Story #360 - Officer Palin

Officer Palin

The thrum of engines underneath him always made Theta Zane feel more comfortable; the sense that he was moving forward instead of standing still, even for a moment.

Though the merchantman his ship had captured put up something of a struggle, her captain eventually saw reason’s light and provided the cargo he carried in exchange for the lives of his crew. Just as Theta told Caldor’s magistrate, he preferred to end encounters without the need for bloodshed and was willing to negotiate so long as his basic demands were met.

“Take her out, Captain?” His First, Pruck, asked as the Deltarra’s power spooled up to full strength. “The Bri’lan Cluster, perhaps?”

Theta shook his head. “Core worlds. We’ve had slim pickings for a while now and I want the men to see real reward for their effort.”

“You’re sure, Captain?” Pruck’s tone was hushed. He’d learned the value in speaking his mind on the Deltarra; unlike other pirate captains, Theta valued the opinions of his subordinates.

“Yes,” he said quickly. “I won’t be steering back toward Caldor any time soon, but that doesn’t mean we have to avoid all of the hot spots.” Though he’d been cleared of any wrongdoing thanks to his heritage, further aggravating the Caldorran authorities was a recipe for disaster.

“Aye aye, Captain.” The First knew when to hold his ground and when to back down – anything involving profit meant Theta would not change his mind.

A few moments and they were away, lightspeed drive throwing the ship forward into a distorted bubble of space-time. Theta had never taken the time to study the drive’s mechanics but made sure he always had the latest version running in his engine room. Escaping authorities was just as important as the initial approach to a target vessel, and speed often made the difference between a massive payday and possible prison time.

He smiled as the viewscreen blurred and his stomach spun in a familiar, sickening lurch. The Core worlds were ripe for plucking.

***

Five days and they’d already taken eight ships, all with cargo bays stuffed full of legal goods and hiding places stuffed with things no so legal. The Deltarra’s entire crew would see a substantial take once they made port, something that kept them happy and loyal.

“Captain!” The Comm officer’s voice broke through Theta’s self-congratulatory thoughts.

“Yes, Flinn?” He asked slowly. “What is it?”

“There’s a ship hailing us, sir – Caldorran!”

Theta sat up in his chair, glancing up at the viewscreen and coming fully alert. They were a long way from Caldorran space, and there was no reason any of the Union’s ships should be anywhere near his, let alone hailing it.

“Answer it, Flinn – let’s see what our Union friends want.”

It took him a few minutes to place the wavering image that appeared on the screen, and even a fine-tuning of the rez bandwidth had little effect. Muscular and unshaven, the man staring across black space had a sour look on his face and a clenched jaw. He did not speak as the channel firmed.

Keeping silence close also appealed to Theta, and he allowed himself to simply watch and wait, letting his mind trail over those he had befriended and angered in years past.

“I told you it wasn’t over, Zane,” the man finally grated, each word seemingly dragged out of him by force. “I’ve lost everything because of you, and now it’s time for you to pay.”

“I’m sorry –“ Theta began, but cut off as memories surged. “Palin!” He said with a broad smile. “I’m surprised they let you out of prison.” The last he’d seen of the officer was the larger man being bodily forced from a courtroom to face justice for his contempt. Judge Rita had been quite unhappy with his attempt to interrupt legal proceedings, and Theta expected the authorities to come down quite hard on their rogue enforcer.

“They didn’t,” Palin sneered. “I wasn’t about to be held thanks to a mockery of justice – one that you perpetrated, Zane!”

“Took you rather a long time to break out, don’t you think, Palin?” Theta replied with a smirk. “I’ve been out tooling around the galaxy for the last two years, and I haven’t heard a thing from you. I’d expect someone so hell-bent on my destruction could do better.”

Gloating served no real purpose but he didn’t care; the officer had decided to make an issue out of something beyond his control, and Theta wasn’t about to dignify it by admitting any kind of equality, any form of parity.

“Oh I’ve been busy, Zane, working hard to make sure that once I found you there would be no getting away.” Palin raised both arms and gestured at the cramped cabin surrounding him. “Do you like my little ship? It’s not much to look at, but I’ve packed it full of Thermio and it’s ready to blow on my command.”

“Flinn!” Theta bellowed. “Cut the channel! Pruck – hard to port!” Thermio had a reputation for destroying small moons – while the Deltarra was well-equipped, there was no way it could take that kind of punishment.

