by JP Raymond
“Months?” Alan said. “Wait, are you saying that thing is a permanent part of him now?”
JaQuan knew the answer before Kitekh spoke. It was written all over her face.
“Yes,” she said. “This is why the Council objected to you having one. It is a great honor to receive one, and it can never be removed.
“I said before you have the soul of a Graur, JaQuan. Now, you are as close to being Graur as possible while still remaining human.”
JaQuan had no idea how to react. They hadn’t told him any of this. They certainly hadn’t prepared him. They’d physically altered him, and it was largely without his consent. He wanted to kill them all for this.
On the other hand, they’d also told him this was the only way he would even have a chance in the forthcoming battle. Without the Far-Biter, he was dead. So his choices had effectively been death or alteration. They both sucked.
He also supposed that was why the Tribal Council had consented to sullying a Far-Biter by awarding it to a human who had insulted them. They didn’t expect him to survive. So if he didn’t have the requisite honor to wield it, their mistake would be short-lived.
“This is fucking bullshit,” he said. “You should have told me.”
“Would it have made a difference?” Rorgun asked.
No. But that didn’t matter. They should have told him.
“Fuck you, Rorgun,” he said.
Slowly, he got to his feet. The pain was gone now. His arm still felt weird, though.
“Alan, hand me that water,” he said.
The younger man passed the canister. JaQuan had a long drink. He suspected it would be the last pleasant sensation he would experience for some time, maybe ever.
“Okay,” he said. “What can this bad boy do?”
“Each of the stones has a separate function,” Mrahr said. “The center is the most obviously useful. When you aim at a target and make a fist, it will launch an incredibly sharp disc. They are thin and impact at great velocity. If you get lucky, you can kill with one shot. Even if you don’t, the victim will suffer a severe wound.”
JaQuan’s eyes popped open in stunned surprise. He raised his arm and pointed it at the far wall. Looking from Kitekh to Mrahr, he waited for permission. Kitekh nodded. He turned his gaze to the wall, then made a fist.
There was a bright, orange flash and then something rocketed from the center jewel almost too fast to be seen. With a loud, Thunk!, it embedded itself in the wood.
“Daaamn,” Alan said, his voice high.
JaQuan crossed the room and stared at the mark in the wall. Driven into the wood was a thin, orange circle that looked like it was made of glass. Only a quarter of it was visible; the rest was inside the wall.
“Holy shit,” JaQuan whispered.
“You must be careful not to overuse that,” Mrahr cautioned. “It can fire ten to maybe twenty times a day, depending on how often you employ it. The weapon is organic, so it must be recharged with rest. If you shoot too often, it will draw energy from your own body to manufacture the ammunition. You can kill yourself by firing off too many shots in a short period of time.”
JaQuan stared at the thing on his hand. He hadn’t thought about it being lethal to him.
“Far-Biters are engineered with Graur physiology in mind,” Kitekh said. “I cannot guarantee a human body has the same endurance. Until you have a good idea how it affects you, be careful. You should assume you have fewer shots than a Graur does.”
“Great,” he said. “The ultimate weapon that can kill you if you use it too much. What else can it do?”
“The left jewel produces a monofilament whip,” Mrahr said. “Tuck your thumb, and twist your wrist quickly out.”
JaQuan looked at the thing. It didn’t appear to contain any sort of whip. He looked skeptically at Mrahr.
“Try it, Mr. Jones,” Mrahr said.
With a sigh, JaQuan tucked his thumb under and twisted his wrist. To his surprise, a thin line of green light shot from the stone and dropped to the floor.
“Excellent,” Mrahr said. “You can wield it as you would an ordinary whip. But be careful. Like I said, it is monofilament, so it can cut. With the right strike, you can sever a limb.”
“Jesus Christ, you people are crazy,” JaQuan said. “Why would you design something that can do that?”
“War has been our primary occupation for millennia,” Kitekh said.
