by F. E. Arliss
Sasha Kelty’s grandmother, Dolores, would be there to help them settle in and as a reassuring presence. Arc had met Dolores Kelty several times and had to admit that she was extremely friendly, easy to like and a font of veritable ‘good energy’, as was Sasha. From there they could be returned to their homes or be found homes if they didn’t have any place to go. Most of them, undoubtedly, had been taken from Earth under false pretenses. Now with everything in place, it was up to Angus Quirke and Alfie to get them started on the right track. Watching the Clyde.2 takeoff made Arc’s stomach do a little flip. “You worried, girl?” Ewan Quirke asked her quietly.
“Yeah. A little, I guess. It’s all pretty dangerous and we’re putting other people in harm’s way. I feel worried for Uncle Angus and Alfie,” Arc whispered slowly to her Dad.
“I know. They’ll be ok, though. Angus is canny, that one. And from what you’ve said, so is young Alfie. It’ll all go smoothly, or they’ll get the hell outta Dodge,” her father said firmly. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. Ya still eat now, don’t ya?” he asked, consternation showing on his grizzled face.
“Not too much, actually. It’s all this energy thing. With Queen Altum Juls here, I get all charged up by her presence, so I don’t need much else to keep me going. She’s promised to show me how to siphon energy from Izzy …. don’t worry, Dag’s agreed and will be there to monitor me when I do take energy,” she assured her Dad. “It sounds weird and a little gross, but I guess I’ll get used to it,” Arc said with a slight slumping of her shoulders and a deep sigh.
“Now, buck up, girl! You’re an Idolum Princess who’s going to help a lotta people. General Monsav’s nest is delighted to have a female back in their presence. You’re a vision of usefulness and success,” Commander Quirke said firmly. “I’m proud of you, weird energy siphoner or not!” With that, he shepherded her towards the campfire without any further protests on her part.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Angus and Alfie In Action
The far side of the planet UZ627 was a much darker place than the near side. Its days were shorter, and it was much more lightly populated. Given those facts, the Intergalactic Guard concentrated most of its forces on the bright side of the planet. Crime, as everyone knows, slinks into the dark little cracks and flourishes there.
Angus Quirke thought about the empire the Evelsons had built on the back side of a beautiful planet that was to be the home for humans in the future. It was sad that it was already corrupted by scum like Gustav and Ferrick Evelson and his kin.
Angus was sipping a cup of rather excellent coffee in a pretty little bar atop the landing port on the far side of Uzi. If it hadn’t been for his purpose in being there, he’d have been having a very fine time. Soft music floated from the string quartet in the far corner, and the light sandwich he’d consumed earlier had been absolutely the best beef he’d had in ages.
Catching a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface, he grimaced inwardly. Damn, this slick schmoozer-look was just not his style. Though the suit fit him like a glove and the shoes on his feet probably cost almost as much as a new latrine system would have cost for Clyde.2, as far as he was concerned the latrine would have been a far better value. That said, he did look the part.
That was what startled him, how clothing could transform someone from cargo hauler commander into an oily liaison to a slaver ring. It had tremendous power, appearance did. Everything in the next few stages of the plan depended on appearance and acting. Mother, help me get the part right, was all he could think.
As he ended that thought -- some would call it a prayer -- Angus saw the mousy little man Alfie had pointed out to him in the crowd at the hover-cab stand. He’d already bellied up to the glossy bar and was ordering a drink. Angus stood and went to join him.
“I hope you don’t mind the company,” Angus said, in his best, prep-school tone. “This place is dead this time of day, though I’d been given this bar as the place to be on this port. Guess my friend didn’t really know what he was talking about,” Angus finished disgustedly, gesturing to the hovering barman for another coffee.
“Well…,” the little man blinked owlishly at Angus. “Well, it depends upon what type of business you were looking for,” he said, squeezing the bridge of his nose with a rather nervous flutter of his thin fingers. Then reaching down he took his glass and gulped half its contents in one go.
“Whoa, pal,” Angus protested in his posh prep-school accent, “Hard day? I totally understand. You should meet my boss,” he added in a grieved tone. “She is really something else!” Angus almost snorted at his use of the term. He hadn’t lied a bit. Arc and Queen Altum Juls were certainly, ‘something else’.
Peering at him through slightly fogged-looking eyes, as he’d downed the last of the booze in his glass in a second-long gulp, the oily little man, sighed, “I hear you there. I’m not sure what you’d call my boss,” he added softly. “I’m not sure I’ve got an adequate description.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It seems we’ve got the same problem. Impossibly awful bosses that don’t appreciate us,” Angus grumped disdainfully. Then pausing, raised his hands and said, “Sorry, maybe yours does appreciate you. Don’t want to put words in your mouth,” he added apologetically.
“No. No, you’re quite right,” the odious little man said resignedly. “Mine threatens me with death regularly,” he added on a mournful note.
Acting as though he was not at all shocked was easier than Angus had thought it might be. “Mine threatens to suck the life out of me,” he added gloomily, taking a gulp from the cup in front of him and pretending to slump in despair.
