unknown. He is believed to be dead.”
Dyllyo made one final, desparate stab at innocence. “How was I to know he was a war criminal? He never told me his name. I don’t make a habit of searching my client’s voices against-”
“There is a section towards the end of the recording where Quym admits to having a large bounty on his head. In offer of your services and to ensure you do not betray him, he promises to pay you nearly four times the amount of his bounty, one half before the shipment was sent, the other half sometime after. Perhaps you weren’t listening during that part?” The final line was delivered with a small smirk.
Dyllyo’s shoulders slumped in defeat, “How much money do you want?”
“Perhaps you do have a listening problem. I don’t want your money. All I need to know is where you sent that shipment. That is all. I represent a party whose only concern is that justice is fully served and no more lives may end because of this creature. All you must do is tell me where you sent it, and I will forget you were ever involved. There is absolutely nothing to gain and everything to lose by refusing to cooperate.” The Rrrrtktktkp’ch held a data pad with a star chart out to him
Really? It was that easy? Hope returning with reinforcements, he took the data pad, punching in the coordinates. He still remembered them – they’d changed his life and had been the oddest shipping coordinates he’d ever seen – a point in space closer to the Ilrayen band than anywhere civilized.
Finishing, the icy solicitor reached for the data pad, but Dyllyo kept it firmly in paw. “I have your word,” he asked “That this is the last I’ll hear of the matter? You’ll leave these documents and the recording with me, take the coordinates, and I’ll never lay eyes upon you again?”
A smile ghosted upon the Rrrrtktktkp’ch’s lips, “Of course.”
Dyllyo handed over the data pad without another word. Taking it, the Rrrrtktktkp’ch walked briskly from the room. He seemed to be in some hurry, but the rat-tailed-mole-swordfish had incinerators on his mind.
By the time Rxt’rrq’kklt Zvvtl’xxrk reached the shuttle he’d used to travel to the pompous Cuuvloo’s mansion, he was running. The front of cool, calm, collectedness he’d displayed during the interrogation . . . ehm, discussion . . . gone like mist. Flinging himself into the shuttle he opened the accursed channel.
“Do you have them?” came the detached, almost mechanical voice from the other side.
“Yes, yes I have them here. You don’t get them until I hear my children’s voices, and if I don’t so help me I will-”
“Daddy!” sounded an excited, bubbly shout, bringing immediate tears of joy and relief to his Rxt’rrq’kklt’s eyes. He even felt laughter for the first time in [days]. She was a hostage, and she sounded just as stoked as the time he’d taken her to see the harmonic crystals on the planet Melody.
“Qk’rrtk’cvx!” he shouted back in his own excited relief, mimicking her happy voice. I wouldn’t help for her to hear him crying. “Is Tt’qrrz’kttc there too?”
“Hey dad,” responded the much lower voice of his son. Fifteen years older than his sister, his voice betrayed the gravity of the situation.
“How are you?” Rxt’rrq’kklt immediately responded, voice now clouded with the worry he truly felt.
“Fine. He hasn’t harmed us. He even left for a while to get Qk’rrtk’cv some ktrx fronds when she mentioned how much she liked them during her usual babblings.” Rxt’rrq’kklt blinked in surprise. As the sounds of his daughter protesting her brother’s accusation concerning her talkativeness came across the line, the father decided upon one more question.
“While he was out getting treats did he get you some cqcq leaves as well?” he held his breath. The answer seemed an eternity in coming, though in truth was hardly a more than [a second].
“No dad, because I hate them. I only eat Qk’rrtk’cv’s because she says they make her gag and I don’t mind them that much. It really is us.” Rxt’rrq’kklt breathed again.
“Satisfied?” the unidentifiable almost-mechanical presence returned.
“Yes,” growled the solicitor, “The coordinates are coming through now.”
“Good,” then silence. Moments later a door slammed and a sigh signified the release of pent up tension.
“He’s gone, dad,” said his son, “He left us untied in a large room with an shuttle. I think I can fly it. We’re safe.”
“When can we do this again?!”
