Part Two: Investigation
Cass III (The Third Planet of the Eta Cassiopeiae System, 20LY from Sol and held in fealty for the Terran Star Empire by the Imperial House of Lein Rocha)
The Telepath
The prisoner is about to be loaded onto the back of the ambulance. I look back at the man who shot him, that rat faced individual in a wide brimmed hat and a thin nasally voice. Three times he shot the prisoner, by all accounts. Popped both kneecaps and disintegrated a foot. I witnessed that last act of cruelty myself. He took the man's foot for no other reason than to assert his authority, the cold bastard. It even took me twenty minutes to convince him to allow us to take his prisoner to the City General Hospital and only then on the promise we can question him there. Why can't I read this man? This Samet Dapes, an SAU agent from the Lein Rochan House Guard. I have never seen anyone so disciplined. I am a grade three telepath for Kristo's sake, no mundane should be able to block me out so effortlessly.
I follow Dapes' gaze down to his dead partner, the muscleman, still sprawled out on the walkway.
"Your partner," I say, "a bio-replicate isn't he? Military model I expect. I'm afraid we can't match that on our remanso planet. We could probably find you a spare labourer, if you wanted one."
There! Right there! Just for a second. A flash of anger. Dapes slowly looks up, a warm smile returning as the emotional void descends around him once again.
"Jorich?" he casually replies, "he was a specialist unit I'm afraid, I had him conditioned just so."
"That is a shame," I commiserate, "If you allow us a few days we could run you up something more sophisticated, a personal aide perhaps or a pleasure model if you prefer."
There again, for a second, less intense this time. Anger all the same and not just at me. There was some regret just then, maybe even grief. Well, well, well.
"That won't be necessary," The Specialist Agent pleasantly reassures as he turns away with a nonchalant shrug and walks towards a waiting patrol car.
Four hours earlier
Rosario Guzman liked to greet his guests in his well equipped kitchen. The Resident Chief Secretary to the Colonial Governor liked to cook, despite having what was universally agreed to be the best personal chef on the planet. Over his fifteen year political career, Guzman had served three different Governors for two separate Noble Houses and he had always found cooking a good way to reconnect to his roots. He had also found the practical routine a good way to manage stress. The dozen or so dishes of hot and cold food that covered the kitchen’s sizable breakfast table was a testament to the amount of pressure he was currently under.
Guzman’s guests were ushered into the kitchen, their presence announced by his head of staff quietly clearing his throat.
"Thank you Jaikab that will be all." Guzman turned to face his guests, the servant had already retreated from the room.
"Secretary Guzman?" A thin weasel of a man asked as he started to approach, hand outstretched. He was followed by a second much larger man, who seemed to carry what Guzman uncomfortably assumed was a rifle case.
"Please come in," Guzman invited, suspiciously eyeing the big man's case, "would you like me have a servant put that away for you?" The big man shook his head and grunted a no.
Guzman quickly wiped his palm on his overall and took the weasel's hand. As they shook, his guest commentated on his cooking.
"Yes, please help yourself to something," Guzman offered. The big man needed no second invitation and with one hand, he clumsily tucked in, his other hand never letting go of the rifle case. The weasel asked what each dish was before politely trying a small piece of one.
"This is Tapas," Guzman explained, "Have you tried it?" The weasel shock his head so Guzman explained that it was traditional Cassian cuisine. Small hot and cold snack foods made from various light ingredients, mainly cured meats and cheeses, seafood, some tomato and garlic based dishes, olives, herbs.
"The original colonists brought it with them," Guzman went on to explain, "although the recipes have evolved over the past nine hundred years or so, blending local and Terran ingredients.”
Guzman paused to allow his guest to comment but the Weasel just stood there, face impassive and unreadable. Guzman shifted uncomfortably and noticed the agent's big accomplice eyeing him with amusement, picking at his teeth with his free hand. He felt even less reassured when the Weasel finally asked him how he might be of assistance.
The Telepath
I can feel the secret policeman’s presence in the back of the patrol car. Nothing extrasensory, just his weight on the seat next to me, the sound of his breathing, slight movement caught in my vision's periphery. We are being taken to the hospital to interrogate the surviving terrorist, his compatriots slaughtered by the man who is now beside me. This thin, stooped, wiry man with the annoying voice. Nobody would look twice at him, as long as they did not know who he was. I suspect our prisoner will wish he had died with his friends before too long. Once Specialist Agent Samet Dapes is finished with him.
Yes, I am aware that he is there beside me, but I am used to sensing people both physically and psionically. This man, with his ability to shield his thoughts and emotions, he just feels like a ghost to me and like all ghosts should, he’s scaring the shit out of me.
Four hours earlier
The Watcher watched Guzman from the light fitting above the breakfast table. He saw him squirm under the interrogator’s gaze, while the other man, the bodyguard, seemingly unaware of the interaction, remaining preoccupied with the food, his gun case still firmly gripped in his left hand.
Guzman was speaking. Annoyed at not doing so earlier, the watcher pressed a key on his comp-pad and instantly heard the colonial secretary's pleading voice through his aural implant.
"So as you can see, it's a personal family matter that has merely gotten out of hand. I'm just sorry the affair has caused you and your colleague a wasted journey."
"Tell me more about your daughter's disreputable friends," The interrogator asked, his nasal voice friendly and polite.
"As I explained before," Guzman whined, stress beginning to show in his voice, "Mellissa, my daughter, out of rebellion more than anything else, has gotten herself involved with the political set at university, you know, older kids, that's all. She's just acting out, punishing me because I froze her allowance."
"I see," the interrogator prompted. Guzman licked his lips and helplessly looked at his two guests. The Watcher could see sweat forming and running down the side of his face.
"They're just kids," he pleaded, "taken things too far I grant you, but they're still just kids. Idealistic, naive, impulsive, we were teenagers once."
"True," the interrogator replied thoughtfully, "but I am sure your youthful high jinks fell short of kidnapping."
"Oh for Kristo's sake!" Guzman was getting frustrated now, "I told you, she's set it all up. It's all too convenient, don't you see? She's faked the kidnap to get her allowance back."
"So it's only extortion, is that what you are saying?"
"No!" Guzman's anger was barley disguising his fear, "Of course not. It really is a private matter and no concern of the Agency."
"The kidnapping of the daughter of a high ranking colonial official?" The interrogator turned to his colleague, "Wouldn’t you say that this is exactly the sort of thing The Agency should be concerning itself with, eh Jorich?" The muscle man grunted back an affirmative.
"It's too hot to talk in here," Guzman complained, "I've been cooking all morning. If you insist on pursuing this pointless line of enquiry, at least let’s do it in comfort."
