* * *
Salak was humming a little tune while polishing the newly delivered suit of armor. The gold shone brightly, reflecting the flaming red of the new uniform laid out on the bunk. As he reached into a freshly opened package to retrieve a new helmet, a knock came at the door.
Either not hearing the knock or choosing to ignore it, Salak pulled the helmet from the package, holding it up with both hands. A broad grin spread across his face as he examined it at arm’s length. The outer shell of the helmet was shaped in the form of some hideous mythical beast. It had a nosepiece that swept down the center of the face, ending in a horn that divided in two, spreading out and down, creating a mouth guard.
There were four horns protruding from just in front of the helmet’s beastly ears, two on each side, growing out from the same root. One circled up and forward, tapering to a fine point just over the nosepiece and slightly overlapping the horn coming in from the other side of the helmet. The second horn dropped low and swung forward and around, passing out in front of the points of the nosepiece horns and intertwining at the end in a wraparound fashion with the matching horn from the other side of the helmet. The reddish gold of the helm was accented by the horns that shimmered ghostly, translucent white. On the crown of the helm, above the brow horns, huge red rubies cut in the shape of a serpent’s eyes, glared out in anger.
The annoying knock occurred again.
Salak grunted contemptuously, “To Hell with you! Be off or die!”
A timid voice called out from beyond the door, “My Lord Salak, please forgive the interruption, but there is an urgent message from command.”
“You’d better be telling me right...” Salak threatened, “or I’ll make a woman of ya!” He stood and slipped the helmet over his head and studied his appearance in the mirror. Smiling with satisfaction, he called out, “You may enter.”
The panel door slid aside. The officer peered in and, seeing Salak, threw his hands, exclaiming, “Oh, my Lord!”
Salak stood there naked except for the helmet, hands made into fists pressed against the sides of his pelvis, arms out. He stuck his face out and snarled, then straightened up, asking, “Well, what do you think, Lieutenant Namir?”
The lieutenant hesitated, aware of the importance of choosing the right words. Salak was a relatively small man, standing just over five foot and six inches. He was small boned and, since the Rebellion, had developed a pronounced roundness in his shoulders. He was very sensitive about his stature, so chose to wear imposing garb that made him look bigger than real life. Standing naked while donning the overly large helmet made him look a somewhat comical sight, but the lieutenant was astute enough to know the foolishness of displaying any humor.
“My Lord, it is most magnificent!” Lieutenant Namir watched Salak squint in discontent. “It is terrifyingly magnificent! You are a genius, my Lord! The enemy will flee in fright when you make your appearance in battle!”
Salak grinned from ear to ear with delight as the lieutenant breathed a sigh of relief.
Raising a fist high while strutting back and forth, Salak went on a rant. “I shall crush Erithia’s bastard children! Their eyes I will squeeze from their sockets! The breasts of the women I shall cut off and feed to my dogs! I will make them eat their own innards! I will castrate the men make the women gulp down their private parts!”
On and on he went in his wild tirade, describing every form of torture and mutilation one could imagine that he was going to heap on Lowenah’s children. He suddenly stopped in mid stride and turned toward the lieutenant. In a sweet charming voice, he asked, “What is the message we have received from command?”
The lieutenant, somewhat relieved, jerked his hand up with the written message and, extending it, answered, “Command has sent us information regarding the whereabouts of the Shikkeron. They say our spies have reported that four days from today it is supposed to arrive at Exothepobole.”
A smile grew on Lieutenant Namir’s face. “Even better news, my Lord, the Shikkeron split up with the OjibSheannon and its other armed escorts, sending them to Tolkah Bay. They aren’t scheduled to reunite until arriving somewhere in the QuinStinre Basin area.”
Salak whooped with glee, smashing a fist into his opened palm. He shouted, “There, you little fat man! (referring to Godenn) I got the bitch-girl and that dumb-ass, Ardon, right where I want them! In a few days, I’ll be frigging the life out of ‘em both and they’ll be beggin’ my mercy! He paused, eyes filled with passionate lust, his mouth making smacking noises. “And that off-worlder is with ‘em. I shall soon see what he feels like, too...” He broke out in maniacal laughter, envisioning himself with his captives.
When he tired of dreaming his fantasies, Salak issued orders. “Lieutenant, call up the ships. I want the entire squadron gathered. Tell ‘em to collect at Mikros Point, just to the west of QuinStinre’s twin suns. Have them meet us there by the twenty-third. If we make straight for Exothepobole from there, we will be over it five days from now. By that time, our guests should be snugly bedded down in the city, the impotent Shikkeron shackled to one of the city's skyport quays.”
Lieutenant Namir snapped to attention, presenting a smart salute and prepared to leave. Salak stopped him. “And Lieutenant...” He waved a threatening finger, “you let those Stasis captains know I mean for them to bring all their ships. Got it!?”
Lieutenant Namir saluted again and stuttered, “Y..y..yes, Sir! Bring all their ships! Yes, Sir!” He hurried off to deliver Salak’s commands to the communications officer.