Rxt’rrq’kklt was crying.
In orbit over class 3 planet Peace
Valur sat in his sports shuttle, ticking off possible locations for Quym’s hideout that were now unlikely or impossible considering the newest piece of data. It was mindless work, but that didn’t mean his thoughts were inactive. He thought back to the palpable relief he had heard within the Rrrrtktktkp’ch solicitor’s voice as he’d discovered his children were safe. Valur would never have hurt the children, they weren’t his target. He had no quarrel with them. They were innocent, and he didn’t kill innocence. He killed the monsters that did, the creatures that slaughtered for fun, without thought, conscience, or reason – mindless beasts.
That was the reason for his current target. With that second Human – the one with his incessant giggling – no doubt long dead due to blood loss – no being could survive that much damage – and the first Human wishing he were dead, Valur had moved on to his next target: Quym. He was the Robalin responsible for over 3000 deaths throughout the course of his experiments during the Robalin war, and the only scientist to have escaped justice for their crimes against the innocent. He was another such monster as the Humans. He had killed those with whom he had no qualm, no quarrel. They’d just been convenient, on hand. Valur would give Quym’s victims the justice they deserved.
No doubt the first Human, the one who still lived, was seeking him. Valur wanted it that way. Next time they met, the Human would understand what it was to fight a war you believed in. A war you couldn’t win. To feel helpless as your world crashed down around you. He would have felt Valur’s pain. It seemed the right thing to be done. After all, Valur was no longer avenging only Xiavo’s death; he was avenging his own as well. He knew he wasn’t what he had once been. He was better now, living a life with a goal and an ability to make a difference. All that mattered was the next target.
A final decision and the only possible option glowed brightly back at him from the monitor: a moon of a death world on the fringe of the Ilrayen band. One couldn’t tell because of the helmet, but Valur was smiling.
Date point: 8y 8m 3w BV
In orbit above the moon of death world Q2-Teal-183-Green-0
Here’s a shocker for you: finding a hidden base on a moon with a shuttle whose sensors told me slightly less than my own eyes is hard. Vakno must have been shitting herself with laughter as she’d bought this ship. Oh man I hope she bought it. Subsequently, I was reduced to skimming over the surface of the moon, so close I felt I really could just use my eyes. My scans told me nothing. Worse yet, they told me nothing about a very small portion of the moon. At the rate I was going, scanning the entire thing would take months. I’d already wasted a week here.
That was if there even was anything to find. The Mutant could have gotten here before me and turned the base into one of the many craters dotting the moon’s barren landscape. It was a lot like Earth’s moon, with a surface covered in white dust, looking like a rock ravaged by dandruff. Its familiar visage made me remember ache to see Earth again. Upon further reflection of the feeling, I realized it wasn’t the homesickness I was feeling. It was the ache you have to return to your favorite grandparent’s house. You want to go for the sweets, but staying longer than week is out of the question. I wanted to see Earth again, but I didn’t want to go back. I wondered if I ever would.
My sensors beeped. Glancing – more out of surprise than actually expecting to see anything – I almost put a fusion scythe through the console. A figure was walking on the surface of the moon. How long they’d been at it I’d never know, because they were a mere kilometer away. A kilometer and my ship just now saw them. Turning the Beetle so my window faced the indicated direction, I kicked the sensor console in frustration. It hurt so I kicked it again to show I wasn’t afraid. I could fucking see the person. My own eyes would have spotted the figure before the heap of junk that was the Beetle’s sensor array if I’d only been facing the correct direction.
At least my sensors could give me a closer look at what the figure was doing. As I watched the figure reached down, pushed against the ground, then waited. A hatch in the surface of the moon appeared in an instant. As the figure descended into the hidden hatch, the Beetle – which had been under cloak the moment the slowpoke engineers had finished installing it, was speeding towards the exact same spot. A kilometer seemed much too far away now.