The viewscreen resolved to a more distant view, one quickly obscured by Palin’s speeding ship. It was too fast, too small – there was no way to avoid what was coming.

Theta jammed down the emergency call button. “All hands!” He screamed. “Abandon ship!” Even as words burst from his mouth the ship shuddered and began to scream, it’s Opsteel coating torn open by igniting Thermio. He was on his feet and herding crewmen out the escape door when the bridge lights went and the ship listed hard to starboard, throwing him to the deck.

Lights flashed and klaxons sounded, but he was trapped - his body wouldn’t respond though his mind urged it. A final look at the viewscreen showed a small green planet looming ever-larger as gravity caught the crippled Deltarra and pulled it down.

A less than stellar end for the notorious Theta Zane; one fitting perhaps, for Palin.

- D

Story #359 - Gods and Men

Gods and Men

“You!” The voice thundered as a massive glowing hand swept down toward Ali Potan. It stopped only inches short of his face, too-large finger pointing and wisps of frayed magic drifting up to tickle his nose. “You have been chosen, and will accompany me.”

“I -” Ali began, but got no further before the voice cut him off.

“Silence! You will not question, or you will die. Remain perfectly still, small one.”

Ali did as instructed; it was said the gods could be as cruel as they were kind, and Zehar, father of them all, was known for his indiscriminate attitude when it came to killing humans. History recorded more than a few conflicts that began as a result of Zehar's exhortation, and ended when both sides realized the elder god had promised them both the same things. Sometimes, a tentative peace was the result, but all too often more bloodshed was the outcome as once-strong powers vied for the fickle affection of their god.

The hut began to shimmer, and Ali cast quick looks at his wife and daughter. They at least would survive, cared for by other villagers in the absence of a father and husband. Luck might bring him back someday, but his fate was more than likely sealed.

Drab wood was replaced with shining walls of gold, marble floors and an open ceiling that seemed to stare directly into eternity. Though stars shone and light flashed above his head, Ali's attention was riveted on the large figure sprawled across a steel throne at the room's head. Zehar.

“Welcome, puny one!” The god bellowed, tossing a large bird-wing he'd been gnawing on over his shoulder where it vanished in a puff of blue smoke. “I am pleased you accepted my offer.”

“I had no choice, Lord,” Ali said sharply. Though the eldest god could easily wipe out anyone who dared defy him, death was almost a certainty no matter the number of polite words mouthed. “Tell me what I must do or kill me – there is nothing else left.”

Zehar laughed, a broad thing that filled the room and doubled back on itself, assaulting frail human ears. Despite the pain, Ali refused to raise his hands, refused to give the god satisfaction in suffering.

“You are bold one, I'll give you that, mortal – but that's why I picked you. I've been watching you and your mate struggle to feed that child of yours, eke out a miserable existence in the fields, and I've been ever so slightly impressed with your determination.” Zehar rose, gesturing as he did so and the room's back wall thinned to transparency, then lit up with the image of a strikingly beautiful woman.

“My daughter,” Zehar said by way of explanation. “Cresidae.”

Ali drew in a sharp breath – Cresidae was second only to the eldest himself in power and influence.

“We have had...disagreements of late,” the god went on, “messy things that killed many of the mortals under our control. My child,” Zehar said the word heavily, as if it pained him, “insists that there is a better way and will no longer face me in the time-honored ritual of mortal war. Instead, she demanded I choose a champion, a creature I will pit against one of hers to decide the outcome of our argument.”

It took all the strength in Ali's legs to keep from falling forward – he was no fighter, no great weapon-master. Why would the god choose him?

“My Lord,” he said with barely concealed fear, tempered only by the hot rage burning in his throat. “Why me? I am hardly as fit as others, hardly as quick-witted.”

“I know,” Zehar smiled down at him, too-perfect face a suddenly grotesque sight. “Truthfully, I've had other things on my mind – many of my younger progeny have sudden taken up the idea of rebellion as well, and I've had to put them down rather hard. As a result, I haven't had the time to find a suitable champion. I selected your village at random, and two days of observation was enough to tell me of your worth.”

“Wait!” Ali cried. “You should choose again – clearly, there are better choices, men more suited to your cause. Perhaps I could see one out for you.”

“No,” the eldest god said firmly. “I have chosen you, and you will perform as directed. Frankly, I no longer care about the outcome of the dispute. I've long since made my peace with the petty demands of my daughter. You are here simply to appease her sense of honor.”

