Universal Code

by William Songy

  “She is telling the Pharaoh that we were sent here to kill Babi on purpose to start a conflict with the neighboring nations. She is making the argument that we did not defend ourselves but came for the purpose of killing one of their gods,” Eerika whispered to Einar, “She is blaming everything on you…saying that you confessed to it.”

  “She is lying!” Einar blurted out. The guard struck him in the lower back sending him back to his knees. The blow was painful and took a few seconds to recover from. Once he could breathe again, he returned to his feet.

  The woman was looking at him, “You deny this?”

  Einar looked at the guard wondering if he would be struck again for answering. “Why don’t you untie me and then try to hit me, you coward!” Einar said to the guard.

  Although he did not understand what Einar said, he understood the threat based upon the tone and Einar’s expression. The guard picked up the staff and faked another blow to the back, which he expected Einar to block, and quickly reversed the direction and brought the back end of the staff across his midsection. Mild disorientation took him for a second. He shook his head and regained control of himself. He no longer cared for the judgment of the Pharaoh. He was going to kill the guard. He turned and two guards with leather whips had moved into striking distance. Eerika touched his arm, “Stop!”

  Einar was certain of the Pharaoh’s decision for him. But, out of concern for Eerika, he would wait and see what her fate was to be.

  “Well, if it isn’t my old friend? Just as feisty as ever. Hello Einar,” a man said as he entered from a side door to the platform.

  Dismayed, Einar looked at the man, “Asger Ulven?”

  Chapter 18

  “The Roo’kall are a new threat; one that some of us have always feared would come. Evil will do what evil will do…so, it seems. The most ill-intentioned always seem to find a way, to the detriment of us all. We have known about the possibilities of interdimensional travel and time travel and what could happen if it were to be accomplished. Now, it seems that it has been achieved…by our enemies, making this our reality.

  “Generation after generation has ignored the possibilities and sided with apathy regarding the pursuit of fully understanding its utilization for anything outside the realm of pure fantasy. Like a child’s story, it has been passed off as a nonsensical fable or the silly notion of an overactive imagination. The reality is that those who oppose us are on the verge of utilizing it. If they master this and can build armies that travel undetected through dimensions and time, imagine the damage…the things they can do and undo. They can appear on our doorstep out of thin air. Killing will be no more difficult than shooting a civilian in a cage. Our existence can be rewritten and even undone. We are targets until we are no longer worthy of being so.” Ovtave Lejon recalled Art’s reaction while being debriefed after the incident on the Tisht slave transport.

  She looked somberly out of the ten-foot-tall, third story window of the SINSTER building. Her office made up for its lack in size by the incredible views it offered as it faced east toward the Alum Mountains. Every morning she watched the city of Auslet as it woke, and the sun began to illuminate the sky over the mountain ridge. Often, she was in the office minutes before the sun’s rays first kissed the sky over her beloved city.

  Ovtave never took a peaceful start to a day for granted, and even more so now after learning of the new threat. While on the brink of war, every day that she woke in peace and the nation was not under siege was a blessing. Unfortunately, that was subject to change at any second after learning of the Roo’kall’s abilities and what the children had taught them. The status of peace-loving cities like Auslet and nations such as Viennin across the universe were targets for those who desired change and the fracture of the Baraza Zima. They were on the precipice of an inevitable war. Many of their countrymen would die if they were not able to stop the Kasadu from mastering this supernatural ability, or if they were not able to master it themselves. There was enough hate in the hearts of those who opposed them to do evil unparalleled by anything they had ever witnessed or read about in the histories.

  The challenge that faced them was just as dangerous within as it was with those who sought their ruin. Viennin used their economic and military strength to usher in and maintain a peace that had lasted for over a hundred years. Most of those living could not recall the last time the nation was involved in a war outside of what was taught in the history books. The majority were oblivious to the horrors of war. Viennin had always seemed too powerful to challenge. As a result, complacency and apathy had become a cancer eating at the military’s budget as the political movement was fueled by those willing to fund entitlements for the sake of winning elections at the cost of national defense and economic prosperity. A growing segment of the population seemed to auction off their votes to those promising the greatest return on their support by pilfering the reserves with one handout after another. There seemed to be no understanding of the possible end result, despite the historical evidence. Peace, at times, seemed just as dangerous for the nation as war as it tended to breed an element of apathy, entitlement, and selfish recklessness. While the Director still had the utmost confidence in the military, Ovtave’s concern was of the citizenry and if they had the stomach to support or withstand a long drawn out conflict as this was certain to be.

  She sat down in a green chair, crossed her legs, and recalled the moment she met one of the unique children and what was learned from him. Ovtave and her team had seized a cargo transport being used to traffic newly conditioned slaves to markets. After the transports Tishtian crew was disarmed and arrested, one of the SINSTER agents was attacked and killed by what some described as an apparition that came and went in the blink of an eye. Fifteen or so witnesses testified that a hooded creature had appeared behind the agent, fired off a shot, then disappeared into thin air. The agents found themselves running into the direction of gunshots and screams in random sections of the transport only to find dead agents with the same execution-style wounds. In a matter of minutes, there were three dead agents and no assailant matching the description of the witnesses could be found. The ship was in the middle of the Galaen star clusters in rout and no living being could have simply boarded the ship, jumped off into open space, and then boarded again. But it seemed to be exactly what the killer was doing.

