by Cameron Hale
Instinct and the glow of moonlight led me back to the cliffside path. I stumbled through a curtain of gossamer webs, an enormous orb of a spider fleeing as I decimated its painstakingly constructed snare. Drawn by the gleaming domes, I retraced the familiar steps to the Academy. My lungs burned from the effort, the reek of nightbloomers almost overwhelming with each gasp for breath. Ignoring the pain of my bruised and abraded feet, I paused briefly to glance at the jungle below. A snaking chain of lights confirmed my worst fears.
There was little time. Cramping muscles impeded my ascent. A distant, sinister whirring caught my ear. I turned to notice a squat pod emerge from the illuminated belly of the alien ship and rise toward the cliffs. When I finally reached level ground, I ducked and scrambled toward the metal door moments before a dazzling barrage of searchlights raked the path.
Inside the northern dome, I stared at the alien sky. A thought trickled into my mind, prompting me to search the planetarium. My heart fluttered when I noticed a painfully familiar control panel partially concealed behind a curving wall. Banked by an array of green and blue plasma lights, it displayed a configuration identical to the prototypes I had developed as my entry thesis for the Mwaor Braak scholarship. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and quickly programmed the linear dimensional acceleration sequence to project me to Earth a few minutes before my flight to Treor. Later I would find time to mourn my pirated ideas. For now, I was grateful to put the theory into practice.
A pearly blue beam materialized on a receptor pad behind me and angled through the dome toward the alien sky. Without hesitation, I stepped into the light a moment before the din of angry voices burst through the door. Adine’s enraged, unmasked face loomed from the darkness.
“You’re making a mistake, Marese!” she cried, bolting toward the control panel. “You won’t get away with this. You belong to us now!”
I ducked instinctively though I already felt the beam’s spiraling vibration enclose me in a distortional field. The room expanded, blurred and shattered into eddies of prismatic light. I shut my eyes against the strobing brilliance. A brief period of disorientation followed. I reached out to steady myself and bumped into something solid.
My eyes flew open. The translucent walls of a multi-faceted structure surrounded me. Bloody light filtered from a nebula-draped sky ablaze with swathes of burgundy and orange. I reached out and felt a slight resistance as I touched the west-facing wall. An abyssal drop yawned immediately beneath the structure. In the distance pulsed a soaring, geometric city of vast dimension. I stared bleakly at the alien constellations, shaking my head in disbelief.
“But this is impossible,” I muttered, pressing my hands against the warm, pliant wall. “I entered the correct coordinates! I should be home. I should be on Earth.”
I failed to notice the pearly blue beam penetrate the walls behind me and nearly fainted when a hand seized my arm and roughly yanked me around.
“But you are home, Marese,” Adine said. She shook her head and looked at me with slitty eyes glowing like dying embers. “You seem to have forgotten that you’re among equals. Did you think you were the only one capable of programming a linear acceleration sequence?”
I cried out. Bereft of her assumed form, Adine’s repulsive reptilian face was even more terrifying close up. I cringed at the sight of the hideous black figure beside her, his engorged double phallus exposed in readiness. He moved toward me and seized my other arm. His clawed hand crushed my flesh until I cried out in pain, a reaction that seemed to please him. The wall pressed against my back offered no respite.
“No more games, Marese,” Adine said as her monstrous companion trailed his phalluses down my body, their subtle vibration sending a thrill of fear through me. “It’s time to complete your initiation.” She roughly stripped off my sarong and tossed it to the floor. “As you can see, Vahrin is getting most impatient.”
ASSASSIN
Soaring above the craggy peaks of the tiny Isla Negra, the sprawling fortress overlooked its hostile domain of wave-scoured cliffs and brutal terrain. Reinforced terracotta walls perched on the sheer southwestern flank of island’s tallest peak, Montana Peligrosa. Designed by a coalition of the most creative architects, the compound boasted manned turrets and the latest electronic surveillance systems.
