by Scott Baron
The situation did not make sense. At least, not to the tin man covered in flesh.
To the greatest assassin in thirty systems, however, it made perfect sense.
Bawb had been stripped to his undergarments, his captors making sure he had no weapons hidden anywhere on his body, hidden from view. He was secretly glad he had not been wearing the armored vest he had fabricated and lined with some of the powerful hair Hunze had gifted him. It would have been useless to anyone else, the hair being bonded to him for life, but he’d have hated to lose it.
Of course, had he been wearing it in the first place, he very likely would not have found himself in his current predicament to begin with.
He had been separated from the others in the compartment by a partition, rendering him unable to observe the goings-on with the other prisoners. Unable to see, that is. But to his sharp ears, a lot of information was there for the taking.
It seemed there were at least a few others held in the chamber, judging by the number of breathing mouths he could hear, though that number would increase each time the Tslavars––he could tell by their voices––would remove something, bringing it back with a breathing occupant some time later. It was a vexing mystery, but he remained unconcerned.
He had time. If they wanted him dead, that aim would have already been achieved long before now.
The Tslavars weren’t giving up any additional information as they went about their work. But without the translation spell Bawb had provided himself and his friends, the other captives wouldn’t have known what was being said anyway, were they aware.
“Oh, you’re aliens,” the cyborg said when the green men stepped into his field of view. “I haven’t seen your species before. What are you called?”
“This one isn’t affected,” one of the mercenaries said, ignoring the cyborg.
“That’s strange. We should tell Sindall. He’ll know what to do.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t understand you,” the metal man said. “What language are you speaking? I thought we’d assimilated all of the allied races’ languages into our database.”
“This must be the hybrid being Sindall brought aboard to experiment on. One of the ones with a strange metal beneath its skin,” the nearest Tslavar said. “I heard Purak talking about them yesterday. Apparently, the spell does not affect them. Something about them renders them immune.”
“Then why is he here?”
“Well, the capture and transit spell still immobilizes them the same as others, so perhaps he was accidentally rounded up with the others. Whatever the reason, Sindall will soon learn all there is to know about this breed.”
“I have no doubt. Such an unusual magic at work in this system.”
“I agree. But it’s not our job to figure all of that out. Now, come. We must transport this one for study.”
Bawb could hear the men activate the conveyance spell to lift the table.
Ah, so there are others held in this place, he realized. But they are still in the grip of the spell. Frozen and unbreathing. No wonder I hear so few. This is a start. Now I need more information.
Bawb, bound as he was, found himself limited as to the methods of intelligence-gathering at his disposal. One, however, was still available to him. Provided, of course, the green men were loose with their tongues. But first, he would need to get them to engage in discourse. Then he would ply them for information.
“You should know, you will be unable to enchant that man,” he called out past the partition.
The footsteps stopped.
“That’s right, it’s true. You cannot enchant his kind, if that’s what you are trying to accomplish. Their minds are made of code, not meat.”
If that does not pique their interest, I don’t know what will.
The silence told him that despite their likely orders to not speak to the segregated prisoner, the men were second-guessing that command. The footsteps growing louder confirmed that suspicion. Bawb contained his grin and waited.
“How do you understand us?” the green man said, stepping around the partition. “No translation spells have been provided, and any on your person would have been negated when you were brought aboard.”
“Ah, about that,” Bawb said. “I have a little secret.”
“Which is?”
“That my own spell is quite a good deal more robust than your counterspell. I assume it’s located at the entrance to this place, yes?”
The man did not answer, but his partner joined him, both looking at the pale man with a heady mix of confusion and distrust.
“And is this how you were not frozen with the rest?” one said.
“A good question. But first, tell me. Why are you even here?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“You killed several of my friends.”
“Their fault, I assure you. And if you were attacked by shimmer-cloaked men outside your own residence, you likely would have reacted the same.”
He could see the slight glimmer in the man’s eye as he mulled over that statement. Despite his killing their friends, the point was a valid one that any man of action would be remiss to deny. It still didn’t make them forgive him, of course. But, suddenly, their captive seemed just a little bit more like one of them. As he had intended.
“Please, won’t you at least tell me what you want from me? I’m not much use to you here. I’m not even from this world. Or this system, for that matter.”
The Tslavar mercenaries didn’t know what to make of the odd man. He was the one strapped down, yet they were the ones strangely ill at ease.
“You’re a Wampeh. Someone from our realm, so far from home. What is it you are doing here?”
“I might ask you the same,” Bawb replied. “And what interest are these people to you? It seems beneath mighty Tslavar warriors to snatch helpless civilians from the streets.”
This was what he wanted. A discourse. Normalized communication with the men, gradually lowering their guard. Soon, they would slip. Soon, he would have the information he sought. Or at least some of it.
The sound of footsteps approached, and judging by the pace, their owner was in something of a hurry.
“What are you doing conversing with that prisoner?” a man barked.