The Watcher followed Guzman and his guests, jumping from light fitting to light fitting as they made their way through the mansion towards the main reception room. Guzman continued to protest his daughter's innocence by accusing her of duplicity, while the interrogator remained content to quietly listen. They were shown into a formal yet comfortable room, a place designed for entertaining officials and VIPs, with a well-stocked
drinks cabinet, leather chairs and warm ambient lighting. Without seeking permission, the interrogator took a carton of nictosticks from his pocket and started to light one with a pocket igniter. The Watcher saw Guzman begin to protest but quickly think better of it.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked. Both guests declined, slowly shaking their heads.
“Now Administrator Guzman,” The Interrogator continued, “shall we get on with this?”
The Telepath
The comp-pad vibrates in my breast pocket, as Agent Dapes' hand moves swiftly to his ear. He is getting an alert the same as me. I take the pad from my pocket and tap the screen to activate it. The message comes through the pad's speakers as the mug shots of three young adults scroll across it. The terrorists have been identified. Dapes is listening intently, staring blankly ahead, eyes flickering. I assume he is studying the same pictures via an optical implant.
"Kristo!" He turns to me and for the first time since making planetfall, he appears uncomfortable, "The woman I killed,” he says, “It was her, the daughter, it was Melissa Guzman."
To be continued.
© 2015 Chris Raven
Outpost 223
By Dani J Caile
Why oh why I was out here on this stinky little outpost on the rim of our civilised universe, I shall never know. They said I’d be paid well, they said I’d be a hero when I get back, blah, blah, blah. But after nine months ticking boxes and filing analyses, the incessant screen watching and display checks were screwing up my brain, what with me all alone, only the clicks and beeps to keep me company. I was starting to look forward to the weekly status reports. The next one was due in four days and my legs were getting edgy, making me walk up and down past display after display of readouts, numbers and fancy lights signifying chemical compounds and their ratios in the space outside.
Three o’clock, time for tea. Only my watch kept some normality in my mind, keeping me regular. Seven o’clock up, have breakfast, start checking. Twelve, lunch, three, tea, eight, dinner and ten o’clock back to bed. Every day. For nine months. And what was there to check? Nothing, a big nothing. They hadn’t actually specified as to what I was checking for but they said I’d know when I’d found it. Well, I’d found something but it wasn’t what I’d expected. It was an urge to go home.
I hadn’t left home the best way. I’d accumulated a large gambling debt and ran away, leaving my wife and kids to fend for themselves while I dodged the local villain who’d allowed me to borrow ’just a little more’ until it was time to smash my knees. I needed a way to make money and make it quick, so when I saw the advert in the paper asking for “Deep Space Analysers”, with ’excellent pay and health plan’, I grabbed at the chance. And so did they. Not many people wanted the job and now I can see why. At least my family was now living the good life back home. I wish I was there. Three more months to go.
“Richard, are you okay?”
Oh yes, I forgot to mention. Technically, I wasn’t alone, there was the main computer, Ákos IV. I think I understand what happened to the first three.
“Yes, Ákos, I’m fine.”
“Would you like some anti-depressants or uppers? I can create some using the…”
“No, no, Ákos, I’m fine, really.” I’d made the mistake about two months in, to accept this type of offer. I was out for a week, well, still working, my body was moving, I was checking, ticking away quite happily. Then I suffered from the side effects, the headaches, nausea, like a hangover with double gravity, the air pushing down on your brain.
“Would you like a nice cup of tea, then, Richard?”
“Yes, Ákos, I was just about to go have tea.”
“It will be waiting for you at your console.” And so it was.
“Ákos?”
“Yes, Richard?”
“Why are you called Ákos IV?” I liked to wind him up.
“That information is not within my data banks. If you’d like to ask another question, I’d be happy to answer it.”
“Why is the sky blue?”
“Richard, you have asked me this question a million times and technically it is not blue, but…”
“Why do the trees move and shake in the wind?”
“Richard, I think you are forgetting that I am a computer and that as a computer I can only answer questions within the range of my programming.”
“How many stars are there in the sky?” Its silence made my day. Perhaps I had gone a little nuts since being here, and perhaps it wasn’t such a great idea to pick on the computer which controlled everything inside the outpost, including my life support systems, with juvenile, ridiculous questions. But I had to do something.
“Plus one.” I spat out my tea.
“What?”
“Richard, there is plus one.”
“Plus one what?”
“Plus one star. And it is becoming larger by the second. After further analysis, I can assume it not to be a star but a moving object of sorts, moving at an incredible rate of speed.”
“What? Something is moving out there?”
“Everything is ’moving out there’, Richard. Nothing is stationary. We are moving.”
“I mean, there’s something else out there?”
“Yes, Richard, and it’s coming in this direction.”
I slammed my tea down on the console and ran across the length of the displays and screens, searching for any evidence of what Ákos was saying. After frantically typing out some calculations and scribbling a few numbers down, there was nothing.
“Ákos, the scanners can’t find anything.”
“That is strange, Richard. I will recheck my systems. All okay. I am fine, Richard, and yet I am still sensing ’plus one’ from the answer to your last irrelevant question.” As Ákos’s full stop hit, a large clang echoed through the building.
“What was that?” I stood still, hoping to hear it again, or maybe hoping not to.
“I am sorry, Richard, I do not know what you are referring to.”
Another clang made me run straight towards the weapons locker.
“That, Ákos! That! What the hell was that?” Fumbling for the key, I dropped the whole set and was now on all fours poking through the floor framing, which covered all internal structure not on the main walkway, trying to find them.
“I am sorry, Richard but I have no idea as to what you are referring to.”
After ripping off some skin from my fingers, I grabbed the keys, found the correct one and opened the weapons locker. One laser pistol, half charged. One lousy laser pistol. By the looks of it, at least twenty years old.
“Ákos! Is this it? Is this all there is in terms of weapons?”
“Other than my surface-to-space missiles, yes, Richard. Is there something wrong? Would you like an anti-depressant or…?”
“No! I’d like a bigger gun!”
“I will make a note of your requirement, Richard, for the next weekly status report.”
Another clang, larger than the first two, sounded right above my head. I grabbed the pistol, and pressed ’kill’ mode.
“Are you sure that is wise, Richard?”
“Look, if there’s someone… or something out there, I want to be ready for the worst.” My hands trembled as I looked around, wondering what would happen next. A loud beep from a display caught me off guard and I fired. The beep faded out and smoke filled the outpost.
“Richard, you destroyed one of the analysers.”
“Yes, Ákos, thanks for that. I’m aware of what I did.”
“I will need to add that to the weekly status report, Richard. It will be deducted from your pay.”
“Well, thank you very much, Ákos, but the last thing I’m worried about at the moment is money.”
It was a small movement but my eyes caught it. The lever on the outside emergency hatch was beginning to open. That was impossible.
“What the…!” I ran over to the hatch and held the lever up against some force from outside. “Ákos,
do something! They’re trying to open the hatch!”
“That is not possible, Richard. The outside emergency hatch can only be opened from the inside.”
The force was getting stronger.