“May I -” speech was suddenly difficult, “may I see my opponent?”

“Of course!” Zehar boomed, and then waved one large hand. The scene on what had been the back wall changed, replaced by a half-man, half-ape creature with a prominent jaw, huge hands and thickly muscled legs. He was casually tossing rocks into the air with his feet, catching each one in a large hand and easily crushing them to dust. Ali swallowed hard.

“My Lord – there is no way I can defeat such a creature, and I thought your agreement required mortal champions!”

“Oh? Yes,” the glowing deity shrugged. “The Mathor is mortal, but no one has ever been able to kill it. To do so would require it be stabbed directly through the heart with a golden spike. I made it on an off day, and I can't recall exactly what its other abilities are, but suffice it to say you have a difficult task ahead. Here,” Zehar stepped forward and placed a large hand on Ali's shoulder, “let me give you what little our rules permit.”

A sudden power flowed, only a trickle but to Ali it was a flood, a torrent, a stunning wash of sensation and image. Muscles bulged as his mind expanded, and small hope flared. Perhaps he could win, after all.

“Begin!” Zehar called, and the Mathor leapt from the screen, roaring.

Story #358 - Spied

Spied

“Welcome, Captain,” the base-commander’s voice was tight. “We’re pleased you could join us on such short notice.”

“I rather doubt that,” Trell Soriss said drily. “And I suspect we both know why I’m here.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It was hard for Trell not to laugh at the man – straight-backed and iron faced, he was the soul of the Federated Territories, and about as bright as a stump.

“Of course you don’t, Commander.” Trell gestured to a nearby tent. “Why don’t we step inside and have a chat about exactly what it is you don’t know.”

A few steps across the threshold and two guardsmen had him by the arms while two others loosed their blasters and leveled them with dark eyes. The mission on Vorall had been a difficult one for the Territories, plagued by problems and setbacks, and those stationed on the small world had become hard, uncompromising. Word of a spy in the ranks had filtered downward from the General, talk of a shadowy figure in Federated clothing, one that could move unseen and disappear from plain sight.

That the Conglomerate had the capability to field such spies was no shock, but many good, Federated men lived with the foolish belief that lurking predators employed to destroy their way of life could not possibly have slipped into the army itself.

For twenty years Trell had worked for the Conglomerate, always sure and certain he’d be caught, exposed by a single mistake. It was a mistimed bombing op – not his fault, but that didn’t matter – and a fool who’d spoken out of turn that pointed straight to Trell.

“Don’t move,” one of the guards said. “We have orders to shoot if you so much as lift a finger.”

“Gentlemen,” Trell replied with a warm smile. “You’ve got me. I have no intentions of fighting you on this. Get your Commander in here and we’ll have a nice little chat.”

“I don’t think so, spy.” The Commander’s voice was hard as he swept in through the tent-flap. “Your lies hold no interest for me. Detention processing is your next stop,” the sharp-chinned man smiled, “and then I’m hoping a messy public execution.” He gestured to his guards. “My men need the morale boost.”

Trell knelt, hands at his sides, but the gesture of peace was lost on the already-raging guardsmen and they swept in, blows raining down. Blackness quickly followed.

***

“How long have you been active in the service as a spy?” The interrogators voice was smooth and pleasant; Trell had been cooperative thus far, giving the older man no reason to bring out any more aggressive tactics. He seemed disappointed – no surprise for a torture specialist.

“My entire career.” Trell said shortly.

“Which is how long, exactly?” The dates were well known and listed in every dossier sent around about his exploits, but conditioning to answer easy questions was a part of the interrogation process.

“Twenty years,” he replied. “I was trained at the academy on Kelbor before I ever applied with the Service.”

“Interesting.” The man’s voice was clipped. “Tell me more. I want names, dates, specific operations. All of it.”

Trell sighed. He had expected as much, but didn’t want to rehash the details of his career. Some of his ops has led to the deaths of significant Territory figures, while others had more subtle, long-term effects but all were intricate and precise and would take time to explain.

“No,” he said softly, and the other man’s face lit up.

The hours that followed were hazy, a mixture of narcotics and agony, and Trell was sure he revealed everything asked. His masters at the Conglomerate had been prepared for such an outcome, and while the information he gave revealed his part in plot after plot, he had no knowledge of anyone who’d worked alongside him or provided the orders that led to “terrorist” activities.

