Merchants and Maji: Two Tales of the Dissolutionverse (Dissolution Cycle)

by William C. Tracy

  A report boomed in the warehouse, echoing around the large room.

  Wima coughed. Red ran down her chin, and she slowly toppled forward. The others shouted, stepping away, and Bhon raised her guns, growling. My crew stepped back, nearer cover.

  “I think that will be plenty o’ yer rambling on,” came another voice. Several Sureriaj stepped forward, guns at the ready. Their skin was pale, even in the dim light in the warehouse. He nodded sharply to his family members behind him, and there were four more loud gunshots.

  My crew scattered as the bodies hit the ground. Kamuli and I dove behind a convenient stack of pallets, Bhon and Saart behind one of the taller shelves. Other reports followed, echoing in the large warehouse. Something whizzed and thunked into wood above me. I ducked, my gut tightening.

  There was a silence. Reloading.

  “Frente Yatulnath…or should I say Baldek Yatulnath?” I called from my hiding place.

  “Eyah, yer’ve bodgered a right mess now, yer have,” Yatulnath said. His head swiveled, trying to spot us. “Me employees donna need to know so much.”

  “They killed their delivery crew first,” I whispered to Kamuli. “Why not us?”

  “They would know too much of the Sureriaj soldiers,” the large woman said. “Not enough guns for all, and we were the lesser threat.”

  “I have me familymates with me,” Yatulnath called out. “Yer canna hide here. We will kill yer and take the cargo.”

  There was a burping cough from Saart’s weapon. A line of flame disgorged from behind the shelves. Foreign curses sounded, and a lone shriek of pain. Good old Saart.

  I peeked an eye around the corner of my pallet to see a Sureri rolling in the dirt, trying to beat out the flames on his clothing. A few of the others crept toward cover. I motioned to Kamuli, who had a knife up, tip held in one hand. The blade whizzed through the air and an alien clutched at his throat, sinking to his knees. The group moved faster, confused.

  Two Sureriaj down, a whole bunch to go. I didn’t like those odds.

  Bhon’s handcannons spoke, louder than the Sureriaj’s small pistols. One shot went wild, but the other clipped a running Sureri in the shoulder, sending him spinning.

  Behind cover, the aliens had time to finish reloading. More poured in from the back of the warehouse. Yatulnath, striding like a gruesome stork, gestured to either side, and his men spread out, flanking us.

  I pulled a small pistol from my boot, and took a Sureri in the leg. He rolled, tripping one of his companions. I began reloading.

  Answering fire. I ducked back, hoping the wooden pallets held. Kamuli loosed her crossbow, then hung it back on her belt. No time to crank it again. Another round of loud shots came from Bhon. Shadows flared as Saart flung gouts of flame, pushing the Sureriaj back.

  There wasn’t time to reload, and Saart couldn’t keep them all away. I judged the distance to the door, the safety of the transport. Too far, out in the open. Doubtful any of us would reach the door.

  “Run,” I whispered to Kamuli. I hoped Saart and Bhon would see us and follow.

  She nodded and faced the enemy.

  I took one more look back, fumbling with my pistol—

  With a shriek of tortured metal and shattering wood, the old war transport crashed through the front of the warehouse, sunlight bursting in behind it.

  Splinters flew in all directions, and I fell back into the stack of pallets. A stake of wood buried itself in the ground between my feet. The transport rolled a few more feet into the warehouse, then lurched to a stop. The turrets Saart kept shiny and clean rotated to fix on the Sureriaj, and they cringed back. But when the transport’s guns stayed silent—their ordnance long gone—the Baldeks grouped up, aiming their weapons at the new threat.

  Projectiles began to clang off the metal sides of my transport with little effect. I gritted my teeth at the new dents, but the plating held. Amra was supposed to stay away from the fighting.

  Before I could get up, a new sound, loud and thick, filled the air.

  The transport bucked as the turret discharged a loud, glowing object over our heads and just behind the mass of Sureriaj. I covered my ears as the stack of pallets came down around me. The pressure of the blast dug into my skin. My sight went dark for a moment.