Situated thirty-eight miles off the western Latin American coast, the islet brooded among permanently rough seas and notoriously unpredictable weather. The hazardous currents of the surrounding abyssal water provided natural year-round security. Driving winds constantly scoured the island, the cliffs green from a tenacious lichen that thrived in the harsh conditions. Seabirds roosted in abundant nooks and crags, streaks of guano haphazardly dabbed like a child’s finger painting.
No amount had been spared to make arms magnate Rico Castanza’s palatial retreat the most comprehensively secure in the world. Teams of construction workers, laborers, craftsmen and decorators toiled under stringent oaths of secrecy. Though the fortress had taken two arduous years to build and had cost a number of lives, the exhaustive blueprints eventually gave rise to a phenomenal structure seemingly defying the laws of physics.
A staff of eighty full time personnel maintained the retreat, their numbers including house, grounds and kitchen employees. At least half comprised of Castanza’s personal security force. Little was known of the elitist group; its notorious members selected from various international secret services, guerrilla factions and private mercenary groups.
On the occasion of Rico Castanza’s fiftieth birthday, security on Isla Negra was unprecedented. Through a custom-made telescope on the balcony of his private residential wing, he watched the black clad duty guards in position along turrets flanking a crevasse yawning two thousand feet to the churning Pacific below. Discreet grillwork and a fragrant variety of blooming creepers allowed him to observe unseen, his comfort assured by a bottle of the finest champagne and a trolley of handmade French pastries. A wafer thin satellite phone rested on a glass patio table inset with a computer screen divided into dozens of miniature surveillance windows.
Each window mirrored the targets displayed by banks of monitors that strategically flanked each room of his palatial suite. No activity or area was free from his obsessive scrutiny to the point where eavesdropping devices were randomly planted in sheer cliff edges from summit to waterline. Yet no one, not even his top aides, knew the extent to which Rico watched.
He sipped his champagne and idly glanced at one of the miniature windows displayed on the computer screen. Two of his off-duty female staff, Naya, the color of polished ebony, and Kiri, a creamy skinned blonde, lay entwined on a bed swathed in billowing pink chiffon. Oblivious or perhaps unconcerned by his voyeurism, Kiri knelt before Naya’s spread, muscular thighs. The contrast of white skin against black teased Rico. With mounting excitement, he watched Kiri lick and probe the deliciously engorged folds of Naya’s completely hairless cunt.
Soft moans emanated from the speakers. Encircling Naya’s thighs with her arms, Kiri penetrated Naya with her tongue. Naya muttered and thrust her hips; her lithe body aglow like melted chocolate. The pair moved into a sixty-nine position and writhed in a sensual ballet of tongues and fingers.
Though Rico wanted to watch more, he had more pressing business to continue. He panned the extensive grounds with the telescope. Tennis courts bordered the northern courtyard, the rustproofed fences shaded with immaculate green netting. The ground floor wing adjacent to the courts housed a fully equipped gym staffed by two professional trainers and boasted a sauna, steam room, whirlpool and a fully staffed spa.
He allowed his glance to stray to a distantly glinting form of a stinger surveillance chopper that routinely patrolled the island airspace before surveying the remainder of the courtyard. Comprising a huge tiled pool, Jacuzzi and barbecue cabana, landscaped oases displayed specimens from every corner of the globe. Mature trees provided shade, each one well distanced from the walls. Wind chimes tinkled pleasantly from the lower b
ranches. A separated section displayed a thriving variety of exotic fruit, vegetables and herbs. Grounds staff attended to the gardening, the muted thrum of leaf blowers blending into the distant roar of the surf.
Rico zoomed in on some of the guard patrolling the turrets. Though hand-picked for skill and loyalty, a dangerous tension still lurked in their eyes, revealing what their rigidly controlled expressions and body language dared not. The men alternately scanned the horizon and the jagged cliffs below, weapons ever ready.
Though conversation on duty was forbidden, Rico recognized the crude sign language that the men had developed over time. He had not only recorded and studied it, but had come to recognize most of the gestures. There were the occasional provocative comments, but nothing caustic enough to stir Rico into action.