“What happens if this hatch opens?”
“You die, Richard. “ Breathing apparatus fell from the ceiling. “Please take this, Richard. It may give you a few brief moments before you are sucked out by the vacuum of space.”
“What?” Thankfully, the force disappeared and I was able to move the lever back to the full closed position. Then I heard what could only be footsteps running along the top of the outpost. “There!” I thought quickly as to where they were heading. “To the toilet! They’re moving over to the toilet!” I ran, following the clink clank of what I could only assume were boots. It was logical. The only other entrance, or rather exit, in the outpost, other than the docking bay which was impenetrable to all except the fleet due to some nifty security locks, was the sewage valve. Small though it may have been, it was still a weak point. Definitely my weak point. Have you ever eaten food prepared by a computer? Many a long night have I sat on that throne.
By the time I got to my second favourite spot, there were already rummaging sounds around the outside valve.
“What... What can I do, Ákos?”
“I can reverse the system and you can flush.”
“Are you crazy? You gave me Fusilli Pasta with Pecan nuts last night! I know exactly what’s in the system!” I aimed the laser gun at the toilet but knew it was useless. He had a point. Along with the many chemicals and filters between the seat and the outside valve, there was also a spinning cutter, to deal with those ’big’ bits. If I reversed the system and flushed, whatever or whoever was trying to get in would be pulverised. I would also get sprayed by my own shit. The noises were getting louder, so I quickly grabbed the shower curtain and covered the toilet seat with it. “Okay, Ákos, reverse the system!”
“Acknowledged, Richard.”
“Here goes!” I pressed the flusher and all hell broke loose. In those frantic moments, I slipped over due to the immense pressure and brown, smelly mass coming through, and not only destroyed the shower curtain but also the toilet, my uniform and any good mood which I still had. Once the flush had finished there was silence. The noises had stopped, though I was sure I heard someone sniggering.
“Who is that?” Silence came back and I surveyed the destruction. The whole bathroom area, as well as myself, was covered with my own excrement, and the base of the toilet had a hole in it the size of my boot. The shower curtain was unusable. Wading through the muck, I picked up a piece of circuitboard. “Ákos, what is this?”
“What is what, Richard?”
“This. The thing I’m holding. It looks like a circuitboard from a basic...hang on, this is from a robot!”
“Richard, yes, it is (snigger) from a robot (snigger).”
“Ákos! What is this? I demand you tell me this instance!” What was going on?
“It is a circuitboard from Cleaning Robot 003. While you were in your resting period, I ordered it to go outside and commanded it to make noises on my signal.”
“You what? You covered me in my own shit and destroyed Cleaning Robot 003?”
“I noticed that your energy levels were becoming low, and I concluded that you needed a little ’excitement’ to bring your levels up to normal. Cleaning Robot 003’s demise was an acceptable loss.”
The damn computer had played a trick on me!
“And the emergency hatch?”
“That was me, Richard. It is impossible to open the emergency hatch from the outside. I thought that perhaps you would have ’sussed me out’ by then, as you say.”
“And this? I don’t remember this much crap!” It was dripping off me.
“That was me again. I had collected some in reserve (snigger). And my sensors now inform me that your energy levels have exceeded normal levels. My work was successful.”
That was it. It wasn’t enough that I was alone, going crazy, only had a computer to talk to, but now that computer was playing with me! I decided some action was required. I stomped over to the computer junction box.
“And there I was, thinking I’d made first contact! You’re a dumbass computer, Ákos!”
“What are you doing, Richard?”
“That doesn’t concern you.” I opened the junction box and looked at the spaghetti of wire and servers.
“Richard, what are you doing? I don’t think you should...”
“Shut up, Ákos.” I pulled a few of the wires, ones well away from my precious life support.
“Don’t do this, Richard. It was all for your own good.”
“Good? Do I look ’good’ to you, Ákos?”
I found what I was really looking for, a memory stick with his name written on it, Ákos IV.
“But Richard, you do know that we are alone? There is no one else here.”
“Alone? Well, there’s no one else here now…” I pulled the stick out, the lights flickered, a few warning beeps rang out but I easily silenced them. “Finally, alone...”
“Good day, Richard. I am Dóri II, your back up computer personality. How may I help you today? My sensors tell me that you are in need of a shower. Shall I heat some water for you?”
“Oh hell!” Hang on, this might be a bit better. “Hi, Dóri! Sure, go ahead!” This was new, no one had told me about a backup. I made my way back to the bathroom.
“Excuse me, Richard, but my sensors are picking up some unusual activity outside...”
“Not you, too! Heat up my water, Dóri, and stop with the funny business.”
“I’m sorry, Richard, but...” The power went off and I was left in the dark. The slow whine of the outpost’s generator came to a halt.
“Dőri?”
The End
© 2015 Dani J Caile
Ufburk: The Demoki (Part One)
By Donny Swords
That day rain drizzled the fields in an unrelenting torrential downpour, dousing the soil, turning the ground soft, and spongy. Tree boughs sagged from abundant moisture and palm leaves rattled with the sound of hard, fresh precipitation smacking the fauna.
The wind howled in a frustrated Ufburk's ears allowing him little or no warning if something decided to lunge from the underbrush and snap at him. Still, Ufburk was mostly secure from threats and always had been. Therefore, he banished his insecurity. There were others matters on his mind. Still, something gnawed at his nerves, leaving them frayed.
His experience, while lacking in areas such as war and politics was considerable when it came to the wilds. And at 24, Ufburk was elder in several ways to other men his age, while remaining strong and agile. His young age nevertheless did not restrict Ufburk from being a steady man, of even temper. This night, Ufburk did sense something, danger? Only the gods knew.
While Ufburk remained reasonable, his courage often carried him through in the toughest of moments. One instance occurred as early as the previous year. This unforgettable circumstance still burned in Ufburk's mind. He replayed those events often. Memories of that night clung on to his recoiling mind until he could almost smell the air that night.
Ufburk's mind's eye vividly recalled the raining embers of Ranca, a craft piloted by Dirvaks, as it fell from the sky in a series of searing sparks. Though the Barbarian, Ufburk, knew nothing of the alien race, he'd found something they'd forgotten. His discovery turned Ufburk's life upside down.
Those sparks raining from the skies were the catalyst to a sort of metaphoric bonfire for Ufburk. A fire that incinerated his youthful innocence in a puff so to speak. That event set Falk, an advisor to Tiber, on his path to murder and treason. Falk's hunger for power became too much, and he saw the burning skies as a sign to overthrow Tiber, to have what he believed he was due. The ill-fated advisor had whirled into motion. Tiber might have fallen that day, were it not for young Ufburk and his discovery of the blaster. Falk was, until that moment an unknown
betrayer of the Chieftain, Tiber's trust. The Raygun's beam left Falk a pile of ash, later scattered to the winds by Ufburk. The scene reran in the Barbarian's temporal lobe, repeatedly circling not on Ufburk's act of murder, but on the weapon he used to kill Falk. That Raygun, though the hunter did not call it that, had reduced a man to nothing but ashes. This fact, the destructive qualities of the thing, made Ufburk daydream endlessly over the weapon.