  When I could see again, I peered dazedly into what was left of the Baldek troops, my ears ringing. A long-fingered Sureri hand twitched by itself. A leg, with no body. Blood. Worse. I swallowed bile, saw Saart prone, on the floor, blood around his leg. Bhon was holding a hand to her side, trying to drag him back to cover.

  Kamuli must have been protected by the pallet. She bounded forward, mace up, and caved in the skull of the nearest Sureriaj. I yelled at her, though I couldn’t hear myself. We needed one alive. My ears were ringing, noises indistinct. I stumbled to the left.

  Staggering around the broken pallets, I went directly to the long-legged form of Yatulnath, barely upright. The mass of aliens in the back had caught the worst of the blast, shielding the others with their bodies. I caught him as I lurched past, swinging him around to rest between me and the three last Sureriaj standing.

  “Don’t try anything!” I shouted to them, and raised my pistol to Yatulnath’s head. I needn’t have bothered. The others were stunned, eyes blank. Even Yatulnath took a moment to respond, before calling to his family members to stand down. As they did, Kamuli and Bhon limped out to cover them. We were covered with tiny burns and scratches. Bhon had Saart’s flamethrower, and my old friend was still lying motionless, glasses thrown to one side and cracked. Unconscious, or worse? I couldn’t spare the time to check. Thanks to Amra, and whatever she made the transport do, we had the advantage. Good thing she at least was out of harm’s way, behind the metal walls of the transport.

  I needed information. “What’s your plan?” I shouted to Yatulnath, and poked him in the head with my pistol. I hoped he didn’t know it was unloaded. Sounds were starting to come back to me, but he only hunched his narrow shoulders.

  “I haven’t got much patience at this point,” I said loudly, looking into his face so he could see my words. “Are those your cousins?” I thrust my chin toward the other Sureriaj, hands at their sides and guns on the floor.

  “Two cousins. One brother,” Yatulnath said. I could barely hear him, but I caught his meaning.

  “Bhon?” I gestured to my most bloodthirsty bodyguard in case she was as deaf as me.

  There is little love lost between the Festuour and the Sureriaj. Bhon almost leapt forward, raising the flamethrower to one of the captives.

  “Shall I guess which is the brother?” I asked, and Yatulnath shuddered under me. Siblings were precious to them, even more than to Methiemum. They would gladly, eagerly, betray extended family for those closer to them.

  The Sureri in the middle reached out with one thin hand, toward his sibling. Bhon shifted the glowing tip of the flamethrower to him.

  Yatulnath began to speak.

  “There will be more comin’,” he said. “Yer canna stop this by killin’ me or me brother. Shipments are goin’ out all over yer planet.”

  “We’ll deal with that,” I told him. “Why are you trying to sterilize us?” I moved around to face the Sureri, still holding my gun up.

  He grimaced as he saw me, his eyes gone cold as if he watched a poisonous insect. “We Baldek know what’s really happenin’,” he spit. “Other Sureriaj great families are weak. They let the Methiemum stay on our planet. Yer kind are the worst. See something, and yer take it. For ages, we barred the other species from our home, but yer and yer kind forced yer way in. The other species too, but yer are the worst. Yer breed like maggots, eyah? Just because me own don’t grow so fast, yer think yer can take our own planet away from us!”

  “That’s insane. Why would we want to live there?”

  “Eyah, so yer ask, but we know better.” Yatulnath said. “Yer have people living on all the ten homeworlds. It’s only a smidge o’ time u
ntil yer start breeding like yer always do.”

  “Those are trading posts,” I told him. “Those are so we can trade with you. Both of us win.” I glanced at Bhon and Kamuli. They looked as confused as I was. I snuck a peek at Saart, still out. I wondered why Amra didn’t come out to help him.

  “That’s how it starts, eyah,” Yatulnath returned. “But the Baldek will keep yer kind from takin’ over all of the ten homeworlds by stoppin’ yer incessant breedin’. See if we won’t!”

  He surged to his feet, pushing my gun away from his head, and shouting orders in the Sureri language. His family members dove for their weapons.