“Captain Sindall, we’re sorry, sir. But this one possesses a translation spell. We just thought we’d, uh, help question him. Maybe get some answers.”
A loud slap rang out as the captain’s hand met the man’s face. “Imbecile. You have no idea what you’re dealing with. You weren’t getting answers from him. He was getting them from you.”
Oh well.
“Now do your jobs and get this one to the examination chamber.”
Chamber, not room? So we’re not in a building, then. We’re on their ship, Bawb realized. In his haste, the captain himself had slipped, providing a nugget of valuable information. A Tslavar ship. Interesting.
“Where are we going?” the cyborg asked. “Won’t you talk to me?”
“Do not fear, friend,” Bawb called out. “Their magic will not work on you. Be brave.”
“Wait, they’re not here to help me? What’s going on? They aren’t helping the others?”
Bawb knew it had to be confusing for the cyborg. One moment he was minding his own business, the next he was in a strange place surrounded by an alien race he’d never even seen before. And he couldn’t understand a word his captors were saying. As it was, only Bawb’s spell allowed them to communicate.
“No, they are not here to help you. But you will get through this. Stay calm and keep your wits about you and you will be okay,” he said, comforting the cybernetic man, but not believing his own words.
Time would tell if he was correct. The time when the confused cyborg was either brought back to the chamber intact, or if he was never heard from again.
The three men’s footsteps faded as they moved deeper into the ship, leaving the bound Wampeh alone.
Alone to ruminate and plan.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two days had passed, and Bawb’s disappearance had quickly gone from, “Where the hell is Bob?” to something far more concerning. He hadn’t been absent terribly long, but when he failed to show up for the second strategy session, Charlie and Leila had taken it upon themselves to do a wellness check of their friend, figuring he needed a little nudge to get out of his funk.
They even brought a container of chicken soup––something Charlie swore could make anyone feel better––but when they reached his home, the magic around it was crackling with residual energy from the recent disturbance.
“Ara, I need you at Bob’s place, ASAP,” Charlie called to his Zomoki friend.
“I am not far. I will be there momentarily,” she replied, and two minutes later, the familiar shadow of his dragon friend flashed across the ground.
Ara landed with a crunch, the urgency of Charlie’s call making her eschew her usual restraint in touching down.
“What is it?” she asked, golden eyes flashing as she took in the surroundings, assessing the disturbance to Bawb’s magical defenses.
“You see what I see?” Charlie asked.
“I do. Something happened here. And recently, it would appear.” She leaned in close, sniffing the ground outside the front door. “Death. Blood. Several fatalities, it seems. Tslavar, from the smell of it. And they took the bodies with them.”
Charlie knew that race all too well, having been taken captive and forced into slavery by them several years ago. “At least we know who we’re dealing with,” he said. “But this is not good.”
“No, it is not,” the dragon agreed.
Leila stepped to the doorway and bent low, studying the traces using her natural skills as an animalist from the Maktan estate, as well as the new tricks she’d observed Bawb teaching to Charlie.
“They didn’t kill him,” she said, stepping back and tracking the faint hints of combat on the ground. “Charlie, does this look like dragging boot prints to you?”
He stepped close and scanned the ground. “Yeah, you’re right. I think they captured him. And look, the tracks drag off then vanish.”
“A floating conveyance again,” Leila noted. “Just like in the other abductions.”
“Only this one didn’t go as smoothly as planned,” Charlie added.
Ara focused her intense gaze on the front door. “Someone triggered one of our Wampeh friend’s more violent spells, it appears. Look there, on the doorframe. Blood, and older than the other traces. Someone was dispatched attempting to enter his domicile. From what I can see here, it would appear Bawb returned home to an ambush.”
“And made a pretty good showing of it,” Charlie added. “But this is Bob we’re talking about. How is it that any of them survived, let alone took him captive?”
“If they were using the same shimmer spells as before, he might not have noticed them until the last second,” Ara replied. “Leila, will you please check inside and make sure Hunze is unharmed? The interior spells appear untouched, but I am too large to check on her myself.”
“Of course, Ara. I’ll be right back,” Leila said, hurrying into the house. As a close friend of Bawb’s she was granted passage free from harm, and if any of the Tslavar trespassers had attempted further ingress, there would be ready signs of it as she moved through the house. Likely in the form of their body parts from the spells’ wrathful carnage.
Charlie looked at his Zomoki friend with concern in his eyes. “This isn’t good. We’ve got to get Bob back, Ara.”
“I know, Charlie. He is our friend, and we will do all we can. But there is another consideration as well.”
“Which is?”
“Without him, the Ootaki hair stored inside is useless. Hunze’s gift will only serve one person, and that man has been taken.”
She was right, of course, and any hopes they had harbored that Bawb’s cache of powerful hair might help them counter the spell holding Hunze and the rest of the world in stasis were now put on hold until they could somehow locate and free their friend.