Finally lucid again, Trell could see the obvious displeasure on his captor’s face. A lack of resistance always meant a less satisfying session, and there were few spies as easy to torture as Trell.

“Your crimes are heinous,” the interrogator spoke softly. “And despite your willingness to speak the truth, deserve nothing but death.”

Trell shrugged. He’d known as much would be his punishment from the first moment of his career.

“I, however, cannot make that final judgment,” the man went on. “You are fortunate, spy, in that our law demands trial by the highest magistrate on a world, even for filth such as you. It will be your great honor to be given a sentence of death by Lord Ithos Reid, here to oversee operations and reclamation.”

***

“So you are the spy everyone speaks to me about – the Captain who has betrayed his people.” Ithos Reid’s voice was cold.

“Hardly,” Trell said jovially. “I’ve always been a Conglomerate man. That you didn’t know as much is laughable.”

A sharp smack from one of his guards set Trell’s head to ringing, but he kept the smile on his face.

“Do you know why you are here, spy?” Reid asked.

“For you to pass judgment.” He glanced around the small council room. No recording devices were present – what happened inside was clearly something the Territories want to keep a secret. Trell smiled.

“Yes.” Reid leaned in, wide face only inches from Trell’s own.

A sharp exhale of breath and the Lord stepped back, coughing at the foul breath that came his way. “Guilty!” He cried, “guards – take him away and make sure he does not see the sun rise again.”

Blows fells onto Trell’s head and back as he was dragged from the room to his death, but they didn’t matter. His capture had been arranged, his interrogation certain. That Reid was on-planet gave the perfect opportunity, and the tiny device Trell had kept concealed in his mouth would quickly begin to act on the Lord. Within weeks, the Conglomerate would own one of the most powerful men in the Territories, and yet be foolishly sure in the knowledge it had eliminated a threat.

Such was the life of a spy.


- D

Story #357 - Koala

Koala

“So you’re, like, an alien?” Pav McAllister said with a catch in his voice. Working night shift janitorial at the Therana Science Center wasn’t without its perks, but coming across a real live alien wasn’t something he expected.

“No.” The fuzzy creature said shortly. “Nothing like that – I understand your confusion but please don’t start thinking that way.”

“Alright…” Pav said dubiously. “Then what the hell are you?”

The thing paced around its cage, tiny paws clasped behind its back. Walking upright was possible for koalas, but seeing one do it for extended periods of time was disconcerting, to say the least. “Look at me,” it finally said, “what do I look like to you?”

“A...koala?” Trying not to hesitate did no good – things just didn’t match up.

“That’s right.” There was a note of indulgence in the voice, of patronizing pleasure. “Now, applying Occam’s Razor –“

“Occam’s what?” Pav interrupted. “Why do you have a razor?” He took a step back – the thing was still in its cage but if it could talk, who knew what else it could do?

“Shut up!” The creature said sharply. “And listen. Put down to basics, the Razor states that the simplest explanation is typically correct. So,” it thrust one paw in Pav’s direction, “if I look like a Koala…”

“Then you are one?” He finished, face drawn.

“Exactly!”

“I don’t know…” Pav hesitated. “Something isn’t right here. I haven’t heard a damn thing about super-intelligent koalas, let alone anything like you.”

“Je’deel,” the small creature said shortly. “My name is Je’deel.”

“Fine, Je’deel – I’m Pav, pleased to meet you and all that. But why are you talking to me? I’m not the one in charge here.”

“I know that!” Je’deel pointed to the broom Pav held in one hand. “But I’m not really interested in getting moved to the ‘special’ facility. If I open my mouth to Dr. Penner, I’ll be shipped off in the blink of an eye, and I don’t mind it here so much.”

“Really?” Pav found that hard to believe. “But you’re in a cage!”

“True enough – but all of my existence that I can recall has been in this cage. I can’t remember anything from before, anything from when I wasn’t this way, so I view these four, steel-barred walls as my home. Being the subject of invasive tests doesn’t sit well with me, and though Penner can do some work on me he’s bound by the Code to inflict minimal harm; all in all, I’ve got a pretty sweet deal.”

“That’s fascinating,” Pav said drily. It was, in truth, but getting too attached was a recipe for disaster. “But still doesn’t answer my question. Why bother talking to me?”