What it lacked in sensors, it kind of improved upon it with engines, and by the time the hatch had resealed I’d locked a landing vector into the navigational array that would put me nearly on top of the hatch. Leaving the Beetle to land on its own I moved to get into a space suit. Snorting in disgust as I always did when looking upon the ugly orange-ish brown color of the suits, I scrambled into one, adrenaline and excitement mounting as they always did when I knew I was getting close. This was it, the final stage. Patting myself down to ensure I hadn’t forgotten any weapons, I exited the ship, walked to where the hidden hatch would be if my ship had landed where I’d told it to, and pressed my hand against the flakey ground.
Far too long passed before the hatch opened upon a steep flight of stars. Descending into the darkness, I crept forward, eyes wide, straining to see what was before me. The hatch closed behind me and lights popped into being on either side of me. The stairs continued on ahead of me, much further than I’d expected. I descended what had to be several hundred meters underground before reaching the end in an airlock hatch. It opened with a faint hiss. No alarms sounded, and the airlock was empty. So far I’d not been detected – I hoped.
Ditching the restrictive and sickeningly ugly suit in the airlock I straightened my robe, its now familiar weight calming me, lending me focus – it was a good robe. Drawing the black twin-blade, I crept out of the airlock. Almost immediately I heard voices up ahead. Slowly descending a small flight of stairs, I listened, holding my breath, silently stalking.
“So had I killed subject 1973 rather than leave him in the coma you would not have found me?” said a gravely, tired voice I didn’t recognize.
“Most likely.”
Oh I recognized that one. Anger raged inside me, but I held it tight, forcing myself to maintain my slow creep.
A bitter laugh barked in reply. “The irony.” It said several times under its breath. “You know 1973 vowed revenge. They all did, if they got the chance, but 1973’s promises were . . . vivid.” A chill swept down my back to my toes. I’d read the details Vakno had left me, details including Quym’s crimes. 3000 deaths and their orchestrator stood somewhere ahead, speaking in a tone suitable for a discussion on favorite books with an old friend. He said “1973” as though that were the being’s true name. Quym would die without remorse, it seemed.
A gravely sigh ending in a hacking cough reached my ears. “So what do you have prepared for me today, hmm? Judging by your appearance you aren’t the kind of fellow to do something half-way, so I assume you have an ending that is as fitting as it is effective?”
“Test serum 249,” was the terse reply.
“Ah,” sighed Quym. He almost sounded please. “You’re a fellow of taste, that’s one of my favorites. Inefficient, hopelessly complex, but her elegance is unmatched. She has style, 249. Forces the body to metabolize all its energy stores in a matter of hours. Whenever she was used we’d place bets on what we thought would kill the subject first: cerebral overheating or starvation. One fellow with high blood pressure literally had his heart burst in his chest. How did you get it? Surely they don’t make it. Before I was completely cut off I heard the Corti were messing with 31 to take the edge off. They thought they could use it as a universal kill switch. I hated that one, you know. No finesse at all, just rots the gut away to kill through massive organ failure. And that ugly blue color. Still, even if they neutered 31 to where they could stomach it, ha, they’d never touch 249. Please tell me they didn’t, it would break my heart to see her chained and mutated.”
“No, 249 was never reopened. It was almost impossible for me to even get my hands on the formula. I made this one myself.”
“Are you sure you got it right?” snapped the mass murderer I now assumed was insane, “I’d rather you stabbed me with that fusion blade on your arm rather than be injected with an idiots failure at recreating a masterpiece!” Sheesh this guy was nuts.
“I tested it on a Dizi rat. It works.”
“Ah. Well then, that’s good.” He sounded content!
Several moments of silence passed. Quym broke the calm. “Well, now that that’s over, I think I’ll go eat something as I’m suddenly feeling a little peckish. It’ll only prolong the process, so I doubt you’ll mind?” soft footsteps faded as their owner moved into another room, followed by the thuds of something heavy following him. I peeked around the corner the moment I reached it. Looking further on I could see the Mutant standing in the doorway to the next compartment, presumably watching Quym.