He smiled grimly and poured himself another glass of champagne, aware of the profound effect the recent execution had made on all the staff. Swishing the event in his mind as he would a mouthful of rare wine, his entire staff had been required to assemble on the landing pad a week ago to witness the grisly decapitation of Rico’s cousin, Xavier.
None of the staff had been prepared to see Rico’s favorite aide escorted from the brig by a contingent of guards. Rico himself stood silently watching from the balcony, his arms crossed. Manacled and blindfolded, Xavier stumbled along the tarmac in a plain gray jumpsuit, his whimpering embarrassingly loud as he continually pleaded for mercy. Lank black hair fluttered about his shoulders, his complexion ashen in the unforgiving sun.
Four tightlipped guards flanked him. The captain was obliged to prod Xavier like a recalcitrant cow; the young man frequently falling to his knees and refusing to move. Though the staff remained silent, the stink of tension tainted the air as they unwillingly watched the pathetic procession.
A hooded man dressed completely in black suddenly emerged from the maintenance shed abutting one of the tennis courts. He carried a crude wooden block to the center of the landing pad, his pumped up body bulging beneath tight clothing. Curious eyes followed his purposeful stride, his identity apparently unknown. A brief gasp ran through the attending staff, a nervous murmur rising among the female members.
The guards directed a mewling Xavier toward the pad, his hysteria rising as he was pushed to his knees. Xavier toppled and brushed against the coarse wooden block. As if instinctively recognizing the object, he clumsily attempted to scrabble away, his pleas for mercy rising into hoarse screams.
The hooded man removed a machete from a thick leather scabbard hanging at his waist and thrust Xavier’s head over the block. He struggled to rise could not break the executioner’s iron grip. Some of the staff averted their eyes—a few discreetly crossed themselves. Xavier voided himself, filling the air with a foul stench. The stain rapidly spread across his jumpsuit. The machete glinted in the sun as it was raised, the ensuing blow quick and precise.
Three of the female kitchen staff had fainted as the severed head dropped from the block. It rolled erratically across the tarmac, more a diabolical prop from a cheesy horror movie than flesh and blood. No one moved. Blood spurted from the body like a demented fountain as it slowly toppled from the block. The corpse sprawled drunkenly across the tarmac and was left to twitch and spasm.
One of the older gardeners began to violently retch. He mumbled an apology and disappeared into the staff wing. The others stared anywhere except the body, the message abundantly clear that no transgression against the Castanza empire, no matter how minor, would go unpunished.
The hooded man wiped his machete on Xavier’s body before a guard escorted him to the house. At Rico’s signal, several grim faced guards, all friends or acquaintances of Xavier, emerged from the ranks. They collected the head and body with bare hands and struggled toward the nearest turret. The dead weight impeded their progress as they ascended an access stairway and tossed Xavier’s remains over the walls to the turbulent ocean below.
Silence reigned over the dumbfounded staff, though Rico knew many had witnessed worse during careers as commandos or hired killers. Leaving his vantage point from the balcony, he had made his way to the landing pad and signaled the removal of the women who had fainted before inspecting the ranks. Without expression, he studied each face for possible betrayal, his eyes inscrutable behind dark sunglasses.
Many had known and respected Xavier, the affable young man of thirty a seemingly invaluable assistant to Rico. Responsible for managing the fortress and supervising staff, he handled his job efficiently and thrived in Rico’s rigidly organized kingdom. Little was actually known about Xavier’s transgression, only that it had been a fatal mistake in judgment.
Rico continued his inspection of the grounds through the telescope. The memory piqued him with an intense bitterness. He alone had known the treachery Xavier planned in his intentions to sell details of the fortress security system to his enemies. Suspicious of frequent trips to the mainland and the amount of time Xavier spent analyzing various security threat scenarios, Rico had personally assigned two of his best surveillance operatives to have him followed. When the men confirmed several unscheduled meetings in the capital with certain undesirable factions, Rico decided to let Xavier incriminate himself.
