Timberwolf

by Tom Julian

  “We’ll place him in a medical bag and let him trail us out to Golgotha. Your family have a religion we should honor?” Thomas asked Sergey.

  Sergey got up from the floor and began to stroke Wrath gently. “I don’t care what’s done. Why would I?” he said absently. Thomas backed away, giving the strange little man his space. “We play our parts in this.” Sergey cooed to Wrath. “All the world’s a stage.”

  Thomas pulled a blanket from a locker and draped it over the mess that was Ivan. Sergey watched as Wrath purred. And we are merely players.

  SLEEP AS THOUGH DEAD

  I didn’t think it would feel so good to be dead. Timberwolf pulled the silk sheets closer to him, deeply inhaling the kiwi-watermelon perfume. Above him he sensed two figures moving, trying to be as silent as possible. Sometimes they’d put a cold cloth on his brow. Sometimes they’d place a sensor near his head and scan his temples. He caught snippets of whispers between the two: “That coconut chicken one was good.”

  “Yeah, we make those for long-haulers. They can’t believe how good they are.”

  Timberwolf considered opening his eyes, but resting felt too good. Every part of him ached. It felt like after he’d huffed up and down Olympus Mons in a busted training rig years ago. So he wasn’t dead, but definitely in a better place. Then the smell wafted to him and he heard someone place a tray nearby. Okay, that must be the coconut chicken. I am in heaven. He blinked awake and realized he was in a stateroom on board Nina. The room was huge and he lay on a brass bed. Achilles was there and Salla poured a mug of coffee out of a French press. He sat up. Realizing he was totally naked, he grabbed a nearby pillow.

  “Sorry, we’ve seen it all. You’re a thrasher.” Salla handed the mug to him.

  “Thanks, Vice. How’d you get me inside?”

  Achilles huffed. “That was a near miracle. Your rig turned itself into a very expensive brick. I’ve got it in 658 pieces now—literally. Trying to get it back up.”

  “You were stuck halfway in the airlock and we couldn’t close the outside, so we had to depressurize half the ship and pull you in,” Salla added.

  “You shouldn’t have.” Timberwolf grinned. He took a forkful of the chicken and turned the deliciousness over in his mouth. He was starving, but found a moment to savor it. “That’s real chicken!”

  “Nope,” Achilles said proudly. “Synth. We make them at Highland. You can leave that on Venus for twenty-six years and if the seal’s good, it’s still edible.”

  “I like this better than the Sabatin rig. It won’t try to kill me as much.” Timberwolf gave up enjoying his meal and just wolfed it down. He took a long pull at the delicious, thick coffee. “How long was I out?”

  Achilles and Salla exchanged glances. “Three days,” Achilles said. Timberwolf blinked, dumbfounded. Achilles continued, “Your adrenal gland was on overdrive. I’ve sampled your blood. It’s some wicked stuff. The Glox could sell it. You fly high; you crash low. I don’t know what did that to you.”

  “Kizik did that to me. When I was in the cell.” Achilles tilted his head, perplexed, but Timberwolf waved him off. “I can’t even explain it. Where the hell are we?”

  “We followed Gray from The Outpost as soon as we realized he wasn’t following us,” Achilles said, eyes darting around, avoiding the question. “He had a hell of a time getting out of there. He had the whole cargo bay stuck to the Nemesis, I tell you. You did a hell of a job taking the…”

  “Where are we?!” Timberwolf interrupted.

  “We’re at Golgotha,” Salla said straight up.

  Timberwolf covered himself with a sheet and leaped to the porthole. Below was the gray and brown landscape of the world he grew up on. A sorry, downtrodden place so many had come to help build, only to work themselves to the bone for pennies. A place of ramshackle, double-wide cargo-container domiciles. Cheap hooch brewed in leftover coolant tanks. Barefoot kids running up and down unpaved streets as sharply dressed bosses with fancy breathers ignored them. It was the one place in the universe he’d swore he’d never come back to. “That’s Golgotha alright. I can piss on my old house from here.”