I knew I should have looked for traps – anything that could ruin my chance – but I was tired of waiting. Burning heat suffused my mind and body. I was done hiding. Time for blood. Standing, I swept around the corner, hurled a wordless roar of rage, and charged – twin-blade held like a spear. My challenge, loud to even my ears, spun the Mutant around like a top. The gleaming black blade sunk into his middle, gutting him with a burning spike. It wasn’t over though. Not by a long shot. We’d both been here before, and such trivial wounds didn’t bother him. Still, it felt good.
“Hello,” I said with a smile.
“Glad you could join us,” the Mutant replied, then surged forward. I’d already pulled back, liberating the blade and falling into the comfortable pattern of spins I’d spent months practicing. My stamina, bolstered through exercise, set my heartbeat to a steady rhythm I matched to my breathing. And we flew. Strikes blurred as limbs shook, moving faster than I could have consciously kept up with. I didn’t think, only moved. His fusion blade burst into life, transforming his right forearm into a blur of fiery death. His tail moved to sweep my feet out from under me, but I had already prepared. My prosthetic leg, feeling so natural I’d easily adapted to it, locked, refusing to bend as the mutant tried to knock it out from under me. Putting my weight on it his tail slammed into it like a steel bar smashing a pillar of marble.
Unmoved I struck, letting go of the twin-blade with one hand, using the single pivot point to sweep it low against the ground while drawing fusion scimitar one. Dragging it across my body I slammed his fusion blade aside, making way as the twin-blade sank lower, into the floor, and through his tail. Just because he didn’t feel pain like a biological being, he could still be dismembered like one. Furious, spitting oaths that translated, he moved as a force of nature, driving forward to destroy my defense with his greater mass. Despite sliding aside and allowing him to brush past, he swept behind me and clipped my right hip, cutting through with the smell of burning flesh.
Putting more weight on the prosthetic I retaliated, executing a half pirouette to sink a hilt blade into an arm servo. With a whine of squealing machines and spraying sparks he recoiled, spinning away. We circled, both favoring our damaged sides. With a yell he attacked. Bellowing in response I joined him. He was incensed, no longer relying on his weapons, he instead tried to brutishly force his way through me. That had worked before. It wouldn’t work now. I was stronger, better armed, and pissed.
Bulling forward he brought his shoulder down to drive it into my gut. I spun, trailing the twin-blade behind and slicing him along the back. He spun, jumped, and using his kinetic drive accelerated against me. I avoided most of his mass, but his non-fusion arm smacked into my neck and shoulders, dragging me to the ground where he tried to trap me. Rolling away I threw my twin-blade at him, hoping he’d think it to be an attack. He did, and blocked it with his fusion arm, which meant he had nothing to stop lava scimitar number two from slicing off his left leg as at the knee.
Toppling over as he suddenly became a monopod, he cried out in shock and outrage. Still on my back but reversing my strike I threw an overhanded slice meant to take his head off at the neck. He rolled, taking a cut to his already damaged left arm. He crawled, using his arms and legs to scuttle across the floor. He couldn’t move fast enough though, and I jumped, stabbing down, cutting directly to where his spine was. Before the blow landed he lifted his remaining foot and triggered its kinetic drive, throwing a wave of force against my jump. Deflected, I hit a wall beside him as his move threw him forward and into the floor, grinding his face against the doorframe. Crawl-running from the room he moved faster than I would have expected, desperately trying to flee.
Not this time. You don’t walk away from me this time!
“What’s wrong, you wanted me, right!?” I shouted, limping after him. “You wanted me to come to you, didn’t you? Well I’m here, so face me! You think you can win? You thought giving me a reason to see you dead was a good idea? I will make you bleed before the end of this! You think you can’t feel pain? I’ll drive you to madness when I’m through. Come on!” Seething, I slammed the shaft of the twin-blade against a wall console. A burst of sparks and broken ceramic rained over my arms, giving me hundreds of small cuts and burns.