Je’deel paced around his cage for a few moments, chest puffing and tiny paws twitching. “Well,” it said haltingly. “I guess I’m lonely.”

“Alright.” There was no point pressing the issue – being locked in a lab would be miserable, and Pav wasn’t sure he’d do so well in captivity as the intelligent creature in front of him. “Then let’s talk.” A nearby lab stool provided an easy seat, and he glanced at his watch; all of the work was done for the night, and until four-thirty he was alone in the sector.

“I –“ the bear hesitated. “Thank you.”

Pav nodded sharply. “No problem. Now, anything in particular you want to talk about?”

“Tell me about Penner.” Je’deel said quickly. “What kind of man is he?”

“Dr. Penner?” Pav frowned. “Honestly, I don’t know that much about him. He’s been here for a dozen years but mostly keeps to himself, never eats in the lunch area or goes out with the others after work on Fridays.”

“So you don’t like him?”

“I didn’t say that. He’s just – different – than the others, even more socially awkward, if you can believe it. I think Penner’s a good man, to be honest, and I’m not sure how he deals with –“ Pav cut off abruptly.

“Deals with what?” Je’deel’s voice rose. “What are you talking about, Pav?”

“Nothing!” He said sharply. “It’s nothing!”

“No,” the clever little koala’s tone was clipped. “It’s not. You know something about the work Penner is doing, and it doesn’t jive with his personality, is that it?”

Pav managed to keep his silence, but found himself nodding. The thing in front of him didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark.

“Please,” big eyes stared up out of the cage. “You don’t have to free me, but tell me what’s going on.”

“Infiltration,” Pav said sharply. “Penner’s been working on ways to get unexpected spies into high-security facilities. So far as I know, his research centers on making friendly-looking creatures able to use small tools and remember simple number strings.” He paused to look down at Je’deel. “I’m guessing he got more than he bargained with you.”

“Dammit!” the koala swore. “I knew it was something like this. Penner and his assistants act like the world is coming to end at any moment, like someone’s going to break down the door and kill them all. They’re scared, and they should be. Dammit!”

“I can’t let you go,” Pav said sadly. “I need to feed my family.”

“I know, I know,” Je’deel replied, stalking around his cage in a small circle. “And I won’t ask you to do that.” It looked up with pleading eyes. “But maybe there’s something you can do that’s not so risky. See that switch over there?” The creature didn’t point – video surveillance would capture any moves made, but couldn’t record audio.

Pav nodded. The switch was obvious, marked with large “don’t touch” labels.

“Good.” Je’deel went on. “Let’s say you knock into it on the way out, perhaps your broom handle strikes it accidentally. When Penner comes in today, the first thing he’ll do is fire up the tech he’s been using, but he’s getting lax. It should put me back the way I was – stupider, even, if I’m lucky.”

Rising, Pav moved to the door, broom held low. At the threshold he “tripped”, smacking into the switch and then recovering, hamming it up a bit for the cameras.

“Thank you,” Je’deel’s voice floated out from the lab.


- D

Story #356 - Buried

Buried

“You're talking about destroying the entire city!” Wes Larson said, jabbing his finger across the table at Sol Lightner. The other man was brilliant, but what he'd suggested to save them all from certain destruction carried a massive potential for disaster, one that could kill everyone long before conditions outside the walls became a problem.

“I'm not,” Sol said quietly, “and you know that, Wes. You've looked at my research and you know what I'm proposing is possible.”

“Yes,” taking his seat again, Wes tried to control his tongue, “but that doesn't make it a good idea. Sunlight levels are still years away from being toxic to anyone unshielded, and it will at least another decade before we start having any problems with protective gear. What you're asking this council to approve is nothing short of madness!”

He had expected a measure of assent from those around him, a murmur of shared concern but instead there was only silence. Glancing around the table he saw all those assembled looking down at their notes or with their eyes closed – not one would meet his gaze.

“I represent Dr. Lightner as much as anyone in this room, but he's asking us to bury this city – encase it in a shell and blast out the ground underneath. What if that shell isn't quite impenetrable? What if we encounter something the clever doctor hasn't predicted? What then?”

Still no response came and Wes felt his spirits sink. Fear was a powerful motivator - it was the creeping terror of searing sunlight that had those of council by the throat; what Sol wanted to do was risky, but the fear of being burned alive, seared by a once life-giving orb was taking its toll.