“To retract the whip, flex all your fingers as widely as possible,” Mrahr said.
JaQuan did as he was told. The glowing green line shot back into the stone as though it had never existed.
“What’s the blue one do?” he asked. “Blow up the room?”
“No, my friend,” Rorgun said. “That one is for your protection.”
“Form a fist and twist your wrist towards you,” Mrahr said. “The opposite direction you did to unleash the whip.”
Once again, JaQuan did as he was told. Instantly, a large circle of blue energy materialized in front of him. He moved his arm, and the screen went with it.
“A personal deflector screen,” Mrahr said. “Proof against beamer pistols and rifles. Not sufficient to withstand heavy beamers or cannon.”
“What about electroray weapons?” JaQuan asked looking at Alan.
“Yes,” Mrahr said. “It will repel any energy weapon. But like a regular deflector screen, it can be overloaded. And just as you must limit the number of shots you take with the blaster, you should be careful how often you activate the shield once it takes damage. It will draw from your own life force if the Far-Biter is depleted of its own energy.”
“So how do I turn it off?”
“Twist your wrist the opposite direction while making a fist.”
JaQuan twisted his wrist out. The deflector screen disappeared.
“Damn, JaQuan,” Alan said. “Looks like you’re the superhero now.”
“Yeah,” JaQuan replied, continuing to stare at the marvelous glove on his hand. “Someone get me a mask and cape.”
“Now listen, JaQuan,” Kitekh said, coming to him. “The kresch-kinza is a powerful weapon, and it may help you in this fight. But it’s no substitute for your own intuition and skill. The Far-Biter can’t fight the battle for you. It can only help you win it. Try to keep your opponent at a distance so you can use the Far-Biter’s advantages. If you get in close, don’t forget it has claws. Slash him, and then get the hell away again. I know you are a – What is your Earth term?”
“Boxer,” Alan said.
“Yes, a boxer,” Kitekh said. “But that won’t help you here. If you let the Council’s champion turn this into a hand-to-hand match, you will lose.”
He nodded. She didn’t need to tell him. He remembered the horror of her assaults only too well.
“As the kresch-kinza gets to know you, it will enhance your senses,” Mrahr said. “It’s grafted into your nerve endings, and it can make you more aware. Try not to control it. Let it guide you. It will serve you best if you remember your relationship with it is symbiotic.”
JaQuan had no idea what that meant. He understood the words, but he sensed he couldn’t grasp the concept until he used it. He simply nodded.
The three priests returned with the same lack of fanfare they had before.
“It is time,” the lead priest said. “The proxy will follow me. The rest of you, will be escorted to the waiting pen.”
“Pen?” Alan said.
“JaQuan battles for our innocence,” Kitekh said. “While the results are pending, we must submit to the Tribal Council’s custody.”
“We’re hostages?” Alan asked.
“Collateral,” Mrahr said.
“This is why I wanted the three of you to wait with the prisoners in the lander,” Kitekh said.
Alan paled. JaQuan refused to feel regret. Kitekh may have been trying to protect them, but he remained convinced they’d have been sitting ducks back at the ship.
“Remember what I told you, JaQuan,” K
itekh said. “Use the advantages you have. Don’t fight according to the champion’s terms.”
“Yeah, I’ll do my best,” JaQuan said, sarcasm covering his fear.
“I know you will,” Kitekh said. “You are Graur now.”
“Hmph,” the lead priest said. “We’ll see.”
“Kick some donkey, my friend,” Rorgun said.
JaQuan was too scared and still too pissed at Rorgun to be amused by the malapropism.
“Ass,” Alan said. “It’s ‘kick some ass.’”
Rorgun looked confused.
“I’ll explain it to you if I survive this,” JaQuan said. He turned to the priest. “Let’s go.”
She turned and left wordlessly. JaQuan followed her out. He felt like a man being led to execution.