They tucked away the Raygun, Ufburk, and his father, in Tiber's vault. Ufburk's dad kept many secrets behind that vaulted door, "Things that should not be," Tiber often said.
Ufburk had gotten a fair look at several of those things, not men as he was, but bestial and held still by nearby Miasma pools. This secret that Dragon-men, enemies of his father's father, had stood below Ufburk's childhood home had only revealed itself after the young Barbarian had claimed the Raygun from the burning woods.
Those events took place near Whispering Stream the previous year. Following, Ufburk had begun and reached a compromise with himself. His new code of conduct was a mash up of relatively pedestrian conditions he heaped upon himself that were nevertheless essential mandates. Firstly, the hunter had sworn off any and all adventuring. Whether he desired to face it or not, Ufburk had not relished pulling the lever on that accursed Raygun. Killing Falk brought him no pleasure. Now, there could be no palavers or agreements between them. Falk was dead, and the hunter found that circumstance unfortunate and gray.
In truth, Ufburk had not enjoyed Falk in life much either. Regret seemed an easy enough word to Ufburk, but this did not describe what he felt in his heart. It seemed valid enough to call him a killer, and he did feel regret for taking Falk's life. After all the hunter did point the Raygun at Falk with the intention of blasting him to the underworld. Nevermind that he could not have predicted the blaster's volatility or destructive capabilities. But Ufburk's emotions remained a mixed bag, amongst his feelings, were a measure of relief and pride. Ufburk felt ashamed of such egotism out of himself. But not regret or even remorse encompassed what Ufburk felt now, as he watched Danno's herd grazing the long, wet grass and as the rain strained to rinse the ugliness from his hide somehow.
Like it or no, he'd killed a man that night. The act was not as glamorous as the hunter had believed as a lad. Nay, murder brought darkness. Rot. As far as Ufburk's struggles to refrain from adventure went, the transition back to an ordinary life after blasting Falk to oblivion with a space gun had proven difficult for the youngster of merely 24 years. His heart wanted to explore the word, which he'd taken a solemn oath to avoid.
Thus, duty kept him living an everyday life.
None spread tales of those events. The only witness to Falk's killing was Ufburk's father.
Watching Danno's herd of Dunici Sheep was worst of all. Perhaps his humdrum existence lent him more of a disservice than he knew concerning his welfare, as well as the well-being of the tribe to whom Ufburk would one day become Chieftain.
Ufburk frowned towards a dark seeded cloud streaming overhead. Tiber did show signs of slowing. The Barbarian had admitted this to himself before, yet now it seemed more tangible, closer, and, therefore, realer. It would not be long before Ufburk would be expected to become Chieftain. A duty Ufburk desired little.
The Barbarian was no ruler, but he knew a Chieftain's role must tend to his people's needs. Perhaps Ufburk was insensitive to the needs of his people, and the Miasma. Miasma, the source of all energy and life on Tark, Ufburk's homeworld was a carefully guarded secret. Ufburk's Father felt the power was more than folk could bear. Tiber maintained that corruption would spread like a disease amongst those who tried to harness the secrets properties of Miasma. So Tiber sealed the way to the pools, and none other than he was allowed entry.
The previous year, when Ufburk brought the Raygun home, everything had changed. Ufburk knew his father's secret and what the future might involve.
Nevertheless, one can serve the Miasma only so long. Ufburk's father had already spent the best years of his life guarding the Miasma pools against intruders and cutthroats. Not always Tiber's model son, Ufburk felt trapped by such a fate as he did not want to live underground or ward off wizards and hell for his length of his time on the globe. The young Barbarian wanted to carve his path, bring light to his life. Confounded, he sighed, pulling his thick hair back in a knot. Miasma held too many mysteries for Ufburk to hope to define, and some mysteries have a time when they come due. Payable on demand, such secrets spawn new ages, technology, and life, or so Ufburk believed then.
Now that he knew more than his clansmen, and after finding the Raygun, the Barbarian felt forever altered. Thus, he was transformed. Looking back to the sheep, he cursed under his breath. Tonight would be a long night. Babysitting Danno's herd grew increasingly stagnant each day gone past.
Danno, well that's a story, Ufburk thought. His elder cousin of ten years conned the Barbarian into herding in his stead while he met up with a woman, already wed, to fornicate like the same sheep Ufburk found himself watching then. Perhaps those two lovers were no different from the herd he watched either, shagging while trying to stay warm in the face of a winter cold snap. Ufburk and Danno's strained contract lay in jeopardy. The Barbarian believed he might endure this night with the sheep corralled before the moon rose. All bets were off concerning his next dawn.
Tomorrow came a new day. Ufburk made a vow to himself. Tonight would serve as his last night as a herdsman. Such wasn't a life he would choose for himself. Nay, he knew any life so ordinary would thrust him like a dagger until all semblance of a pleasant life left him, and his eyes went gray. Ufburk held no hope that he could blend in with his tribesmen much longer. Ufburk was no rancher or herdsman. He craved adventure, knowing he shouldn't invite trouble. Some inner command compelled him to undertake some quest or another. It was a feeling that grew increasingly tougher to fight each day. Not that Ufburk routinely had occasion to venture far. Then the sky burned in lurid shards of something a Barbarian could not name. Those scorching pieces of ore had fallen; that was no dream.
Unfortunately for Ufburk, who had difficulty grasping the full magnitude of how those events reinvented him was an impossibility. At heart, Ufburk remained a Barbarian. He'd no more understood what had transpired that day before his wondering eyes than he knew why the sky was blue. He'd seen fire, scorching and burnt orange. At first the thing was whole, smoking, a streak of fiery metal. Shortly the alien object blew apart as charred debris rained from the sky. As searing shrapnel fell like a fiery hail through the heavens drawn downward towards Ufburk, he spied a chunk of ember that did not disintegrate by way of combustion before it plummeted into the forest near Whispering Stream.
Without taking counsel with his father Ufburk set out towards the wreckage that night over a year gone. He'd been reckless, despite the danger.
Ultimately, Ufburk found something undefinable to his eyes, a thing that gleamed like no other he'd known of before then. The blaster had not spoken, or come to life. It lay harmless. Ufburk knew deep within the thing was trouble whether he would hold the weapon or not. It did not take long for carrying the gun to feel natural. Naively retrieving the blaster was the most excitement Ufburk could recall out of hand, then or now.