  But it wasn’t just that Timberwolf hated the place; everyone hated Golgotha. And it wasn’t just that he swore he’d never come back. There was a price on his head here. He’d been allowed to leave unharried exactly once. If he got caught down there, it would be a fate worse than the death he’d been striving for. It would cost him a whole lot more than he would be willing to pay.

  “Gray took the Nemesis down an hour ago. We felt it best to wake you up,” Salla said.

  “Why’s Gray at Golgotha?” Achilles asked.

  “My guess is to hire mercenaries. This place is crawling with more hired guns than anywhere this side of Saavas,” Salla said.

  Timberwolf nodded. “Yeah, I know most of them.” He turned from the window. “So, why aren’t we at Highland, prepping a defense?”

  “You said that Gray was the key to this, that taking him out would bring this whole thing down,” Salla answered.

  Timberwolf shook his head. He had said exactly that, but never in a million years did he think this would lead him to Golgotha. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t go down there in a rig. What sort of weapons do you have onboard?”

  Achilles turned over his hands. “Nothing. I had fifty-two Sabatin. Those might have come in handy.”

  “Here.” Salla tossed him her sidearm. It was pretty much a peashooter. She also gave him what was left of the crowd control nerve agent she’d used on the guard in front of the infirmary before.

  “Oh, if we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel, I’ve got a few personal protection grenades.” Achilles gave him the two small cylinders.

  “These look like inhalers.”

  “Yes, they’re not very good.”

  “Do I have pants?” Timberwolf asked.

  Achilles nodded. “I can rustle you up something.”

  “What’s the plan?” Salla asked.

  “I’m going to ruin Gray’s day.”

  SHADOWS

  Over Golgotha, a shadow moved in space. Two shadows actually, traveling closely together. The Arnock vessels were undetectable. They refracted any energy that hit them, including light. To the naked eye they were invisible. To any scanners or sensors, they didn’t exist. Kizik huddled on the cramped bridge of the troop transport. For the last hour, he had been trying to convince San, one of his generals, not to launch an attack on Golgotha and kill all the humans below, including Gray.

  San was a warrior. His purpose in Arnock society was to fight. All his young life he’d fought the humans. Released from hibernation, he and the other warriors were itching for combat. They were restless without battle and they slashed at each other, drawing blood. A few had nearly fought to the death. Kizik knew they weren’t ready to be out of hibernation. Arnock society wasn’t strong enough yet to resist tearing itself apart.

  We must be patient. There is a larger fight, Kizik told San. The master tried to soothe the warrior’s mind, but San chomped at the bit.

  I’ll have my chance? he demanded.

  You’ll all have your chance.

  San didn’t understand what was at stake; couldn’t comprehend the bigger picture, the goal of taking Highland. That’s what had been tearing them apart before Kizik put all the Arnock to sleep. Without enough masters to guide them, warriors wanted nothing but to fight. Workers built towering structures up into the sky that served no purpose. Writers and artists turned out reams of gibberish and ghoulish, frantic creations.

  It was in this creative output where Kizik saw the nature of the dysfunction. There was a sculptor who crafted a giant Arnock warrior. At first it was breathtaking and admirable. But she couldn’t stop. There was no finishing. She added more and more appendages, until the work was a stone tangle of arms and legs. It went beyond the absurd and into obsession. She worked night and day, ranting and railing at anyone who came near, falling deeper into madness. Kizik had physically pulled
her from her workspace and then she collapsed and died in the street. That had been the moment when he knew his people were falling apart. That night they’d all gone to sleep.

  Kizik watched as the shuttle departed from Nina. He knew Timberwolf was on it and he also sensed another with him, the woman from The Outpost. Kizik had heard Timberwolf’s call for help when he was trapped in the airlock before and he’d chosen to ignore it. He dares call to me for help? He does not understand the nature of our relationship. Kizik planned to teach Timberwolf a lesson. He needs to know what it means to have everything fall apart.

  GOLGOTHA

  Golgotha had one settlement, aptly named Golgotha City. The massive cylinder of a terraforming tower climbed into the sky, surrounded by a ramshackle conglomeration of settlements that spread out in a dense mile. Beyond the perimeter of the city, there was nothing. It was a barren, cold, unlivable desert unable to support anything but the hardiest vegetation. The tower trickled oxygen down over the town, but beyond that, the air was too thin to breathe.