Idrib sat in quiet irritation as Orisin outlined for him, Emello, and Councilor Supreme Glorian Par what was happening. The situation on Grakur was rapidly becoming untenable. First, the Graur had refused Horay Kel’s demand that they turn over the crew of Cataan’s Claw. When he’d received backup to force his way to Grakur, they’d blockaded him. The stubborn felinoids were in direct defiance of Imperial supremacy, and the confrontation had grown volatile.
“At this juncture,” Orisin said, “Graur authorities will neither confirm nor deny that anyone from Cataan’s Claw is planet-side, or even that the ship has entered the system.”
“Have we searched the system to see if it is there?” Par asked.
“That has been impossible,” Orisin answered. “The Grakur Defense Force has encircled the planet and its moons and refused to allow our vessels any closer. At present, they outnumber us nearly five to one. Any conflict would result in heavy casualties in a best-case scenario.”
“Damned Graur,” Par said. “Why the hell will they not cooperate?”
“They fall back on the territorial sovereignty clause of Imperial law,” Orisin said. “When Captain Kel arrived with two battlecruisers and started making demands, the Tribal Council pushed back.”
“That is ridiculous!” Par shouted, throwing up his hands.
“Perhaps,” Emello said. “But it is also typically Graur. Captain Kel’s actions were clumsy and foolish.”
Idrib ground his teeth. Horay Kel was an idiot and would likely have to be demoted. But that didn’t change the facts. The Graur were acting defiantly. They were challenging his rule. That could not be allowed to stand.
“I cannot afford to appear weak on this,” he said. “If the Graur think they can push me around, I will not be able to restore order to the Empire.”
“That is true,” Emello said. “But escalating the situation will not cause the Graur to back down.”
“Well, what do you suggest, Emello?” Idrib practically shouted.
“As I’ve mentioned before, the Graur feel under-represented and largely unheard,” she said. “You need to make them feel a valuable part of the Empire’s future.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Keeper,” Par said. “Are we to sit here and pet their paws and tell them how special they are?”
“I very much doubt the Graur would accept that sort of behavior, Councilor,” Emello said. “However, if we reach out to them, tell them we want to find a peaceful solution where everyone saves face, they will feel that we respect their territorial sovereignty and their might as a warrior species. If we try to bully them into submission, though, they will simply entrench themselves. And I don’t need to remind you how the Graur dominate our military ranks.”
Idrib seethed.
“All right, Emello, for the sake of argument, let us presume I am willing to coddle Graur feelings,” Idrib said. “What do you suggest?”
“We need to speak to someone they will listen to,” she said. “What about Councilor Nakuur?”
“Are you mad, Keeper?” Par roared. “Do you not recall how opposed she was to the Emperor’s nomination? How she promised war?”
“As I recall,” Emello said, “she did not promise to make war. She believed the Emperor would be so divisive he would spark a civil war.”
“Is there a difference?” Par said, his tone incredulous.
Idrib liked the Councilor Supreme. He was a good Elohiman, and a person who understood tradition. He was saying many of the things Idrib felt, and that was helpful – both because Idrib wanted someone to agree with him and because, if Par made these points, Idrib wouldn’t have to. He could appear to consider all sides before doing what he wanted.
“Yes,” Emello said. “And it is a critical one. We can prove the Emperor is not divisive, is interested in the input of all three races, if he goes to the Graur and asks them for a solution that gets everyone what they want. Idrib appears wise, and the Graur don’t lose any honor. I cannot emphasize enough how important that is.”
“I am not sure Councilor Nakuur is the right person,” Orisin said. “She returned to Grakur shortly after the Emperor was named.”
“And she has had nothing good to say since,” Par added. “Listen, Your Majesty, we have a developing armed conflict. Thus far, no one has fired a shot, but it will come to that unless we end it. At the moment, the Graur have a distinct advantage. We’re in their system, and they have enough firepower to withstand any assault our current forces can make.
“The Graur understand only strength. We need to deploy more ships so that we have a superior force. Once they know that we can outgun them and take away their precious planet, they will be more willing to negotiate. Until then, they believe they can resist.”
