The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four

by Daniel Lawlis

  It was starting to seem worth a try, and Koksun was growing a bit weary by the day of pretending to be a mute animal.

  While he was in the kitchen, getting ready to slurp dry a saucer of milk, he heard someone opening the door to the house, and his nose immediately told him it was Donive.

  “Hi, Bandit,” Donive said to Koksun as she entered the kitchen, having no idea of the full appropriateness of the name she had chosen for her cat.

  She began removing some items from the basket she was carrying, and then, without any warning, a unique smell hit Koksun with the force of a hurricane wind, transporting him almost instantly across the erstwhile untraversable abyss of several centuries of time to when he was a strapping, twenty-year-old man about to graduate from Stage One of Varco training and embark upon his first mission.

  Chapter 3

  “Let’s move! Let’s move!”

  The characters in the room being barked at like they were slaves caught slacking on a plantation operating under a tight deadline hardly looked the part. They were a sundry assortment. Everything from lawyer to accountant to banker might have been reasonable guesses for a large portion of their number. Woodsman, carpenter, blacksmith, or even serf would have sufficed as logical guesses for a large minority of them.

  But all of these guesses, though reasonable, would be wrong.

  Koksun, then a young man of twenty, looked like a banker, but when he approached the two-hundred-foot wooden wall, ejected a pair of wicked-looking claws from a contraption hidden underneath each sleeve of his suit coat, jumped several feet up into the air, and drove his claws into the wood, he looked like anything but.

  Without even so much as a pause, he gave the wood a hard kick with his left boot, and spikes shot out. Another kick with his right boot accomplished the same, and in a matter of seconds, Koksun was making his way up the wall easier than a squirrel up a tree.

  Varter wasn’t far behind him and in fact was gaining rather quickly. Koksun saw this and went from merely climbing to leaping up the wall. As if his muscles rendered gravity little more than a small annoyance, Koksun’s powerful back muscles yanked his body high up into the air with each powerful pull, and his legs simultaneously provided a push that in combination made him almost look like a frog hopping up the wall as if it were horizontal.

  Now, Varter was comfortably behind Koksun and getting farther behind by the second. It was rather anticlimactic when Koksun reached the top of the wall a full fifteen seconds before his companion. “It’s a new record!” announced Vilgor, the instructor. Koksun had excelled his companions in almost every test that these Varco recruits had undergone during the last rigorous eight years of their lives.

  Graduation from Stage One of training did not seem to be a serious question for any of the recruits filling the room. Eight years of merciless training in language, weapons, unarmed combat, climbing, forgery, and any other area useful to practitioners of the espionage arts had surely long ago weeded out those unfit to call themselves Varco. But competition, amongst even these recruits for whom graduation seemed a foregone conclusion, was still as fierce as between starving wolves fighting over a piece of meat.

  Only those obsessed with perfection managed to make it this far, and this obsession was continually encouraged by their instructors.

  Vilgor called everyone to attention, and both Koksun and Varter, immediately produced a grappling hook from one of their many secret pockets, hooked it to the top of the wall, and rappelled down almost at free-fall speed. The wire connected to the grappling hook was invisible from even a modest distance, but upon close examination one would see it was thinner than fishing string, although strong enough to hold the weight of any three individuals in the room without breaking, thus allowing an incredible length of the wire to be stored inside the wooden handle it attached to.

  As soon as Koksun and Varter’s feet touched terra firma, they each pressed a button on the wooden handle. The spikes at the top of the wall quickly reversed directions, thus extricating themselves, and then the wire receded briskly into the wooden handle like a swift snake disappearing into a hole.

  There was barely a sound as the spikes folded back forcefully into the handle.

  “You have been told scaling the wall would be your last physical test. But there is one more test. It is psychological, yet many of you will find that it is the hardest test. You must pass this test in order to graduate.”

  An uneasy silence permeated the room, yet the curiosity was palpable.

  Vilgor opened a small container and began walking by each of the recruits.

  “Take a whiff!” he barked. “What you’re looking at is one of the best-kept secrets of the Varco. It’ll enable you to swim longer, run longer, lift more weight, run faster, suppress your fear, increase focus, go weeks without eating, go days without drinking.”

  “It’s called Valder,” he continued.

  As Vilgor passed Koksun, he leaned forward and smelled. A powerful odor—partly sweet, partly spicy, and partly he had no idea what except that it was overwhelming—ascended into his nostrils.

  “The downside is this little gadget of ours happens to be a little addictive. Truth be told, forget what you think you know to be addictive, because you’re wrong. This is addictive!”

  “So why do we use it? Performance enhancement. And, if used properly, its addictiveness can be controlled. You are going to each receive a specific chart based upon your height and weight that will tell you what constitutes a dose, and how long you must detox after each dose.