“Your compatriots don't seem to agree, my friend,” Sol said gently. “Perhaps we should ask for one of their opinions in counterpoint to your own. Councilman Piper,” he pointed to the newest council addition, “what do you think of my plan?”

“I -” Dom Piper rose slowly, “frankly I'm not sure what to think. Two of my sisters already suffer with sun-poisoning, and I've heard of families that have lost parents and grandparents even on days when the Index is supposedly low. Something has to be done, and your plan...” he trailed off and then shot a guilty look at Wes, “might just work.”

“Thank you, Councilman. Anyone else care to speak?”

“Enough, Sol,” Wes said sharply. “Your point is well taken. Apparently I'm the only one here who doesn't think what you're asking us to do is tantamount to mass suicide, but that's why the Council was convened in the first place – different opinions lead us to better answers in the end. Or at least, that's how it's supposed to work.”

“Does that mean -” Sol's voice rose.

“Yes.” Wes cut his friend off and addressed those around him. “We will take a vote on the matter, and whatever the outcome I will not oppose it. This council must stand united in our action, even if we are divided in our opinion. All in favor?” Seven hands rose quickly. “Opposed?” He raised his own.

“Motion carried!” He announced, then stood and moved to Sol's side. “Please,” he said quietly, “don't be wrong about this.”

***

Sol Lightner wasn't quite so sure as he appeared about the plan. All calculations indicated that the force-shield constructed would prevent any harm from coming to the city as the blast charges went off and carved out a new home for it underground, and debris coming back down on the city after the explosion were also of no concern, but there was a gnawing worry in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite identify, a problem he couldn't isolate.

“Ready here, doctor,” his fresh-faced assistant said. She'd proven more capable than many of his older students and colleagues, and had a knack for ensuring things were done to perfection. “Just say the word.”

He still marveled at how quickly things had moved once Wes and the council gave their approval. Though his young friend was in opposition to the idea, he fully supported the mandate of the council and enacted their will accordingly. Within weeks all of the necessary hardware had been delivered and installed, and as of two nights ago the shield was up and running, a sparkling blue barrier that kept sunlight at bay. In five years even its shell would be penetrated by increasingly aggressive rays, but was already being heralded as a stunning achievement.

The fly of worry buzzed in Sol's mind again but he ignored it, pushed it to the side and did a final check of all the dials himself, making sure everything was within limits.

“Very well,” he said firmly. “Begin.”

Technicians across the broad room threw switches and Sol could hear generators tamping up production, knew power was being siphoned from every system in the city.

Again the fly thrummed, tickling his brain and he shooed it away – weightier matters required his attention.

Sudden clarity tore at him, sudden realization of what he'd done. Weight! There was too much weight!

“Stop!” He cried, but the moment had passed; he could hear the faint detonation of charges around the city as a crater was carved underneath it. Everything had been planned so carefully, no detail overlooked but one – once the city began to drop, encased and impenetrable, its own weight would drive it far deeper into the ground than anticipated; geological studies showed that much of what lay beneath was broken and cracked, a testament to the force of nature over time.

There was a sickening feeling of falling, followed by a substantial thump as the city slammed downward into the created gap. For a moment, Sol had hopes that he had been lucky, that what he had missed would be only a footnote in an otherwise perfect plan.

The sound of tearing rock told him otherwise; screams rose as they city began to fall.

- D

Story #355 - Candle

Candle

Another gust of wind blew in, wrenching at the small candle in Bale's hand. He'd been told several times that the path between the monastery and the shrine was prone to all kinds of unsavory weather, but hadn't expected quite such violence. Though the monks meant well, they were overly concerned about a number of issues and while Bale showed them respect as custom demanded, privately he had very different opinions.

Sighing, Bale pulled his cloak tighter around his bulky frame and focused on simply plodding ahead. Though he'd hoped to avoid the pilgrimage to Ulsef's shrine, his father would have none of it. Days of explaining why old customs couldn't possibly be the basis of a new and greater Kingdom fell on deaf ears; although his father nodded each time Bale made a sensible argument or demonstrated his knowledge of broad political forces, the discussion ultimately ended as he expected.

For over a thousand years the nobles of Balderon had made pilgrimages to the monastery to take direction from the monks. Some were turned away at the gates – Bale privately wished he had been one so fortunate – while others were assigned tasks of varying natures. Friends of his father had been sent to sweep stables or care for the sick in a nearby village, since the monks paid no attention to class divisions or position in the Kingdom as a whole; Ewald VI began his forty-year reign cleaning out the gutters of a church for a group of filthy peasants. Such was the way of the monks.