Knowing Xavier’s vanity about jewelry and women, Rico commissioned the creation of a unique tiepin displaying his cousin’s diamond studded initials. A tracking chip incorporated into one of the stones would transmit Xavier’s movements anywhere in the world while foiling the most sophisticated anti-bugging devices. The jeweler dispatched the pin by personal courier, the piece so finely crafted that Rico almost regretted parting with it.
Rico had waited until Xavier’s return that evening from yet another mainland meeting. He watched the arrival of the whisperjet from the balcony telescope, Xavier the only passenger amidst a huge delivery of provisions. Shortly after he disembarked, the surveillance team emerged from the streamlined cockpit, dressed as crew. Rico knew to expect a full report within the hour. In the meantime, he left his cousin a message requesting his presence at dinner that evening in his suite.
A casual fireside dinner had given Rico the opportunity to present the tiepin to Xavier. While waiting for the meal, a specially ordered selection of Indian food, he casually strolled to the bar where Xavier prepared a shaker of cocktails. Rico discreetly scrutinized his cousin, noting his well-maintained tan beneath a rakishly cut white dinner suit. Manicured hands sported a gold watch and three diamond rings. Rico eyed one of the rings, the huge three-carat diamond in a pretentious baroque design.
“Haven’t seen much of you lately, Xavier,” he said. “Thought you could update me on your projects. I’ve been meaning to get together with you, but you’ve apparently been traveling quite a bit.”
The comment had been innocuous enough, but elicited a fluent chronicle from Xavier that instantly alerted Rico that it had been carefully rehearsed. He listened casually to painstaking details of various financial schemes, security procedures and business acquisitions supposedly designed to bolster his empire. Xavier had even answered impromptu questions without hesitation. When he finished his fabricated report, Rico removed a tiny black velvet box from his jacket pocket.
“A token of thanks for your hard work,” he said. “You’ve been a tremendous asset to me.”
Xavier’s eyes glinted as he opened the velvet box. Rico glimpsed a moment of avarice before it was concealed by solicitous gratitude. Xavier smiled and immediately placed the pin on his tie.
“It’s beautiful, Rico. I’m pleased you regard me so highly.”
Rico smiled tightly. “It’s the least I can do to repay you for your service,” he said, ushering in a pair of young girls who had discreetly entered the suite. Xavier’s head immediately swiveled toward the scantily clad redhead and brunette, his eyes drinking in the clearly underage bodies that had been bought for a substantial price. Though both were stunning, both watched him with expressions that betrayed a loss of innocence that had occurred too soon in their lives.
He uttered a muffled groan. “Shove it inside your cunt,” he cried to the brunette. “I’m going to come!”
The girl lifted her face and guided the grossly engorged cock into her cunt. Her small breasts barely moved as she rose to her haunches and began to furiously pump. It was over in barely a minute. Xavier came explosively, the redhead crying out as he bit one of her cunt lips.
Rico laughed. Flaccid and hairy, Xavier lay panting on the floor like a beached whale. The girls grabbed their discarded dresses and scuttled away with ill-concealed disdain.
Rico's instinct about Xavier proved correct barely a month after presenting the tiepin. He had traveled to the mainland to negotiate an arms supply deal for fortress security, a normally routine visit. His downfall had been the emergence of an insidious greed that loosened his tongue to the representative of an unnamed corporation identified only as a rival to Rico’s empire.
Tempted by a twenty million dollar cash bribe, Xavier had relented and agreed to supply the encrypted access codes to Isla Negra’s complete security structure. The tracking chip in his tiepin relentlessly transmitted every detail about his plan to clone the encryption codes of Rico’s security system. He asked only for an unspecified time in which to obtain the information, citing the need for extreme caution. The anonymous party agreed and released ten million dollars to Xavier, the remaining ten million to be deposited into a Swiss bank account upon presentation of the codes.