  “Take Koksun here, for example. He’s 210 pounds of solid meanness and shrewdness. This” (and he pulled out a small vial) “is a dose for Koksun. If he has one dose, he’s going to feel the effects for around twenty-four hours. He’ll feel a little groggy once the effects wear off but will feel normal within about half a day. But let’s say he’s got a really special mission he’s on and doesn’t want to do a whole heck of a lot of sleeping during the next week, and so he has a dose every day for a week. He’s going to need a week to let this pleasant substance work its way out of his system afterwards.

  “There are hundreds of exact scenarios calculated out for you on your chart, as well as a formula to calculate the dosage for any situation you might come across not already included on the chart.

  “Gents, follow these instructions to the letter, and you’ll find that Valder is your best friend. It should not be used by default on any mission. This is a back-up weapon. This is for any situation where your normal physical and mental faculties are just not going to get the job done.

  “You’re going to undergo supervised usage over the next six months.”

  In spite of the silence, a groan could almost be heard escaping from the lips of these sourly disappointed recruits who thought that after eight years of training they were mere days away from getting out into the real world and starting to do the kinds of harrowing, adventurous missions that were the stuff of Metinvurian folklore and that had captured their imagination as children and made them choose this arduous path.

  Nonetheless, silence reigned, and not even the slightest movement of the face betrayed the immense disappointment that came crashing down upon them.

  “Anyone who deviates one iota from the dosage specifications is OUT! Is that understood?”

  “SIR, YES, SIR!” they sang in trained unison.

  “Koksun, you’re up for a five-day dosage period followed by a two-week detox.”

  Koksun looked at the five vials with some confusion.

  As if reading his mind, Vilgor said, “It goes up the nose!” loud enough for all the recruits to hear.

  Koksun tilted the small vial towards his palm, emptied the contents, and snorted everything.

  POW!!!!!!!

  It felt like a clap of thunder had just gone off in his brain. He nearly reeled backwards from the strength of the drug. But he didn’t. He resumed at-attention posture and looked forward.

  One by one, various recruits were bein
g given their doses, and pretty soon it sounded as if everyone had an egregious cold, as sniffles erupted around the room like dominoes falling against one another.

  “If some of you are finding it just a liiiiitle hard to stand still right now, don’t worry. This drug is mostly used for physical purposes, although it affects everyone a little differently. With time, you’ll learn to control this drug and make it work for you. As for now, we’re going to go ahead and explore its physical enhancement. KOKSUN—UP THAT WALL!”

  Vilgor didn’t’ have to say it twice. The “L” had barely escaped his lips before Koksun was bolting through the ranks of his fellow recruits and headed towards the wall as if a pride of lions were behind him. Eight feet away from the wall he jumped like a gazelle, activated his hand spikes in the air, and dug them into wall, while simultaneously kicking both boots against it and activating these spikes.

  “GET HIM, VARTER!!” shouted the instructor.

  But if the drug had some effect on Varter’s determination, it paled in comparison to its effect on Koksun, rendering it nearly a candle next to a bonfire. Koksun was up the wall before most of the recruits could blink more than a few times.

  Chapter 4

  The next five days for Koksun were like something out of a bizarre dream. Where his instructor before would have him run four miles, it was now twenty. Where his instructor before would have him climb the wall twenty times without a break, it was a hundred. Where his instructor before would give him a four-hour test over languages, Varco codes, and secret handshakes, it was now eighteen. And all without a break.

  What before would have taken Koksun or any of the other recruits far beyond their limits and been impossible he was now doing with a surreal ease. With the same surreal quality of a man in a dream watching his body struggle to move in the way the dreamer commanded it, Koksun now conversely watched in equal disbelief as his body and mind performed impossible feats. Muscles contracted rapidly and responded to mental commands effortlessly long after they should have gone limp with exhaustion. Facts were recalled from his mind and proceeded flawlessly from his mouth long after his brain should have collapsed with fatigue. He felt as if he had somehow become a different species and had left behind his flawed, former body like a butterfly leaving its chrysalis on a branch.

  Every day at precisely the same time, Koksun took his scheduled dose, and the subtle hints of oncoming fatigue would quickly vanish like shadows chased away by a bright light.

  Then, when the time drew near for what would be his sixth dose, he began to think of the unpleasant fact that there was no sixth dose. He was done with this trial run and due for a two-week detox after that . . . and, heck, who knew if he’d ever get to enter this paradise again. That thought brought him no joy, and he had the cognitive wherewithal to realize that if not for the Valder coursing through his veins he would likely be feeling extremely apprehensive and depressed.

  But coursing through his veins it still was, and thus, his mind, which was currently focused on a ten-hour examination on unarmed combat techniques, was as likely to be deviated as a large herd of thunderous bison roaring across an open prairie. He performed the hundreds of techniques flawlessly, but by the end of the exam he was only a few hours away from what would be his sixth dose—the dose that was not to come.