“Whoever did this had some serious power backing them,” Charlie said. “And shimmers aren’t easy to come by, not to mention requiring a fair bit of training to be any good at using one.” Charlie slowly made another loop of the scene of the abduction, noting the tiny details Bawb had clued him in to finding. “I’m counting what seem to be a dozen or so footprints. Well, traces of them, anyway. What does your nose say?”
“Yes, that is a fair approximation.”
“So, a squad of Tslavar mercs on a snatch-and-run mission, only Bawb got the upper hand. At least for a moment. That there’s no Wampeh blood is a testament to their professionalism. These weren’t just any kidnappers.”
“No, they were not,” Ara agreed. “It would seem a disciplined team carried out the deed.”
“And if not for Bob’s booby traps catching them off-guard, they’d likely have taken him unaware.”
“It would seem that way. Also, it is worth noting they were able to deactivate his more benign repelling spells at the perimeter of the property. That alone is a sign of their skill. But to then replace them with counterfeits of their own? That shows a level of planning and sophistication far beyond your ordinary mercenary.”
The front door swung open with barely a sound. Leila’s steps were light and silent, her years working the grounds of Visla Maktan’s estate, keeping his animals maintained and looked after, had made it second nature.
“Hunze’s fine,” she said as she exited the house. “Looks like no one dared go inside.”
“They caught on quickly after their buddy got splattered at the doorway,” Charlie noted.
“Indeed,” Ara agreed. “Whatever happened here is long-done, and Hunze remains well protected by the spells Bawb has in place.” Ara glanced around the area doing one last survey, then leaned down low. “I am afraid there is nothing more we can do here. Climb onto my back. We must go speak with Cal and the others at once. We need to devise a new plan.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
After a quick flight to Downtown, Ara had jumped right in with the greater minds of the global AI network to devise a means of sussing out the whereabouts of the cloaked ship she believed now housed their friend.
As Ara was far too large to fit inside the loop tube station where Cal had set up shop, a nearby rooftop landing pad high above had been converted into a jury-rigged situation analysis center, with a series of screens now sharing data with the massive dragon.
The AI network had been vigilant as only never-sleeping computers could be, scanning every byte of data from their scanners continuously for a hint as to the whereabouts of the alien threat. None were to be found, save for the few moments when a frozen body blipped off their radar.
Whatever type of shimmer spell they were using, Ara conceded it was beyond her substantial ability to unmask. And without a baseline gauge of the ship’s signature when it was uncloaked, there was simply no way to effectively trace it. At least, not yet.
The AIs ran simulations, gauging the speed at which the craft would have had to travel in order to carry out its abductions at the disparate locations around the globe. People had been snatched from nearly all continents, and in fairly rapid succession.
Ara pointed out that if she could make the trip in that short a time frame, a well-powered ship could undoubtedly do so as well, though how they managed it without even leaving a re-entry signature as they leapt through the atmosphere was beyond her.
“I would think that a disruption in the clouds at that speed would be one way to track a rapidly moving object, even if it was shimmer cloaked,” Ara said.
“Yes. Akin to a contrail from a craft as water vapor parts around it at high speed,” Cal agreed. “And yet, there have been no such signatures. We are all unfamiliar with the intricacies of this magic––beyond what you have told us, of course. Is it possible for a shimmer spell to create some sort of field around the cr
aft, preventing even the air from shifting as it passes?”
Ara had to admit, it was a novel concept she had not considered. It had never been done, that she knew of, but that didn’t mean it was not possible.
“I suppose it is within the realm of feasibility, though I’ve never seen such magic,” she conceded. “But I wonder if such a spell would be able to fully negate the heat generated as they re-entered the atmosphere.”
“If they are making orbital hops, that is.”
“Well, naturally. There must be something we are missing. Some means of tracking them. No shimmer is perfect; we simply have to discover this one’s flaw.”
Down below, in the comfort of the command center, the four remaining members of the team were poring over the data, a vast array of monitors displaying every bit of information they’d gathered thus far.
Ripley had claimed one of the couches as her own, a small bag tucked beside it, along with a blanket and pillow. The news of Bawb’s abduction had been a gut-punch for her. Here he was, the most deadly member of their little group by far, snatched from his own house without a trace. And his house was not so far from her own.
“Screw that,” she had said when she arrived at command in a rush. “I’m not sticking around out there with those Sleever things busting into our houses.”
“They’re Tslavars, Rip. And I think they went after Bob for a reason,” Charlie said.
“Great, so they took the most badass fighter first. Leaving us all more vulnerable. Don’t you see?”
“I do. However, Bob also possesses the single most powerful source of magic on the planet, besides Ara. It looks like they were trying to get that. And when they couldn’t get past his spells, they settled for the next best thing. Probably in hopes of having him give them access to it.”
It was the first time Charlie had voiced his concern out loud, and it felt, somehow, like that made it more real. Until that point, it was just one of many hypotheticals floating around in his head. But he knew it had to be something to do with Hunze’s hair. It made sense, tactically. Negate the most powerful threats first, then complete whatever the hell it was they were doing.