“I say,” the little man said, peering at Angus intently, “I’m Barnard Wetzel. Who did you say you were?”
Angus straightened his shoulders and put out one immaculately manicured hand. It had taken Dag hours to file the callouses on Angus’ palm down to a properly soft consistency and had Angus swearing at him continually. “I’m Lacey Devon,” he added with a tone that presented as though it should mean something to Barnard Wetzel.
Rather than make up a back-story and spend hours putting it in place on the network, Queen Altum Juls had simply used the name and real-life background of a smarmy criminal businessman she’d known in real life. He had been a prisoner on Asteroid Alcatraz and had been killed when the guards there accidently left him unattended with a starving Idolum warrior they’d been torturing.
When they returned, Lacey Devon was shriveled into what looked like a piece of twisted driftwood. The prisoner had looked very fit indeed and proceeded to try to kill both of the guards before they’d managed to shoot him enough times to sever his head. Idolum, as Queen Altum Juls had told Arc, were very hard to kill.
Rather than report the deaths, the two terrified guards had simply thrown both bodies into the recycling furnace at the back of the prison. As far as anyone was aware, Lacey Devon, an oily con artist, was still alive and well and sitting in this posh bar beside Barnard Wetzel.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Devon,” said Barnard Wetzel jovially. “What brings you to us on this backwater port?”
“Oh, I’ve come to try to buy an energy source for my boss. I just can’t seem to put my finger on the right type,” Angus said breezily, as though he had no idea that Barnard Wetzel dealt in mammalian sources.
“I think I may have to give up and go back empty handed,” he added gloomily. “Which means I’ll probably not have this job very much longer,” he said, a quiver in the soft sigh that left his mouth.
“Oh, those kind of energy sources,” Barnard said smirking knowingly. “I may be able to help you there,” he added triumphantly.
“No, no. I’m sure you can’t,” Angus sighed in anguish. “I’m done for.”
“If you’re talking about ‘mammals,” the oily little man whispered confidentially, “I truly can help,” he added with a conspiratorial wink.
Angus made sure to just gawp at him for a few seconds. When he
’d thought he’d allowed Wetzel to enjoy himself long enough, he whispered hopefully, “Really?”
“Really,” came back the contented purr of Barnard Wetzel in a low murmur. “Really, really, really,” he chortled quietly with glee. “Yes, really.”
“Oh, thank you!” Angus let his head drop into his palms as though a wave of relief had washed over him leaving him spent. “I was about to give up in despair,” he added with a gullible look of gratitude to the little toad beside him.
“Now then,” Barnard Wetzel said, glaring at the barman, who moved further away as though singed by the look. “What is it exactly that you need?” His eyes screwed up even smaller on his weaselly little face in excitement. “I’ve got everything!” he exclaimed in delight, practically dancing in his bar seat in anticipation.
Gloomily, Angus lifted his head, “She just wants so much. I don’t think it’s possible to even fill this order,” he said, his voice rife with despair. He wondered if he was laying it on too thick, but Wetzel seemed to be eating it up.
“Tell me. You may be surprised what I can do,” Barnard said confidently, smiling widely at Angus.
“Ok, here goes,” Angus said doubtfully. “I work for a very particular Princess,” he stopped to see how that would be taken by Wetzel.
He only nodded eagerly. “Queens are always so difficult,” Barnard sympathized. “I don’t think I’ve ever dealt with a princess,” he added, excitement causing his eyebrows to rise like a surprised clown.
At that remark, Angus forced himself to perk up in an approximation of hope. “Yes! Yes!” he exclaimed. “That’s the problem. She’s young and she wants to pick them herself! And she won’t work with a middle man. She says it’s beneath her,” he added with a disgusted exhalation. Muttering under his breath so that Wetzel could hear, he added, “She is such a diva! New princesses,” he added with disgust, “are the worst of them all.”
“Ah ha!” Wetzel jumped at the term ‘new princesses’. “Yes, the new fully-grown offspring are difficult, and very rare. I will have to confirm your story and background, of course, before we can proceed,” added Barnard Wetzel, eyes gleaming with avarice.
“Of course,” Angus said glumly. “I completely understand.”
“Now, not to worry my friend,” Barnard said, patronizingly. “My employer will be quite happy, I believe, to hear about your order. New princesses are very rare, but also a very good source for future orders, I’m sure. We will be able to help you!” He ended with a flourish of his limp little hands.
“I’ve had others say that,” Angus added, still downhearted. “None of them could put up with her demand to be accompanied to the site and allowed to choose her own purchases while being wined and dined by the big boss,” he carped. “Probably afraid she’d eat them, too,” he moaned as though in pain.
Barnard Wetzel let a little giggle escape him. “My bosses are really very unpleasant people. They won’t be afraid of a new princess. The one time they dealt with a new queen, they loved it. She didn’t have full control of her powers yet, you know,” he added conspiratorially. “And my employers loved watching while she got the hang of feeding. They found it quite entertaining,” he added, going slightly green as he remembered it.
“How long do you need to get everything in place?” Angus asked, hope ringing in his voice.