  Ovtave led the raid on the slave ship and searched vainly for the assassin. A young male amongst the slaves being transported, came forward wanting to share information with her. Initially, she considered telling the boy to sit down and stay out of the way. But her instinct bid otherwise. He was dirty and malnourished with messy black hair that probably hadn’t been washed in a year and looked as if it had never been combed in the entirety of his short life. A brown coarse sack with two armholes and a hole for his head cut out of it covered his body. The boy did not speak the tongue of the SINSTER agents but tried desperately to share some information with Ovtave. After several fruitless minutes, the thin boy became frustrated by his inability to effectively deliver his message. The boy pointed at a pocket on the breast of her uniform.

  “What, you want something out of my pocket?” she asked.

  The boy did not understand but continued to stand in front of her pointing at the pocket. Ovtave reached in and pulled out a writing implement referred to as a ferg and handed it to the boy with the assumption that he was going to write or draw something. Before her eyes, the boy and the ferg disappeared, vanishing through the solid metal floor. She gasped and reached down where the boy was and inspected the floor searching for an explanation. It was oddly cold in the exact location where he had passed to wherever it was he went. With weapons raised and on high alert, the agents turned their heads looking around in astonishment. The boy was clearly gone by some supernatural means. The agent flinched and looked down as she felt something slide into her left hand as it hung limply by her side. Instinctively Ovtave grabbed it and pulled the once empty fist up to find that the ferg
had somehow returned to her possession. She held the ferg up, revealing it to the other agents that were present. No one saw the boy return or place the ferg in her hand.

  The boy magically reappeared on the other side of the room directly across from where she was facing. He stood watching the agents as they continued to look around for any sign of him. His face was expressionless and revealed no good pleasure in the trick he had just performed. The boy called out across the noisy stench filled room while waving his skinny arms in the air. Ovtave looked up to find him standing against the wall. He vanished a second time and before the reality of the second disappearance could set into her mind, the boy appeared before her once again. He looked into her eyes and his expression seemed to ask if she understood what he was attempting to tell her.

  The black-haired boy was hardly more than skin and bones and his emaciated face was hard for Ovtave to look upon. Anger for those who had treated him so poorly, sorrow for the boy for what he had gone through, and astonishment for what she observed caused a tug of war of sorts with her thoughts and emotions. Ovtave needed to focus on the matter at hand and brush off her feelings.

  The situation demanded that she take the information and figure out a plan to protect the other agents from the ghost-like adversary with a thirst for killing. Despite the life or death situation facing them, a part of her wanted to relentlessly beat the Tisht who had commanded the transport and then launch them into a cold hopeless grave deep into open space. The vision of the desperate and panicked Tisht suffocating and freezing as they floated away from the transport helplessly into space was surprisingly appealing. Such an act was not in the scope of her authority as Commander and Ovtave would not commit such a crime regardless. It was just a brief fantasy in her mind. Ovtave would have hardly been better than them if she were to pull off such an event despite the fact that it was completely warranted.

  While the slaves would be set free and eventually returned to their planet of origin, the ship and the Tisht upon it would ultimately have to be returned as well. None would answer for the atrocity unless the members of the Baraza Zima decided to take action, which seemed less likely to happen. The lack of outrage and action would only embolden such atrocious behavior, which would surely increase. This had become extremely frustrating to the point of wondering why they risked their lives, and in this case had lost three, to engage the slave transports if they were never going to stop them. It was far past time to fight fire with fire. The compassionate side of her justified the work she was doing and encouraged her to find more like the boy and set them free. But there was a side of her that, after removing all the slaves, wanted to lock all the Tish up into a bay and blow them and the craft up so that they would never repeat the offense again. This would send a message to the Tisht. It was a useless desire as such behavior would never be condoned by SINSTER. Regardless, her desire to do so grew stronger with every transport that was seized.

  The expression on his thin face made a very noticeable and ominous change. The boy’s eyes widened and moved from side to side as if all of a sudden, he was inconsolably anxious. He let out a loud sound that seemed like an attempt to say ‘Go” in the broken tongue. Unexpectedly, skinny, dirty hands jammed into the center of Ovtave’s chest sending her backward. As momentum set her back, the boy fell to the metal floor and rolled left.

  The surprised agent hit the metal wall with her backside. Before the pain from the impact could spread across her back, a figure appeared out of nowhere just as the boy had seconds prior during the demonstration. It was tall, with a hood pulled over its head. As the alien creature appeared, it thrust a six-inch dagger forward into the air where she once stood. Ovtave realized that had the boy not pushed her, the knife would have gone into the center of her back and possibly pierced the heart. The surprise of finding nothing but air delayed the assassin just long enough for Ovtave to raise her sidearm and fire a plasma round into the killer. It bellowed a hideous sound and began to turn toward her. Without hesitating, she sent another round burning through its chest. The creature fell toward the boy, who was barely able to move out of the way before being crushed by the assassin.