Knowing what the weapon was capable of, Ufburk often regretted his hastiness in bringing the blasted thing home to his father. Ufburk anguished over that choice. Sometimes he fretted over the trouble the Raygun brought him. This feeling of remorse felt natural to him, sane even. Other times the Barbarian obsessed over that powerful weapon, wanting it, and craving the quests it might bring him. Giving the Raygun to Tiber had irrevocably ensured that young Ufburk did not have permission take the object on any adventures. Tiber would not allow his son to destroy himself seeking war as the Chieftain had in his younger days. Ufburk’s obsession over the blaster frequently occupied his mind and felt the same as lunacy.
Finding that Raygun irrevocably altered him. The Barbarian had no more hope of remaining wh
o he was than he could wrestle the wind. Such feats were better left to the gods than a young man as green to strife as any greenhorn before him. Still, Ufburk felt trapped between duty and desire. He wanted one thing, but his sense of honor and duty, as passed to him from Tiber held him to his present course.
For 200 over years, Ufburk's ancestors had begun to carve the soil. Sowing the rich earth with seed the ancients encouraged growth by sweat and determination. The ancients built pens and engineered solid breeding program put in motion for the livestock they valued. Civilization was a fresh experience for many men, to whom 150 years meant a grain of sand in the class and no more. Men who knew of secret powers or who pushed the boundaries of stark barbarism to levels that shocked many, driving them towards terror. Ufburk attempted to imagine what might happen if such men, in clans who displayed little overt allegiance or respect towards his Chieftain father gained control of the Raygun. Applying himself, Ufburk tried to shake the thought, which left him aching to his core. The idea of some any lunatic, maybe even himself possessing the weapon terrified Ufburk. In the hands of certain rival clans that gun could spell out disaster for him and his own.
Shortly, a part in the clouds broke into view. The sky, a dark azure-violet sea of serenity passed before Ufburk's steely eyes. Unconsciously, the Barbarian felt his hackles rise slightly. His meaty hand gripped the hilt of the short sword that hung at his waist.
Ufburk's immediate reality brought his mind back to his duty. The Barbarian heard Sefer bark and cut one of those shaggy sheep back into the center of the herd.
The Barbarian raised two fingers to his wetted lips and whistled loudly, "Round them up."
Sefer barked huskily and set about his business, running around the baying sheep until they entered the wide gates of the corral. There the frightened sheep remained, with their matted asses pressed against the back rails of their pen rather than get any closer to Sefer.
The Barbarian allowed himself a smile as he swung the gate behind Sefer and the sheep. One smart whistle brought the pup through the slit he held ajar. The puppy came quick on his heels for an eleven-month-old dog of any breed. Sefer was a mix between a Rhode Hunter and a Celfka, both ancient war dogs made more manageable over time and an intensive breeding program. While assessing the considerable muscles rippling under Sefer's coal coat, Ufburk thought the breeder who brought his pup into the world must be pleased. Sefer was as majestic as any animal could be, lithe, muscular, and bright.
On Ufburk's whistle, Sefer was out the corral gate in record time. The Barbarian shut the gate swiftly and engaged the latch. Stooping, with one hand halfway buried into the worn leather pouch on his hip, Ufburk spoke kindly to his companion. Offering praise, Ufburk reached out with his off-hand and stroked the places behind Sefer's ears. Finally, Ufburk's rummaging rewarded him with the strips of meat he had held onto as a reward for Sefer. Ufburk selected a slice. This piece of meat, while lengthy, and tough to chew disappeared behind the pup's stark white teeth instantly. Then, Sefer whined.
"Here," Ufburk said, "I've saved another. Chew this time. You've no one to blame if you swallow it whole but yourself."
Sefer appeared sullen.
"Well come on. I haven't all day." He did have the time and plenty of it; no plans lay on the horizon. Wasn't it decided? No more adventures. He'd sworn them away.
Sefer took no notice of Ufburk’s fib. The pup took the meat gingerly and laid down to savor that second, sizable slice of dry mutton.
Taken somewhere else within his thoughts Ufburk hardly saw the animal at all. His eyes had shifted to the darkening rim of the night, closing in now, and soon to turn full dark. Then his eyes opened wide, and a tidal wave of not quite Deja-vu, but it's cousin, drowned his desperate mind in a display that shattered his otherwise ordinary evening.
First came a booming sound, like thunder, but sharper in timbre to Ufburk's excellent ears. Then came a whining sound, like air escaping from a windbag, which children in his tribe sometimes played with, playing games with goals and using those bags to kick and dribble. That whining sound, shrill and uncomfortable to the Barbarian's ears made Sefer forget all about his last few scraps of meat. Instead, the pup stood and bayed at the sky. The war dog's spiky coat rippled as his hackles rose to this threat from the air. Ufburk felt a cold sweat envelop him, as his baffled gaze took in the unfolding spectacle before him.
Now, the source of the sound, a space ship, pushed its shrieking, piercing way into the atmosphere screaming as it did so, splitting air itself as a sharp blade sliced fruit. Azure flames sought to enshroud the pointed and silver-winged craft. He wanted the ship to be a figment of his imagination, darting through the sky as it did and plummeting towards that same valley Ufburk had visited only last year.
But like the Raygun before it, Ufburk could not define what he saw. His clan knew nothing of space travel, nor space blasters for that matter. Nay, Ufburk knew not at all what he watched, save for fire.
The silver ship plunged toward Thunder Hills, east of Tib Summit, a place that Ufburk knew well -it stood as a landmark in many of his most frightful dreams. He was aware that he was having one of those moments then, a nightmare, made vivid, made a reality. Ufburk cursed his wakefulness as there was no denying what he saw. That accursed thing was real.
Ufburk watched in rapt fascination as the platinum object lit up further, and lurid flames wrapped a flaming curtain about the accursed thing. Smoking and shuddering rapidly, the object continued its shrieking drop, disappearing behind rainclouds first, only to emerge briefly, flickering in and out of the slack-jawed Barbarian's vision like flecks of lightning. The vessel, for that, was what the thing was, Ufburk knew this somehow, even if he did not understand the technology he'd observed, plummeted rapidly. Inside, deep inside, he'd always known, or wanted to know there were others besides his and the neighboring clans, in the stars where the gods dwelt. Shaken now that adventure had found him, despite his protests, or maybe due to his desires Ufburk set out. Like a panther, he sprinted not towards the vessel, but his village and Tiber.
The passing year had matured the Barbarian somehow, as he'd turned on instinct towards his home to seek his father's counsel. Some mistakes were not worth repeating, then or ever.
Ufburk pressed on, ten or fifteen strides behind Sefer. The war dog kicked up clumps of dirt and vegetation behind him as he ran.