More wind beat down at Bale but he ignored it and picked up his pace. The monks refused to say how long he would have to travel, but based on the amount of food provided he guessed it was the better part of a day. They'd instructed him to leave just as dawn broke over the horizon, but high mountain peaks made it difficult to find any rays of sunlight, and he'd spent the last three hours in cold shadow. A part of him wanted to lash out, rage against what he was being made to do and at the very least stop the foolish practice should he ever become king, but the larger, more sensible portion of his mind knew better. Tradition helped keep Balderon strong, even when other nations fell apart or under the sway of the Toothless. Without firm knowledge of what had come before, the Kingdom could easily lose its away.

Bale stopped suddenly at a change in the wind's direction and lifted his head from the relatively warm spot at his chest. In front of him a pitted stone temple rose, surging upward alongside mountain peaks and looking every bit as ancient as the rocks that spawned it. He had checked the path ahead just moments ago and saw nothing of note – the temple seemed to have come out of nowhere.

A shake of his head dispelled that thought. Buildings did not simply appear any more than the “magic” practiced by healers at his father's estate cure disease. At best, such healers gave patients hope and the will to fight on their own against what ailed them and at worst made death even more terrifying as those who did not recover lived their final moments with the belief their gods had abandoned them.

Squaring his shoulders Bale started up the temple steps, sure to keep his candle firmly gripped. Though the monks would not say exactly what might happen if he dropped the tallow, they were very vocal in telling him not to make such a mistake.

Large wooden doors barred his way at the stairs' end, but a gentle push was enough to send them swinging open. That they did not creak was disconcerting, along with the fact that the hall beyond was brightly lit. After a moment, however, he relaxed – surely one of the monks was assigned to care for the temple and its shrine, and likely kept the hinges oiled and torches burning.

“Welcome, traveler,” a voice called out as Bale stepped across the threshold. “The servant of Ulsef greets you in friendship.”

“Thank you,” Bale said in return, unsure if there was a more formal reply – the monks had made no mention of such a servant.

“Come in, come in,” the voice went on as a thin man in crimson robes shuffled into the light. He was no monk – they all wore pale yellow draped in a far more elaborate fashion - and Bale took a moment to orient himself before stepping in any further. The temple was arranged sensibly enough, with a wide front entry, torch-lined main room and altar at the far end. Nothing out of the ordinary for the style of structure, at least.

“I'm -” Bale began, but the servant cut him off.

“Bale of Trimera. Yes. I've been expecting you.” There was an odd cadence to the man's words, a strange rhythm that Bale could not place.

“Have you?” He said with a heavy dose of skepticism. “I expect the monks let you know I was coming.”

“Not quite, not quite,” the man said, smiling. “My master, he was gracious enough to inform.”

Bale halted a few feet from the man and held out his tallow candle. “Do I give this to you, then?”

The man's eyes light up and a smile shot across his face, revealing a mouth devoid of any teeth – no wonder his speech was so strange.

“I'll take it, yes,” the servant stepped forward, hands extended, but Bale moved away quickly, sudden thought spurring action.

“What did you say your name was again, toothless old man? And who exactly is your master?”

The man snarled in response and lunged forward more quickly than Bale believed possible, smacking the candle from his grip. A shuddering wind tore through the temple, snuffing out torches and darkness gripped him, made worse by mocking laughter.

“We have come for you,” the old man hissed, “and we have come for your people.”

- D

Story #354 - Ringmaster

Ringmaster

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Ringmaster's voiced boomed out over the tent, “I am pleased to present, for your viewing pleasure...”

The rest of what was said vanished as Lem Tory slipped past one of the distracted security guards and into the warren of backrooms and practice areas. The circus had drawn crowds from across town – all the pretty girls were in attendance, sleazy boyfriends on their arms, and the local bully-boys who'd been hired by the circus couldn't help but stare; it made Lem's job a great deal easier.

He'd been coming to the circus since it opened a month ago, back when he was one of few in the crowd and the performances were not so polished. Even then he'd had suspicions but chalked it up to several novels he was reading – his active imagination had landed him in trouble more than once. But as he watched, as he learned, as he stared up from his seat at every show he became more convinced that something was not right at Jacob and Sons Circus, that something sinister went on behind drawn tent-flaps.