  Now, his mind was starting to feel the slightest indications of returning back to the chrysalis and then regressing all the way back to his caterpillar state as a mere human being. And this time the negative thought was not up against a herd of stampeding bison but practically the wandering mind of a child, which can be distracted without great exertion. He started to feel a subtle sense of dread that he somehow knew was going to get far worse before it got better.

  “LINE UP!!” Vilgor shouted.

  Everyone in the room quickly did so.

  “Everyone currently in the room is on the five-dose regimen, which has now just about run its course. You’ve done an excellent job, every last one of you. You’ve done more physical and mental exertion in the last five days than you have in any two-week period leading up to this. You’ve each had no sleep and have still performed flawlessly on a merciless series of physical and mental examinations. Would you say that Valder has a bit of a kick to it?!”

  “SIR, YES, SIR!!” they shouted in perfect unison.

  “It does indeed!” Vilgor concurred. “But unfortunately, it’s got two kinds of kicks. The good kind, which you’ve already met, and the bad kind, which you’re about to meet and maybe are already starting to get to know a little. What can I say—what goes up must go down,” he said shrugging his shoulders.

  “But you’re going to learn to how to control the landing. And if it still hurts, well, just remember that Valder isn’t meant to be part of your morning breakfast. It’s to be used only when truly needed, and that should not be terribly often.

  “Now, you’ve all earned a lot of shut-eye, and you can have it. In fact, you’ve earned two weeks of rest.”

  This prompted a happy smile onto the faces of the recruits, who were now starting, little by little, to feel the aftereffects of what their bodies and minds had been pushed through during the last five days.

  “You’re each going to be confined to a private room and will not be allowed to leave. This will be a period of soul-searching so that you can decide if you really want to be a Varco agent. You’ve got some more training to do with Valder and some detox sessions that are going to make this look like a piece of cake, so if it seems like it’s getting hot in the kitchen now, this would be a great time for you to pack your bags and get the hell out of here because it’s going to get a lot harder before it gets any easier.”

  This erased the smiles from the recruits’ faces but elicited no outward groans. Inwardly, however, some were nearing their breaking point.

  “To become Varco, you have to successfully complete each and every detox. However, some Valder will be placed in your room in case you start to have seizures or any severe withdrawal symptoms. If you take even one grain of this Valder, you will not become Varco. But we’d prefer you to fail the Varco and still serve your country with the many skills you’ve learned in some capacity rather than die from withdrawal. It’s a choice you’ll have to make. The Valder will be placed on a scale in your room, and if even one iota disappears, an alarm will go off, and you will be expelled immediately. IS THAT CLEAR?!”

  “SIR, YES, SIR!” they shouted out.

  The recruits were led down a hallway, placed into small rooms with nothing but a bed, a hole for bodily needs, and a small bookshelf with various training manuals. As Koksun went down the hallway towards the room he would be assigned to, the effects of Valder were now dissipating from his body like sand rapidly falling down the aperture of an hourglass.

  By the time he reached his room, the upper chamber of the hourglass was losing its very last grains of sand, and thus, so it was with his energy. Like a shipwrecked man completing the last two swim strokes that will bring him to shore and conclude his arduous swim, Koksun somehow made the two final steps to the bed that awaited him, its austere sheets holding far more charm in that moment than a goddess of pleasure awaiting him with open arms. He fell face-first onto it like a sack of grain. He heard the door to his room click and lock. Then, everything went black.

  Chapter 5

  The next day when Koksun awoke, he felt like he had drunk a jug of whiskey, slipped and fallen down a nastily long stairway, and used his head repeatedly to soften the fall. A mild groan escaped his lips, and he looked up at the ceiling, in the process feeling like the mere act of opening his eyelids was a heroic act meritorious of an epic poem.

  He tried to move his head but couldn’t. It felt like his whole body was pinned to the bed by a thousand nails. He closed his eyes, counted to three, and then lurched forward as if his life depended upon it. At least, he tried to lurch forward. By attempting something more dramatic he accomplished something slightly less ambitious—turning to his side. He put his rig
ht hand on the bed and pushed. Slowly, like the wall of a house being put into place by two hundred groaning men pulling on a rope, he heaved his body into a seated position.

  There, he told himself. That deserves a reward.

  He felt like a suitable reward for this task would be to sit there in utter stillness staring blankly at the wall like a senile old man. So that was precisely what he did.

  After what seemed to be about fifteen minutes (but for all he knew it could have been fifteen hours), he decided he was going to do something worthy of a gold medallion. He was going to stand up.

  The thought alone tired him so much he regretted it the moment it entered his mind. Like a dog sensing it is about to be removed from its favorite resting spot, his body seemed to lower itself towards the ground ready to resist the tyrannical treatment it was about to be asked to undergo.