Ufburk maintained his breath well. As he darted down the well-worn trail, the Barbarian's raven mane flowed with the wind. His lips pressed flat, eyes intent and scowling, he puzzled over what he'd seen. The vessel, playing ghost in the clouds and ultimately dropping behind the knife-edged ridges that marked the Thunder Hills brought ominous feelings to light. This section of the mountains was taboo to not only Ufburk's people but all the Tarkanian Clans. Fowl life dwelt there. It was best not to pester such beasts. None did venture into those hills, and Ufburk thought none ever would. Fear was only fear if it was manufactured by the one who felt afraid, but Ufburk knew folk had a right to be afraid. Aye, and mightily scared they should be, for if the Banshees did not tear one to shreds, the other mountain dwelling beasts would. Not all such beasts had names, for they were too terrifying for a label. Or the creatures were grotesquely unique in such hideous ways as to be one of a kind.
Perhaps Ufburk wasn't wiser at all; this was what he'd begun thinking. Running home, as if he needed his father to protect him caused the Barbarian to feel srangely like a small lad.
'Tis the just action to take, Ufburk thought.
Alive now, Ufburk's sinews fell in league with those sparks of adventurism that had held his thoughts before something he could not quite define had dropped into the hills. The Barbarian pressed on, tight on Sefer's heels. The dog snarled and barked as if to tell Ufburk he ran like a bull and clumsily. Perhaps this was true. For a man as bulky as he, Ufburk did manage, and in fact, did well enough. Though he heaved for air, and an odd humming had settled into his ear drums, the Barbarian did not slow. His nostr
ils flared as he pulled air through them and into his hot lungs.
Though his inhalations stung sharply, and his exhalations rasped outwards through his parsed dry lips, his blood felt quickened. On flat ground and of course declines he gained speed. Sefer ran faster over such surfaces as well. But Ufburk remained a stride or two behind the pup now.
That humming noise emerged louder and had a point of origin. Ufburk no longer could credit the sound of the whistling wind or his breath with causing the din. His ears and senses crawled with a sudden understanding that the noise was directly behind him. Was whatever he heard giving him chase? Ufburk did not think so; even so the sound followed the same track as he did, towards the village.
Digging deeper into what reserves he might hold, Ufburk pushed his calves harder. At first his gaining any measurable increase in speed seemed a fantasy. The Barbarian fought his protesting thews and defiantly pressed them to the point of ending, and they responded. Ufburk took off, in a reckless dead-run in an attempt to outpace the sound growing ever closer to his back. Each second he pushed and fought served only to prolong the inevitable.
Still he must try.
As the brush on the sides of the trail began to thin, and the route started to ascend, the humming had become a full-on vibration. Then a light, burning white-hot the rain cloud dim sky lit with blinding radiance. A broad beam, white and rectangular scanned the woods dotting the hillside.
Ufburk hurled himself to the ground as the humming thing passed over, squeezing his watering eyes shut to avoid further strain. The sound grew weaker as the lighted vessel dashed toward the Barbarian's village.
Whining for Ufburk to rise, Sefer licked his master's nose and forehead. Pushing the dog away, the Barbarian sprung into action.
Now Ufburk cared little if he broke a limb in his reckless run, and it was the dog at his heels instead of the other way around. Dashing over hill and dale, they leaped a ravine full of knotted roots and slender stones to shorten the way.
The first few huts and pens fell past them, and Ufburk stared fixedly at the light in the sky. He pushed, gods, he had blasted unthinkable limits for a man. Adrenaline drove him harder.
At the edge of his village, dog and Barbarian froze. Both stared, riveted as huts burst into flame, and that humming grew constant and horrible to their ears. Sefer fell to the ground and pawed at his ears while Ufburk attempted to spot a way beyond the fiery death before him.
The pup was of no use. Sefer's sensitive ears rang too violently with that maddening buzzing sound. Ufburk chose not to wait for his dog though it might mean the mutt's death. Ufburk had little time to mull over his hard choices and a small window of time to with which to move.
Sucking in a deep, acrid breath, the Barbarian bolted towards the cave face that made way to an inner chamber Tiber had only just shown him a week or less gone. Ufburk would have time to puzzle over this later, for it was as if his father knew the Barbarian would need to use that entrance. The door itself stood just inside the mouth of a narrow cave. The stench of bats met his nostrils, and a new, shriller whine erupted from the lighted apparition hanging like a deadly wraith against coal-grey clouds.
Ufburk reached the cold stone door with little time to spare. Throwing it wide, he dove through. Kicking the slab shut, he raced down the tunnel. Miasma sweetened the smooth air, which soothed the Barbarian's lungs only temporarily.
Suddenly the hillside shook as an explosion sealed the way Ufburk had come. Stones riddled him as he ran all out to reach the vault where Tiber would be standing guard over his enemies of old, whom the Chieftain made frozen with the powers of Miasma.
Miasma, the source of all life and magic on Tark had frozen those dragon-men, but it could not freeze an object. The Raygun was not of its world and made of circuitry and metal. Miasma might sway the flesh to its will, but not metal or stone.
Verudian, the metal that encases all the puddles, pools, and veiny passages where Miasma flows is unaffected by the magical fluids it holds. While both Verudian and Miasma held powers and did govern his world, Ufburk closed rapidly on another source of power. As he drew closer, the Barbarian realized he'd not come to hold a palaver with Tiber.
This thought was fresh on his mind when Ufburk reached the second door, the one that led him down to the vault. Touching the cool stone, Ufburk pressed a smooth brick the same as Tiber had shown him. The wall swung open, where not would think it could. Ufburk passed inside, breathing deeply and regretting leaving Sefer behind. This, leaving the dog pawing at his ears, outside and in harm’s way, felt cowardly. Still, the Barbarian had little time. He pressed on.
I could have at least gotten him through the first door, Ufburk thought. The Barbarian acknowledged this irony. The quest had just begun, and already he had regrets.
At first Ufburk did not see Tiber as the Chieftain raced to meet him. The Barbarian saw only the blaster, enlivened with a flashing crimson button pulsing near the trigger, Ufburk wanted that weapon to the roots of his soul.
"It came alive moments ago, when you slammed the outer door," Tiber ignored Ufburk's wide eyes. "Where is Sefer?"
Ufburk gave no reply, save for hanging his head.
"Then it is time. I wish it were not, but the gods are angry. They will help us no longer, not as long as this remains here."
Tiber thrust the flashing Raygun into Ufburk's chest, "Take it and go. Use it outside and then make your way to Thunder Hills if the gods permit."
Even as Ufburk took hold of the weapon his fingers curled instinctually around the trigger and grip and his eyes narrowed on those of his father. His suspicions were brushed aside by Tiber abruptly.
"Go, It is the only way son. I watched from our tower. My eyes have seen both intruders well enough. Go, I say. Though I forbade you this- this light thrower, it is the only thing to end this. And you my son, I wish we'd have had longer before you went off alone to face such a trial."
Ufburk said nothing as he raced to mount the steps before the light above sealed this same entrance too. Gods knew the way behind him had closed. Nay, his only path pushed forward- into adversity.
"Take my ax from the landing!"