“Not long, not long at all, my friend,” the weaselly little fellow said, rubbing his thin fingers together. “Be here tomorrow to see if I’ve been able to obtain the correct permissions,” he stated, now all confidence. “If that has gone well, depending on how far out your employer is, we can establish a rendezvous to one of our locations for your princess to meet with my employers and choose her delicacies!” Barnard added this last with a little giggle of purely perverted glee.
“Thank you! Thank you, so much!” Angus wrung the little man’s limp hand with enthusiasm. “I will be here tomorrow. Same time?” he asked in eager confirmation, making a show of checking the time.
“Same time, Mr. Devon. ‘Til tomorrow.” And with that, the little man tottered off in a clearly more upbeat mood than he’d entered the bar.
Angus slumped in his seat, took a deep breath and then got up and left the bar, ignoring the pitying look cast his way by the barman. Angus had no idea why he felt so awful, when, in fact, everything had gone exceedingly well.
Later, Arc, Captain Kelty, and Altum Juls would assure him that it was because evil people suck energies out of good people, leaving them feeling flat and hopeless. That was surely the case, he thought. A few minutes back in their presence had him feeling more himself. Criminey! All this energy stuff did seem to be bearing out to be true. He supposed he’d be less of a schmuck about it in the future.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Princess Arc Exousia Quirke Brings It
Back on board the Clyde.2, Angus quickly relayed all he’d learned to the team on Renegar. They had to wait twenty-four hours for the confirmation that the Evelsons would take the bait. Only then would the coordinates be revealed for the rendezvous point.
After going over the information in its entirety, Arc stepped back from the table and said, “I’m worried. He mentioned that not being able to control my powers was ‘entertaining’ to these people. I don’t even know what my powers are! Or if I even have any!” Arc practically wailed, in her worry.
“Come, Arc Exousia Quirke,” Queen Altum Juls said gently, “We will discuss this in your quarters.” Nodding to the gathered group, Queen Altum Juls ushered Arc into her quarters aboard the Centurion.
Ensconced on her bunk, the green tendrils slipping up her sides to comfort her, Arc faced Altum Juls with hope. “How do I find out?” she asked simply. “What if I can’t control them?”
“We will cross that bridge when we come to it,” Altum Juls said very practically. “First, you must discover what that power is. I will leave you to meditate in your pool for the next hour or two. I suspect that when you emerge, Queen Exousia will have offered it up to you willingly.” Gently hugging Arc, she left the room in a waft of scented oils.
Stripping out of her clothes, Arc slid into the pool. It didn't seem creepy anymore. Actually, it felt very welcoming and relaxing. Rejuvenating, Arc thought. The pool was a rejuvenator. Letting herself float in relaxed bliss, she let all her worries go. The pool would sort them all out for her. All she had to do was give them to it. Closing her eyes, she drifted.
Gently her mind wandered over the things that could be her supposed ‘superpowers’. Some of them she just plain didn’t want. She didn’t want to be able to read people’s minds. That would be awful, all those terrible thoughts floating about in her mind.
She didn’t need to fly, she had the Centurion and Clyde for that. Arc didn’t feel like telekinesis was that interesting either. After all, she was perfectly capable of getting things for herself, she didn’t need them brought to her. Setting things on fire didn’t really thrill her. Freezing them? Nope. Controlling the weather? Nope. The sea? Nope. The earth? Hell, she wasn’t even on ground most of the time.
So, what then? What was this supposed power that she had. Maybe it was like that ancient vid her grandmother had shown her from the archives on Earth. Kung Fu Panda...maybe she was the power. Now that idea she liked. She was enough as she was. Arc sighed, though she liked that idea and was sure that it was true, she didn’t get the feeling that it was what she was supposed to find.
What she really wished was that she had the ability to compel people to do the right thing. She wished that she could compel the Intergalactic Guard to stop detaining every alien they found just because they were ruled by fear. Arc wished that she could compel that cute bartender on Gateka not to break Dag’s heart again.
Mostly, right this minute, she wished that she could compel an animal companion to pop out of the woodwork, so to speak, and be her friend. She missed animals in space. She’d loved the hippolytes and really missed having a dog. Of course, it would have to be a huge dog and seriously
dangerous and armored so that people couldn’t hurt it.
While she was compelling away, she’d like an enormous armored horse as well, so that she could gallop out across the deserts of Renegar and the plains of Geboren and Valoria, if she ever got there, and feel the wondrous freedom that came with being one with your animal.
Sighing Arc drifted back to the edge of the pool, walked to the shower and after a good rinse and dry, plodded back towards her bed. The self-pity she was feeling that she’d made no headway whatsoever suddenly vanished.
Pulling on her clothes, she pondered the meaning of the absence of worry about her power. Did that mean she had already discovered it? Hopefully.
What was the last thing she was thinking of before she got out of the pool? Compelling people to do things. Yep, that was it. Grinning, Arc wondered if she could compel Dag to bring her a tray, she was starving! She didn’t really need food, but right now she was hungry! It was weird.