Idrib nodded. This was his thinking as well. He didn’t like being defied to begin with. And he hated the savage, combat-first thinking of the Graur.
“I will once again remind Your Majesty that the Graur dominate our military,” Emello said. “I am uncertain you could get many of them to act against their own people and attack their own planetary defense force.”
“The Keeper makes a good point,” Par said. “We should make certain the ships we send have Elohim or Mandran captains. They should have Graur crew in minimal numbers.
“I think you will be hard pressed to find many ships that meet that description,” Emello said. “Regardless, it is also worth noting that the Star Force Supreme Commander is Grenuur Kruell, a Graur. If you are going to attempt a military solution, you will need his cooperation.”
“He might also be the right person for diplomacy,” Orisin said. “If you can convince the top military officer in the Empire to push for your solution, the Graur may be willing to listen to it coming from one of their own.”
Idrib stroked his chin. That solution had merit.
“Order twenty more capital ships to Grakur,” he said. “I want the Graur to understand there is no escaping my will. Then summon Commander Kruell here. I wish to speak to him.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Orisin said.
“Be careful, Your Majesty,” Emello said. “This path is fraught with peril. If anything goes wrong, you will have to fight to hold the Empire together.”
“Do not tell me there will be civil war, Emello,” Idrib said. “This is the Empire. The Graur may be touchy and proud, but they are Imperial citizens first. As a people, they will stay in line.”
“I hope you are right,” Emello said. “If you are not, misery will follow.”
Idrib was growing tired of Emello Miic. She was forgetting where she fit in the scheme of things. Her job had been to help get him the crown. Now that he was sitting on the throne, her job was over. She would do well to remember that.
“You are all dismissed,” he said. “I require time to cogitate all that has been said.”
His advisors nodded and rose. Idrib watched them file out.
Just let the Graur defy him. They could be the fiercest fighters in the galaxy, but they could not match the might of God. The Almighty was Idrib’s ally, and he would smite those who didn’t fall in line.
Even if that meant wiping them from the annals of the Empire.
Idrib already planned to destroy hum
anity. One more race wouldn’t matter.
Gwen powered down the engines and put most of the ship’s systems into sleep mode. She hopped out of the command chair and winced. Her shoulder was largely repaired, but it remained stiff. She wished there was something to be done about that.
She checked to make sure she had her badge and that her beamer was securely holstered against her hip. With a sigh, she left the bridge.
At the airlock, she keyed the intercom.
“EMA,” she said. “I’m leaving. Don’t let anyone aboard until I come back.”
“What is your estimated time of return?” the robot asked.
Gwen sighed. She wished she knew.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “This might get complicated.”
Might? Who was she kidding? The whole situation was already FUBAR.
“If I do not know when you will return, how am I to know whether you are late and should take appropriate action?” EMA asked.
“I’ll signal you,” Gwen said.
“How?”
“I don’t know! Jesus, EMA, just do what I tell you, okay?”
She swore that the first free minute she had she was reprogramming that damned android’s personality.
“If you say so,” EMA said. “But you’re leaving an awful lot to interpretation.”
“I’m leaving now. Lock up after me, and don’t let anyone in but me.”
Gwen cycled the airlock open, ignoring the robot’s final sarcastic remark. A gangplank extended down to the ground.
She took two steps onto the ramp and was immediately hit with a blast of blazing humidity. It was like Cleveland in August, only worse. Hot, sticky, oppressive. She’d felt warmer air in Baghdad, but the heat was dry. No wonder the Graur were so surly. Their home world was a sultry steam bath.
No sooner had Gwen set foot on the landing pad than EMA obeyed her orders and withdrew the ramp and shut the airlock. Gwen tried not to panic. She suddenly felt very alone.
Two Graur approached her immediately. Both were black and female. One had blue eyes while the other’s were yellow. They were otherwise indistinguishable.