  Bhon shot a blast of flame at one and Kamuli blocked another, stabbing with her knife. Yatulnath’s brother raised his gun and fired. Kamuli grunted, staggering off balance, holding her arm. She recovered quickly, punching her attacker, her left bicep showing a gash of red. As he reeled back, she hit him with the butt of her mace. The Baldek dropped.

  But Yatulnath reached a dead alien, grasping the dropped firearm.

  “Stop!” I cried, and he froze. “We can fix this!”

  Yatulnath snarled wordlessly, and raised his weapon.

  Bhon’s blast of flame caught him full on, turning him into a torch. But before the blazing form fell, his gun fired, and something slammed into my shoulder. I staggered, tripped, and the world tilted.

  * * *

  Kamuli’s dark face swam into view.

  “How long?” I muttered.

  “It was only a minute or two. You hit your head when you fell.”

  I tried to raise my left hand to feel my head and pain shot through my arm, overriding my massive headache.

  “And you were shot, of course. You will need a hospital.”

  “Thanks.” I grimaced. There was a cloth bandage wrapped around my upper arm, stained a blotchy red.

  My mind replayed the last several seconds of the confrontation.

  “Saart?” I gently pulled my head up to look around. The warehouse was lit by the dying light of the Sureri bonfire, the sunlight coming through the broken doors. It stank of fried flesh and spilt blood and I forced my stomach back down. Yatulnath’s brother was trussed by the pallets, unconscious.

  I caught sight of my Festuour chef and mechanic off to the side. He was sitting up, peering through his cracked glasses and pressing a matted bloody paw into his thigh. Bhon was ripping up a sheet of fabric beside him.

  “It’s fine,” Saart grated, pinning me with his brilliant blue eyes. “Shrapnel nipped my leg. I’ll be dandy in a few days.” From his heavy panting and the amount of blood, I wasn’t sure. I could see shredded flesh beneath his paw.

  We were all accounted for, and mostly whole. We didn’t have our money, but maybe, with our captive—

  I looked around again, carefully. Two Festuour, one large Methiemum woman. I would have expected Amra to be out of the transport as soon as the fight was over, her wrap pulled around her, making sure everyone was alright.

  I pulled myself to my feet. The other two were busy with Saart. I walked as fast as I could to the transport, wincing and cursing, holding my arm, and tried not to scream as I jerked the hatch open. I clambered clumsily inside.

  Amra gazed at me, face tight, one hand over her abdomen. A crimson puddle was pooling beneath her. My head swiveled to the tank’s windshield, where I saw the tiny hole the stray bullet had made.

  “Kamuli!” I called. She was there in a moment at the panic in my voice, and bent over my accountant…my love.

  “This is not good,” she said quietly. Amra had closed her eyes, but I thought she still heard us.

  “But you can help her.”

  “I…do not know,” she replied. “This is worse than Saart.”

  “We’re in a transport full of medical supplies, for Vish’s sake! Find something! And get the others in here!” I pushed at her with my good arm and Kamuli leapt back out the hatch.

  “Keep pressure on it!” she called.

  Amra’s eyes opened, a rictus of pain on her face.

  “Don’t worry,” I told her. “Kamuli will take good care of you. She’ll make sure—”

  “Did you have any idea…what you were doing…attacking a troop of Baldek…soldiers?” she gasped, interrupting me. “Lucky I was here to…to rescue you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice a whisper. I tried to figure out where to press. How not to hurt her more.

  “We’ll never get the…money now,” she said. “If you…plan our marriage like this, I’ll shoot you…myself.”

  I looked down. There would be a wedding. I hadn’t realized before how much I wanted one. I wanted to marry this woman, have children with her, and have our own little business on Methiem, selling trinkets from around the ten homeworlds.

  “You will marry me, won’t you?”

  “Of course, you idiot,” she grated. “Talk to me. Keep me awake.”

  Behind her, the base of the turret was still turned into the warehouse.

  “How did you fire it?” I placed one hand on hers, shaking and white over her stomach. Crimson stood bold against her green wrap. She was too warm, feverish and weak. I helped her hold pressure on the wound. One hand I put on hers, the other I slid around her back, trying to keep my face calm at her cries of pain.