  The problem with Golgotha was that it never got beyond the first stages of terraforming—to the self-sustaining plants and bio-ecosystems that make a livable environment. There had been a few early mishaps and setbacks that had eroded confidence in the settlement. When a nuclear accident occurred during an early stage of the second tower, investment dried up. Now a hundred thousand workers lived here without the resources to leave. The whole economy revolved around maintaining the existing tower.

  Some families were now third-generation Golgotha. Hardy construction workers or “tower hounds” had adapted to the low oxygen. Wealthier residents, usually contractors or underworld figures, flaunted their success with fancy breather masks that doubled as jewelry. The universal story working people told on Golgotha was that they were one paycheck, one score, one bounty from buying their way off the world. But almost no one ever left.

  Salla and Timberwolf landed their shuttle on the edge of the “O2 zone” and walked through the grid of converted cargo containers that qualified as housing. They stayed off the main thoroughfares, and instead took side streets and back alleys that Timberwolf stepped through instinctively. He took deep, measured breaths, but Salla had a breather under her coat she took hits from.

  Old women peered out at them from behind screen doors as they passed. Timberwolf thought he recognized some of them from long ago, but everyone on Golgotha looked out through the same tired eyes. They could have been anybody. Thunder crackled near the tower and the ashen sky looked like it was threatening rain. “Should we get a roof over us?” Salla asked.

  “No. It’s never rained here. That’d be a nice trick.”

  Salla had insisted on coming along and she was surprised when Timberwolf didn’t push back. “So, I am suspicious.”

  “Good trait. Don’t lose it.”

  “Why’d you just let me come?”

  “You’re a good pilot. Thanks for the ride.” She noticed he was taking his steps very carefully, avoiding security cameras and doubling back when he saw security personnel.

  “Sorry. I’m not buying it. You’ve got an ‘I work alone’ vibe.”

  “Okay. Here it is, Vice. I’m caught here and there’s trouble. I’m wanted.”

  “No, you’re not. I read your file.”

  “Not in an official capacity, but by some bad characters. They just happen to run the security here.”

  She huffed. “So, you just go right through them, like you did Gray’s men.”

  “You don’t get it. I’m even seen here and somebody dies.”

  “Not without you killing them first!” she said with a little too much bravado.

  “I’m seen here and my brother dies.”

  She stopped, her face losing its color. She took a hit off her breather. She remembered what she’d read in his file. Relaund Velez, Brother…Paralyzed in an accident…Needs care in a home…

  “So you’re here in case I need someone to deal with any of these security assholes.”

  She nodded. “Okay, I get it. I’m sorry.”

  He shook it off. “And by deal with, I mean let that wad in your pocket do the talking.” She thumbed over the hundred thousand-dollar-bills she had in her coat. Timberwolf had told Achilles he needed some cash for his plan to work and he had handed them $100,000 apiece, like it was lunch money.

  They kept moving, silent for a few minutes. Eventually Salla couldn’t resist. She needed to know what had gotten him barred from here. “So what did you do?”

  “I made a very bad person very rich,” he responded and didn’t say anything more. She didn’t press him.

  They made their way past the housing tracks to the businesses and storefronts right under the tower. The air was thicker here and Salla put her breather away and followed Timberwolf through the dense crowds. Once in a while, what appeared to be a human was actually a Glox. They were humanoid and easily mistakable as humans. Roughly five-and-a-half feet tall, they all had cream colored skin and a patch of thin hair covering their heads. Glox had small, entirely black eyes, usually hiding behind sunglasses, and skin speckled with permanent goose bumps. They were evolved from ant-like creatures and tended to live almost on top of each other, regardless of how much space they had.

  Humanity had never had a war with them for two reasons. The first was that the Glox homeworld was worthless. No minerals or resources to speak of; just a desert planet with a dim red sun that would quickly give any human settlers melanoma. The second reason was that they had no theology, so they weren’t offensive to The Clergy.

  Glox traders were generally tolerated and lived in enclaves on all but the most religiously conservative of worlds. They were one of the few interstellar species humans had encountered that understood trade. Glox were notorious smugglers, narcotics mostly, but they were also masters of getting whatever was needed. “You speak Glox?” Timberwolf looked back to Salla, grinning.