Unfeeling, I continued. The room was dark. I’d lost him. He was hiding from me. So close and he was hiding. “You can’t hide from me!” I screamed. “You can’t run from me! You say you’ve given up everything in your pursuit of revenge? You don’t even know the meaning of sacrifice. You gave up your body to hurt me, but you held on to your soul!” A mad cackle erupted from my lips, “You can’t get away, because I gave it up. I gave it all up for you, to see you beg for death. So hide like the coward you are. Hide because you’re weak! Too weak to fight me, too weak to save your friend, and too weak to do what necessary to finish the job.”
A loud fwoosh came from the other side of the room. Limping as fast as I could I moved to the sound, lava scimitar two clutched, quivering, as my hand shook with hate and adrenaline. My blood froze when I saw the cause of the commotion. An empty drill shaft – leading up towards the surface – met me. A drill shaft big enough to have once held an escape pod.
“NO!” I howled, sounding utterly mad and not caring. I had cause. He couldn’t get away from me! Not now, not when I was so close. Limping back into the first room I found Quym holding my twin-blade. He looked me in the eyes and screamed in terror, throwing the blade to the ground and running towards a far door.
“Stop or you die.” I vowed, pointing lava scimitar two at his chest. Shaking, he froze.
“Is there another escape pod?” I panted, growling at him.
“Wha-huh-anoth-” He was sweating so much it poured off his face in several streams
“IS. THERE. ANOTHER. ESCAPE. POD!”
“Yes yes there are four the next one’s through that door!” He threw himself to the floor, but I didn’t stop to watch if he wet himself.
Snatching the twin-blade and lava scimitar one I moved through the indicated door, opened the hangar hatch and moved into the escape pod. Ship escape pods rarely could move very fast on their own if they could move at all, but this escape pod was different. On one side it contained a stasis pod with significant inertial compensation surrounding it. The other side held an entire other ship. It was basically just a cockpit with an engine strapped on, but it was a ship none the less. I didn’t have the time to figure out how to get it out of the escape pod. I didn’t want to anyway; jettisoning this one would send it to the same place the other was going – straight down to this moon’s planet.
“Activate launch sequence.” I snapped.
Unable to comply. Please place yourself within the stasis chamber and activate pod concealment systems in order to begin launch sequence. Clambering into the stasis pod, I repeated my order, also ordering the activation of pod concealment systems – for whatever reason those were needed. The computer began to count down from ten. Another countdown started for the stasis pod’s activation.
The countdown hit zero. As the stasis field closed around me, the escape pod rocketed up its concealed launch tunnel, hurtling towards the surface, gathering enough speed to break the moon’s orbit, and began the long fall towards the planet. Had I been awake I would have witnessed the reason why the escape pod, and the stasis chamber specifically, was equipped with so much inertial compensation. Set at a steep angle of reentry, the pod quickly passed through the planet’s atmosphere. It didn’t even try to slow. Slamming into the ground with all its gathered momentum, a combination of inertial manipulation and ingenious engineering kept it from being vaporized on impact. Blissfully unaware, I continued to slumber on. There hadn’t been any way to change the termination time – all it had was the preset value and the emergency release.
Arda Desert, middle of nowhere
“I’m not lying, Julwa, it landed on the other side of the Nahura. If we leave now we could reach it by tomorrow evening.”
Julwa shared a look with Malk and Ulhom, the other members of their party. Ghicep was always seeing stuff. A friendly Tratr, a talking ani grub, and now a god who, instead of speeding on his way across the heavens as they always did, had come crashing down to live amongst the mortals because life was just so great down here.
“Okay Ghicep, I believe you.” Julwa replied.
“You do?” the hope that shone in the poor anikeeper’s eyes made it difficult for Julwa to keep a straight face.
“Uh hu. So much so that I think you should go and start after it right now. Surely the god will shower you with riches and mates for coming to gawk at them in their moment of clumsiness. How awful it must be as a perfect being who accidently caught his toe against one of the many rocks in the sky and fell to the ground like a street fool.”
By the end of his speech Malk and Ulhom were choking on their badly stifled laughter. Ghicep’s normally happy expression darkened.
“You think I’m making it up. You don’t really think I should go looking.” Julwa sighed. Poor, slow Ghicep. He was harmless, but gods he could be annoying when anyone tried to make a joke.