No one questioned him once he was past the thick curtain separating audience from performers, though a few shot curious glances his way. It was standard practice for a circus like Jacob's to pick up new talent in every town passed through, so Lem put on a confident smile and pretended as though he belonged.

“Excuse me,” a throaty voice said from the shadows and he stopped, then tried not to look startled as Alhembra, Queen of the Sword slithered out of the darkness. Taller than Lem by at least six inches and as buxom a woman as he'd ever seen, she was one of the show's biggest draws. That he act involved not only sword-swallowing but poison-coated sword-swallowing made it huge hit, to say nothing of the fact that men all over town were desperately in love with Alhembra herself. Lem wouldn't call what he felt love, exactly, but he certainly had an interest.

“Yes?” he tried to make the word sound nonchalant but succeeded in giving it a cast of irritation. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How can I help you, miss...?” Lem hoped that she'd get the idea he wasn't local, but there was always the chance Alhembra had seen him in the front row for weeks on end.

“Alhembra,” she said, gliding closer, “and I need a favor.”

“S-s-sure.” It was difficult to keep calm with her body only inches away and Lem felt his breath start to quicken. His plan had been to start with the trapeze artists – they were the strangest of the lot – but it was possible that the sword-swallower could shed some light on the show's oddities as well. “How can I help you?”

“Come with me,” Alhembra said, turning swiftly to glide away. It took all of Lem's willpower to move after her instead of stare at her swaying form, and even then his eyes refused to stay where they belonged.

“Where are we going?” He managed as they swept past other performers and road-hands, all focused on their tasks and with no eyes for a beautiful woman or the young man behind her.

“Right here,” she said, stopping at a thin wooden door. “My chambers. Please, come inside.”

Lem nodded, head swimming and extremities going numb. He had little luck with those of the female persuasion, but that didn't mean he had no desire.

As soon as the door shut behind him Alhembra spun on her heel, striking him across the face with an open-palmed slap.

“Ow!” He cried. “Why did you do that?” Fantasies came tumbling down around his ears. “What's wrong with you?”

“Quiet, Lem!” She said sharply, and Lem sucked in a quick breath.

“How do you know my name?” He tried to make his voice sound gruff and irritated.

“I asked around,” Alhembra said with a small laugh. “After I saw you front and center for three weeks. There was something about you, something around the eyes that said you weren't buying the act.” She paused. “You're looking for our little secret, I suppose?”

Lem nodded, and the sword-swallower went on. “Fine. But I don't give away information to just anyone. Tell me how my trick is really done and I'll tell you the truth.”

“It's simple,” he spoke quickly, before the words went right out of his head. Confrontation wasn't something he was good at, and combined with beauty Lem found it almost overwhelming. “The swords are real, and so's the poison, but you're dousing yourself with an antidote every night. More than likely you're using Darasin, which is effective but requires you have a substantial constitution to endure its side-effects, which explains your strong and -” he hesitated, “robust figure.”

Alhembra laughed again and bowed deeply, forcing Lem to look away. “Correct, young man! Now, have a seat.” She led the way to small, upholstered chairs around a wooden table.

“Tell me,” she said, sinking down onto a chair, “what do think it is that we hide from the townspeople? What is our great deception?”

“I don't know!” Lem's voice carried his frustration. “I thought at first you might be fugitives, but none of you come close to any of the most wanted descriptions. You're not deserters or radicals, and I've confirmed you weren't part of the uprising last year. I don't know what else is left!”

“Hmmm,” Alhembra murmured, “and what was it made us seem odd in the first place, what did you notice?”

“It was...” Lem paused to think. “The acrobats. Some of what they were doing seemed impossible, even for trained professionals. There were several movements that should have injured if not outright killed them, but they went on as if nothing had happened.” He gasped, a sudden insight crashing into him. “Are they robots? Is that it?”

The sword-swallower laughed deeply, hands coming up to cover her face as she snorted in amusement. When she lowered them, Lem noticed a strange white marking on her jaw line, pale and dusty-looking.

“Is that...” he began, and she smiled sadly.

“Our curse is simple, Lem, but our malady profound. We've died a thousand times, bodies broken and useless, but are always raised again to perform. Our Ringmaster is far more than he appears.”

There was a sound at the door, a commotion beyond and Alhembra's eyes went wide. “Hide!” she said. “Quickly! They are coming!”

- D