  “No one speaks Glox.”

  “The trick is to know the English words they know. We’re here.”

  They turned the corner into the Glox quarter. Suddenly, nothing was human. A rainbow of sheets and banners fluttered in the street and covered every wall. Sour smelling fish heads stewed in pots in grimy stalls. What looked like hacked-up jungle gyms were everywhere and Glox, young and old, swung through them and climbed up and down rapidly. A density of Glox jostled and pushed past them, like a traveling hive. As they walked, young Glox ran along the top of the squat buildings, keeping pace with them.

  “Never been to a Glox town before.”

  “Don’t eat anything.” On cue, an old Glox tried to hand Salla a rotting squid-like creature wrapped in paper. Salla shook her head as politely as she could and moved on. “You would have died from that,” Timberwolf said matter-of-factly. Salla responded with just a raised eyebrow. She’d grown up during the troubles on Nova Turin and been around a lot of deadly things.

  He sensed they were being watched. It was beyond the curiosity that Glox typically had for humans, but something coordinated. A shady-looking Glox, young and tattooed with a top hat and goggle sunglasses, looked away suddenly and then another began watching them. “These are our guys,” Timberwolf told Salla. He approached the one with the top hat, who pretended to fiddle with his smart-device. “Zoreshka,” Timberwolf said, trying to make the typical Glox squeal in the back of his throat.

  “Zoreshka?” the Glox said back. It sounded like someone taking a drill to a mirror.

  “Zoreshka,” Timberwolf confirmed, holding up a wad of Achilles’s money.

  The young Glox did the traditional thing and told Timberwolf and Salla his name. It was unpronounceable, so Timberwolf decided to call him Wyatt. They followed him through the flowing colored sheets that fluttered through the alley. “It’s like being stuck in a drape,” Salla said, pushing them aside.

  Wyatt led them to a storefront and stooped and entered. “Stay up here and out of sight,” Timberwolf told Salla. She went to protest. “I don’t want
both of us in the same basket. If this goes bad, that could be used against us.” She nodded. It made sense. He handed her the nerve agent canister and a personal protection grenade. “These aren’t my style.”

  Wyatt took Timberwolf through the dark space and down a narrow staircase to the basement, removing his top hat under the low ceiling. He led Timberwolf to a room full of dozens of mismatched lamps, all giving off soft light, preferable to Glox eyes. Sitting at a table was Zoreshka or “the boss,” an old female Glox. Timberwolf hoped she would remember him. He helped her memory by showing her the wad of thousand-dollar bills Achilles had given him, laying out samples in front of her on the table.

  She made the Glox equivalent of a smile. “Velez?” she creaked. Timberwolf nodded. An attendant brought tea that smelled like battery acid. Timberwolf politely pretended to take a sip.

  “I need mercenaries,” he said slowly, picking words he knew Zoreshka would understand.

  “Number?”

  “All of them,” he replied, continuing to flatten out C-notes. “This is just a down payment. Ten percent. Once the mission is done, they get it all.”

  “Mission?” Zoreshka asked.

  “Stay home. Don’t work.”

  Zoreshka tilted her head, jerking her gaze around in a flitting insect fashion. Wyatt sensed her agitation and came to attention.

  “Stay home. Don’t work,” Timberwolf repeated, but it wasn’t his odd proposal that had concerned her. She looked to the ceiling. Someone else was here.

  Coming down the stairs, Timberwolf saw cream-colored pants and shiny black shoes. He leaped behind a cabinet, taking Salla’s sidearm from his jacket. Zoreshka and Wyatt slipped away and Timberwolf heard the booming, cheerful voice he’d been avoiding for twenty years. “Timberwolf Velez?” Heelo Tembe asked.

  Heelo was the head of security on Golgotha and was in the pocket of the bosses that ran the tower. Labor problem? Heelo’s men would handle it. Want to move some goods in? You better be ready to pay him a bribe. Twenty-two years before, Timberwolf had made a deal with Heelo that he would never come back after what had happened with the Racker family. That deal had just been broken.