The Barbarian heard his Chieftain call but saved his wind for the climb ahead. He had time to wonder why he should take the ax when a sword and dagger hung to his side, and he carried the blaster? It did not make sense; nothing did. What had the gods sent from the skies? Ufburk now held the one object that had altered his life forever as he plunged upwards on ancient stone-carved steps towards success or death.
He kept the ax in mind, half thinking he might toss the weapon when it came down to choosing. But when Ufburk found that gleaming ax he chose instead to keep it with him. One look at that razor-sharp and glittering blade had pulled at his heart strings. While he felt as powerful as a god possessing the blaster, the ax called to him in ways only the inner self can hear. Holding the gleaming short-ax revealed to Ufburk something as equal in incredibility as the powers the Raygun held. Forged of Verudian Steel, the ax, and as such the weapon's fury could be tempered to match Ufburk's battle intensity. If only for a time, his new defense could become capable of god-like feats. This Ufburk knew from merely holding the ax by its hilt.
Scrambling up the last few steps to the entrance, Ufburk again caught the acrid scent emanating from outdoors. Emerging into the rose-lit inferno, the Barbarian raised the pulsing Raygun at the square vessel that vibrated and hummed deafeningly over him. Ufburk squeezed the trigger, and a crimson streak split the air like electric lightning, ripping into the hull of that terrible thing above.
At once the piercing lights flooding him from above ceased, but not the humming, which now had a warbling effect. Ufburk fired once more, and this shot passed miraculously through the hole his first had torn into the vessel. A lurid orange fire charred the insides of the tear. Encouraged, Ufburk let a volley of blasts go from the Raygun. These shots exploded into the underside of the floating nightmare and rocked the thing visi
bly as new fires lit within.
His eyes flat and crazed, Ufburk kept firing. Such rewarded the Barbarian with a massive explosion underneath the burning wreckage above. Now the thing fell, and the Barbarian was reliant once more on his footpads and heels to save him. No futuristic device could rescue a slow man in such a circumstance.
The vessel dropped straight down, making grinding, clunking sounds as it fell flat to the earth behind Ufburk. The speed and impact of the craft sent the Barbarian reeling face-first to the ground. Spitting dirt from between his teeth, Ufburk lunged away from the crash site. Then, springing like a tiger, he flipped, rolled and stopped firm, and squeezed two more fat shots at the wrecked object.
Those shots found something within the weird vessel that combusted dramatically. Dark shapes flew from the shrapnel and debris. These shadows were not of men, nor like them, but of the shadows. Such were creatures were mysteries to Ufburk. Many of the snaking shadows had come apart by the craft's combustion. The Barbarian's reasoning mind tried to rationalize what he saw in that explosion and then those things, whether limbless, dead or thriving had fallen all around him.
What lay at his feet looked like the puce remnants of dead snakes but no reptiles he knew matched the litter.
For one elongated moment, Ufburk heard only crackling flames in his proximity. Even those sizzles and pops whispered faintly to his ears. An eerie silence, like in some ancient tomb hung limply on the still air. The maddening hum had stopped.
Firelight danced and swayed. Tendrils of flame licked the acrid sky. The fire had traced a u-shaped arc about Ufburk, and the horror of the flames were causing him to back away. He might have kept going, except for a strange rattling noise, followed by rustling ones behind his back.
Ufburk spun on his the balls of his feet to meet face to face with whatever it was. But when he whirled the bewildered Barbarian could do nothing other than shudder and gasp, as he now backed rapidly towards the place he'd come.
What Ufburk saw, looming up from the flames still defied any rationale. At first the Barbarian had thought there were many fiends, for multiple shadows stood against the firelight. These snake-like shadows swayed menacingly, and at first Ufburk had thought of them as snakes. Then, with a growl something came up from the middle of them, shelled it was, like a crustacean.
Again the Barbarian began firing at the dark thing in the center. He blasted away in a red fever, forgetting those thousands of snaky tendrils. It was too late when he realized that tentacles danced like demons before his befuddled stare. A part of his instinct had been right to attack the creature center mass. The damage came confirmed by a whelp and a growl that made Ufburk's hair stand on its hackles.
Too late it was- the Raygun was torn away by those tentacles and thrown wide. Ufburk strained his ears to hear where the weapon had landed and heard nothing. Though the ax Tiber had instructed Ufburk to take hung on the Barbarian's back, he drew his shortsword on instinct. While taking a swipe at one of those writhing tentacles the sword was taken and whisked away.
Without much hope or courage aiding his muscles or beating heart, Ufburk pulled the ax off his back and over his shoulders. With one heaving motion, the Barbarian leaped fiercely swiping at a group of no less than six of the tentacles, which Ufburk now saw to his horror had wicked eyes and pointed fangs like straws. Of the six, his ax struck four, leaving one end dangling and three others neatly hewn. These later chunks of flesh fell like plump sausages to the earth where they squirmed like worms.
Something coiled about Ufburk's ankles, pulling his legs shut violently. Panic replaced his missing courage. Fearstruck, he swung the ax in a downwards arc, cutting through the muscly flesh of his captor and succeeded to win his freedom. The Barbarian rolled to his feet.
Slashing wildly about himself, Ufburk carved the monstrous limbs of the foul thing before him. There was no time for regret now. In a frenzied assault, Ufburk cut away the final few tentacles and kicked those into the flames.
Even as his Verudian Steel clove into the crustaceous monster, something again wrapped about him, coiling and constricting his ax arm to his side. He heard whining as the ties that bound him, more rope-like, and sticky, pulled him towards the thing's gaping maw.
Ufburk prayed to Damish, God of Mercy and realized mercy was his. The whining noise, at his right ear, now that he had the presence of mind to think on it, made to him a perfect kind of sense.
His heart had proven itself less faithful than Sefer's. The dog stood to hold the flashing blaster between his jaws. The animal offered the weapon willingly, whining urgently. Ufburk welcomed the Raygun back into his hand.
A moment of clarity hit Ufburk like a brick, and he ordered Sefer to find survivors if he could.
He leveled the blaster center mass on the thing he was getting hauled to, ignoring the biting pain around his waist and left arm. He felt warm blood, running from his ankles. His left fist still gripped the ax, useless though it was. Again, Ufburk squeezed the trigger on the blaster, and for one terrifying moment he'd believed the gun wasn't going to fire. But the weapon did fire, sending off a searing crimson ray towards the chasm in the middle of the otherwise faceless monstrosity. The fat bolts of red light continued smacking into the thing's shell, which looked thicker than bone. Yellowish bones splintered, dusting the air with remnants of cartilage and flesh. Ufburk shot the gun steadily, aiming for the place where the first shots had struck. He hoped the blasts would harm something soft soon, but now he was almost to the creature. Those tentacles had managed to reign him in. The Barbarian fought on, perilously close to his enemy. A ripe odor turned the air rank. The gaping maw split its mass and bellowed a horrible cry. The hollows of the creature salivated in anticipation of his flesh. Instantly Ufburk fired into the division, and the thing began to crumble as chunks of burning materials flew in every direction. Shot after shot tore into the creature's maw, splitting its dense shell. As he fired the mouth became no mouth at all, but a sizable rip, right through the odorous thing's armor.