  To her surprise, the boy didn’t recoil in fear at the sight of the Roo’kall. There was no doubt about the abuse and horrid treatment the boy had suffered at the hands of his captors, which was reflected in his undernourished and scarred body. Despite this, he calmly reached out and took the dagger from the six-fingered hand of the Roo’kall and slid it to the right out of reach. The boy placed his hand on the back of the assassin, then said something she could not understand. The muscles of the Roo’kall tensed up as a dense smoke seeped out of the body from head to toe. The smoke traveled to and was absorbed by the boy’s hands. After a few seconds, the odd event was over as the tension in the body dissipated and the Roo’kall fell lifelessly to the floor.

  “What did you do? Did you give it a peaceful ending? How did you do that…a better question is, why did you do that?” she asked aloud knowing the boy didn’t understand. Had he shown compassion for his enemy? Did he put the creature out of its misery?

  The boy looked at her wanting to explain but did not possess the ability to do so. He picked up the dagger and handed it to her. The weapon was somewhat crude and seemed to be forged by a less than average smith. On the top edge was a hook that flared toward the handle intending to maximize damage when pulled out of its victims. The leather handle was worn and loose on the edges.

  Ovtave was grateful to the boy and decided to personally transport him to the SINSTER vessel. He was given much needed food and water in small amounts under the supervision of the medical staff. This would continue until the severity of his malnutrition could be properly evaluated and remedied. Ovtave found herself in awe of the boy and was very interested in knowing more about him. He was certainly special. She wondered if he could teach her more about how he vanished and reappeared.

  Ovtave looked up from her notes and out of the building as the sky turned an amber color. Several large cumulonimbus clouds hovered in the sky. If it weren’t for the tinted windows, she would have taken a picture of the morning. A beeping noise to the right drew her attention.

  “Yes,” Ovtave answered.

  “The boy is awake and we are taking him to processing. You said that you wanted to be notified,” the male voice said.

  She packed up her notes, left the office, and entered the processing center. It seemed to be the center of insanity as thousands of beings from three transports were going through the required questioning and recorded testimony sessions. Some were agitated and just wanted to leave, having suffered enough trauma already. Some were expressionless and seemed to be distant. Ovtave was waved over to a corner table that was saved for her. She navigated through the sea of what would seem on the outside as disorganized chaos when she happened to look to the right. Deep blue eyes were fixed on Ovtave and did not look away after being discovered. The girl’s gaze was almost tangible and startling.

  Most of the former slaves were nameless as they were considered to be property by their captors and it was up to the purchaser of the slaves whether or not they were given a name. During processing, each was given a genetic test, medical examination, treatments for ailments and injuries and, most importantly, an identity. It was up to the individual to select a name if they did not previously have one as they were assisted by a group of volunteers.

  Ovtave recorded several conversations with the boy taking samples of the dialect attempting to pair it with an interpreter. But the version of whatever it was he was speaking was too broken to be recognized, much less interpreted by any computer or polyglot. While sitting in the corner of the processing center during the medical evaluation, Ovtave was playing back an audio recording of her conversation with him attempting to glean anything from it when the girl, just shy of her teenage years with a shaven head and the piercing blue eyes, sat down and began listening. Ovtave recognized the girl as the one who stared at her while walking through the
crowd. She assumed that the girl had just completed the initial processing phase and was somewhat lost with no idea where to go and sought guidance from her.

  She paused the recording and looked up at the girl, “Your name is Layna?” Octave asked reading the name tag.

  “Yes,” she said, “something was wrong with my hair. They had to cut it off.” The girl sounded upbeat despite having her head shaven.

  “Well, you are still very pretty. How do you speak so well?”

  “I was taken only a few years ago. I have some education…before I was taken. I know that boy you were talking to…the one who disappeared then came back.”

  “Yes,” Ovtave said leaning in closer.

  “He was trying to tell you that many other beings can do that. He called that thing that almost killed you a Roo’kall and said they are very mean. He wants to take you to see the unseen world when he learns how to take someone else. It seems it is very hard to take someone else. He kept saying the name Joseph, some boy on Onsan who is very good with this. He can show you this world he called the tamtu etutu. The boy,” she paused and cocked her head as if discerning something despite the loud chatter in the facility, “he is now called Duncan, said he met Joseph in this tamtu etutu. Said Joseph brought a girl slave to show tamtu etutu was real.”

  “Who is Duncan and who is Joseph?” Ovtave asked.

  “Slave boy now Duncan—”

  “Okay, he selected his name? How do you know that? He is still being processed.”

  The girl shrugged her shoulders and looked oddly at Ovtave, “I don’t know. Things I think come true.”

  It was then she noticed the red tent in her blue eyes. “You are from Viennin?”

  “Yes,” she said somberly.