  “The Colonel gave me…one casing before he left,” Amra told me between gasps. Red seeped through her fingers as she spoke. It stained my hand too, hot and sticky. I couldn’t feel any blood behind her. The bullet was still inside. “Old. Might not work. Said it was what the tank was built…to use. Couldn’t…depend on it…working.”

  “So you didn’t tell me about it. Not a sure strategy.” Her accounting side, letting me plan for the worst case. My jaw tensed. “And he said he wouldn’t get involved. Meddling maji.” Otherwise we would all be dead. “It must use ordnance made by the maji of the House of Potential. No wonder these things aren’t used any more. With a cost like that, you could never fund them.” With this cost. I kissed Amra’s forehead.

  “The Sureriaj?” she asked.

  “You got them. We left one alive to question. I need to find another buyer for our cargo, with the Baldek’s portion removed. Even without this contract, we can turn a profit. People with the Shudders still need medicine. Then we can get married. Just—”

  “Just a few more jobs…right?” my fiancé guessed.

  Kamuli, sweating, with scratches on her arms, pushed through the hatch.

  “I have painkillers, but the cargo section is a mess. The Colonel only opened the one crate. Ramming the building and firing the turret turned the jars to shards of glass.”

  She held out a handful of pills, some of her own making, and some from the delivery.

  “The Shudders medicine? Will it help her?” I tried to get a better look but Amra grunted in pain and I kept my position.

  “It will reduce inflammation and stabilize her metabolism until we get to the hospital. But…”

  I counted the handful of little gray things in her hand. “You don’t know which jar they came from.”

  Kamuli shook her head. “It is more than likely not the contaminated medicine.”

  I looked at Amra. “Are you sure she can’t make it without—”

  Amra’s eyes tightened and she winced.

  “She is losing too much blood,” Kamuli said. “We will need to dose Saart as well.”

  “Do it,” Amra croaked.

  “Do it,” I agreed. We’d sort things out later. We couldn’t waste any more time.

  “No more deliveries,” she whispered. Kamuli shooed me out of the way to tend to Amra herself. We traded positions gingerly.

  “No more deliveries,” I agreed. I didn’t have to think hard about it.

  “Help me lay her down, get the others ready,” Kamuli told me. “On three.” Amra screamed when we moved her and my heart almost stopped in my chest.

  I helped Bhon drag Saart and the last unconsci
ous Sureri to the passenger section, then jumped into the pilot’s seat, still slick with my fiancé’s blood.

  We left the bodies where they lay. Bhon stoked the engines and I drove full speed down narrow streets.

  * * *

  Kashidur City is the largest trading port on Methiemum, and the capital city of the largest nation. One of the best medical facilities was not ten minutes distant, the way the cargo transport rumbles. The promise of medicine for the Shudders got us in quickly.

  Saart and Amra were wheeled into the operating theater on stretchers. Kamuli came in as our personal doctor and Bhon came with her mate. All of us bore injuries to a degree.

  As was the custom, the theater was open to observers and students of the medical arts, behind a line of glass windows. This early in the morning, the seats were empty, except for one person.

  “What’s he doing here?” The old majus was calmly sitting in a corner. I sucked in air as a masked nurse with her gray hair in a bun slid a needle into my arm. It started to go numb and I let out a breath.

  “Thought you might need help wrapping things up,” the Colonel shouted through the glass. I could barely hear him. “Those crates are still sealed, if I remember right.”

  “But how did he get here before us?” I asked a masked Kamuli, who was helping the nurse. Amra had a small crowd of people around her, and medicines and poultices vanished into the group. Saart had his own crowd, examining his leg. Kamuli ignored me.

  Time passed, as it does in hospitals. They even forced Bhon down at one point to treat her burns and cracked ribs.

  They told us Saart would lose the leg. The damage was too great, too much of a risk to his life. Saart was stoic; I complained more than he did. The amputation was quick, Saart rendered unconscious by a mask of ether. The first thing he did when awoke was to ask for pen and paper to begin designing a prosthetic leg. And new glasses.

  On Amra, we heard nothing definite. Doctors traded places, a steady stream of medicines arrived.