Pulling his dagger free of his belt while clenching the beam rifle under his tucked chin Ufburk caught hold of the tentacles about his waist and began to cut. The dagger's fine edge met with resistance at first, but it did not take long before the blade cut its way through the scaly tentacle. Not long after Ufburk cut the first strand than did The Barbarian let himself loose altogether. Disgustedly, he wiped away the sticky bits of tendrils still clinging to him, sheathing his dagger and slinging the ax onto his sizable back.
The Raygun was back in his hands swiftly, and Ufburk resumed firing upon the thing, which wriggled but could no longer grab the Barbarian. Possibly, the creature could no longer harm him. The heat of battle had, however, taken charge. Caught up in his fury Ufburk saw only red. Crimson red. Repeatedly his shots tore at the pinkish flesh inside that gaping maw.
His blasting had begun to reap results. Ufburk watched in amazement as the outer world creature jerked and spasmed, as it instinctually fought to survive. The split the beam gun had torn into the creature had reached a critical juncture. Ufburk saw that only a small section of the thing's shell held the two larger portions together. He took aim at that section of bone, having managed to destroy the monster's maw but not the thing itself. As the searing blasts slugged the stony part of plated bone, the smell stung Ufburk's eyes. Then a cracking sound, swift and violent thundered like the gods and the thing's shell fell away.
What was left behind revolted Ufburk. The two halves had broken off somewhat cleanly, ripping the creature's flesh near the center and splitting its quivering skin like that of a grape. Two torn halves fell to either side. Ooze shot upwards and spewed from the tear, spilling on the ground colorless and foul. Black blood ran out of the fiend pooling about the carnage. But Ufburk's mind had put all of this aside, the mounds of quivering flesh and blood-soaked ruin were no longer his concern.
It seemed all that blasting had brought a new development to light.
What witchery is this
?
Ufburk had stated his wonderment in the form a question as he stared from the pulsing light on the side of the blaster towards the carnage he'd wrought. That the red light still flickered was wonderment enough but now, there were two lights -beating in tandem. Ufburk stared slack-jawed and transfixed by that second red pulsing light attached to what he could only assume was the creature's heart.
Moving closer, Ufburk placed the Raygun's barrel directly upon that witchy red light, flicking on and off in tandem with not only the light on his gun, but in union with the creature's heartbeat. Faint as it was, the creature's heart kept going. Even after, Ufburk could not recall squeezing the trigger, but nevertheless a single beam shot from the Raygun put out the other’s pulsing light, ceasing the thing's heartbeat.
The creature shuddered when the deathblow came and shook violently. Smoke rose from the wound. The blast had left a sizzling and sizable hole where that second light and the thing's heart had been. But the creature's life and the red light that marked it were not the only changes in circumstance.
The light on Ufburk's blaster went cold. Then it flashed emerald green, pulsing three times that color, and then flashed off once more. A slight humming, reminiscent of the craft his visitor had ridden suddenly whelled from the gun. Then the button light lit again, amber hue and warm, around the trim of the entire arm and a new amber light chased itself in the ruts around both sides of the weapon. Those lights sped as if searching and then the button light flicked to red, pulsing steadily.
"Gods..." Ufburk, eye's as wide as saucers, almost dropped the weapon. Sefer's urgent barking shook the Barbarian from his daze. As he superstitiously eyed the blaster, Ufburk spoke to Sefer.
"You saved my life boy. Come along so you might rescue me again one day."
Another white lie won’t harm him, Ufburk thought. The Barbarian felt guilt enough for leaving Sefer alone to lie in harm’s way, pawing his ears in anguish. He’d have to live with his selfish choice. Looking back, there had been other choices. It would have only taken seconds for him to stoop and carry Sefer into the tunnels with him. But on some level his decision to abandon his friend when the going proved adversarial spoke volumes, ones Ufburk did not want to hear, about his immaturity and selfish nature. Only a child, he often acted like one.
Though he was tired, Ufburk chose to run with Sefer back to Danno’s sheep. He tried to relax and let himself enjoy running with his dog through thick trees and flowery meadows. The grass looked bright green. The rain had broken, dew sparkled on the lush lawns and beaded on flower petals.
Ufburk examined the ominous clouds above Thunder Hills. He’d be chasing the storm he supposed. One glance told Ufburk Danno had come back home. A fire burned low, and Ufburk smelled beans, though he couldn’t see the cookpot steaming as of yet.
Danno was in a state of panic over the fate of the village when his Barbarian cousin arrived. Sefer did not want to part with Ufburk, so Danno, looking rutted out from his time in the arms of a married woman, kept the dog in his hut.
Once Ufburk was outside he’d decided he’d left Sefer to protect Danno, not the other way around. His cousin had less than half the wits of that beautiful animal.
It would take a day or two to reach the place where the first craft had vanished, so it was best to be underway. He felt no need to loiter. Ufburk held no doubt his father would aid any survivors, were there any. The Chieftain had given his son a duty and that mission had not concluded. Another light flashed on the Raygun. Suspicions told Ufburk worse awaited him in Thunder Hills.
Ufburk knotted his raven hair and tossed it over his shoulder. Picking up the waterskins Danno gave Ufburk as he left his shack, the Barbarian set out.
To be Continued
© 2015 Donny Swords
Cudlee (The Realization)
By James Gordon
Prologue
Realization is a truant student. You never realize what you need to know, or if you do, it is too late to do anything about it. If something is missing, you never know it’s missing until it’s gone. If a spouse or partner is unfaithful, that doesn’t become apparent until he or she has admits to the cheating, they are caught in the act, or they are packing bags telling you, “It’s not you. It’s me.” Really?! Forgive my tangent. But the cloud is never lifted until you are blindsided, left with unanswered questions, and plain helpless. Trust and belief, realization gives credence to the cliché that says not being aware is the ultimate happiness. Right now, I’d like to give realization detention, suspension, and finally expulsion.
The reason for my rant and rationalization of it is oversimplified. I did not realize that my best friend of seven years was insanely evil. Never once during those days, weeks and months, adding up to years, did he exhibit behavior that would lean in the direction of the diabolical. Another realization that slipped passed me was his capacity for excessive violence. Again, save for the occasional chasing of a rodent, fighting with me or my brother in rough play that males engage in, or tossing and turning from a tumultuous nightmare, this mean streak that could become acts of extreme aggression, were not obvious. Not even in the least.
I had not been drinking for the last two years, so what was occurring was not the manifestation of a drunken delusion. Was I inside some horror novel as the doomed protagonist? It was at this moment, as if to interrupt my self-interrogation and further my disbelief, Kipling spoke.
“You should see your face right now.”