“I need to know what they really do, not what their official job description says. Specifically, I want to know a about High Seer Malraff. Do you know her?”
“Fortunately, not. Few do and almost all of them disappear soon after they meet the bitch.”
“So, you know her by reputation?”
“Colorful and frightful would be the words I’d choose. That and sociopath.”
“I had the same impression when I met her.”
“You’ve survived the pleasure of meeting the storm from hell?”
“That her nickname?”
“And a well-earned one.” He set down his utensil and folded his front paws thoughtfully. “I had a friend a few years back. He was a good officer and talented. He was more dedicated than most Adamant, which is saying a lot. He was also more devoted to our current, dubiously talented emperor. He was like a puppy to him he was so devoted.
“He transferred away to a new ship. It was a small promotion, but he glowed in the dark he was so pleased. We kept in touch. He was promoted once again to a position most Adamant would consider a dead-end insult of an assignment, but not Rathwor. No, every move up was a place he could better serve his beloved emperor.”
“Somehow, I think there’s cautionary end to this tale,” I said darkly.
“Indeed. My friend was a socially inept as he was militarily skilled. While meeting his new shipmates, it became clear to them he was a two-legged rabbit at bentil. That’s a popular card game amongst the military.”
“You mean he was an easy mark at poker?”
“Your idiom sounds right. So naturally he was enticed into every crocked game aboard ship. I tried to warn him, but he insisted Adamant would never cheat at cards and were only inviting him to be sociable. Then, one day, the impossible happened.”
“The two-legged rabbit won it all. He took everybody’s ill-gotten gains.”
“Yes, he did. As a total newbie, completely unaware of his tenuous position, he boasted of it to everyone he could. Well, one of the individuals who lost a fortune that night was the son of a member of the Secret Council.”
“That doesn’t sound healthy.”
“It very much isn’t. So, the sore loser cries to Papa that he was cheated out of honest money and that the thief was belittling the family name.”
I whistled.
“Two days later, Dare Not docks with Rathwor’s ship. He’s summoned from sleep to the captain’s cabin where he is introduced to Malraff. Captain said there had been charges he’d cheated at cards. Even as Rathwor babbled of his innocence, Malraff said she’d been sent by the Secure Council to investigate the charges. She told him cheating at bentil was a high crime. It undermined the integrity of the fighting forces that relied on the game as a pleasant respite from the serious duties of advancing the empire.
“Rathwor was still incoherently shouting that he was innocent as he disappeared onto Dare Not. He was never heard from or seen again.”
“Ouch.”
“Tell me about it. I was even foolish enough to contact his family a good while later. I figured he was dead, but I was damn curious. Anyway, he’d given me his family information in case he was killed so I could personally contact them. You’ll never guess what his mother said when she heard my inquiry.”
He stared at me a moment. “She said she never had a son. She had two daughters, but neither were in the military. Then she ended the transmission. The woman I was talking to was the same woman whose portrait hung in Rathwor’s cabin. Within twenty minutes, the number was disconnected. In an even stupider stunt, once I was head of cybersecurity on this ship, I searched for Rathwor’s military file.”
“And, big surprise, there were none.”
“Loyal, harmless Rathwor had been erased because he made a Secure Council ’s card cheating son look bad. They took all his money too.”
“So, all High seers are mindless killers? They're the goon squad?”
“They are a unique subset of the Adamant. If we had a religion, they might be considered our ministers.”
“Are there priests?”
“No. The Loserandi are—were—the priests. They’re all dead because they challenged the Adamant long ago. No, though Seers are not priests, they’re quite similar to them.”
“Lunatic fringe with a personal agenda that suits the emperor’s needs.”
“Yes, that’s fair to say. And Malraff is the worst I’ve ever heard of.”
“Would it be fair to say all high seers act like her?”
He thought a second. “No. Most are heavy-handed, to be certain, but they’re not cold-blooded killers. They police the Adamant from a purity of thought angle, I suppose you could say.” He sipped his tea. “You say Malraff was with your Deft teens on Excess of Nothing? Do you know why?”
“Never got the chance to ask. She acted like she was in charge though.”
He angled his head. “No, they don’t command by rank. Fear, most definitely, but never directly.”
“I think she took them to Dare Not with her.”
He took a deep breath. “Then I doubt they’ll fare any better than poor old Rathwor. Sorry.”
“I know. No reason to sugarcoat a thing. But why take them before the emperor and then whisk them away on her ship? If they were simply to be tortured to death, why visit the emperor?”
He thought a while. “I don’t know. I can ask around discreetly, but I don’t have any contacts on Excess of Nothing.”
“Good. There’s something I’m missing. EJ, who does transportation magic, wants them, and the Adamant want something from them—some knowledge.” I looked up. “How is a shapeshifter like a magical robot?”
Harhoff shrugged. “Sorry. No clue. If you figure it out, please do let me know. Oh, and here’s a riddle for you. How’s a shapeshifting teenager like an Adamant vessel?”
“No idea. But why do you compare then to a ship? The emperor could be interested for millions of other reasons.”
“No, he is not. He’s interested in getting laid often. He’s interested in over-consuming the best foods. Outside of that, he cares only for his war effort. Unless your kids have something in common with a new weapon, then his interest has to be the ships.”
Interesting. How’s a shapeshifting kid like an Adamant spaceship? Huh. No idea. It’s not even a very good riddle. It’s kind of like the one about how is fire like yesterday’s memories. Made no sense to even ask the question.
TWENTY-SIX
Weeks passed with the teens bored and all but forgotten. Still, Doctor Pastersal would stop by occasionally or call one of them to the lab, but nothing much was done. The only change Mirri noted was that the doctor was treating her much worse than he had before. He was rude, forceful, and seemed to want to hurt her. Maybe spending so much time with the evil one was transferring to him though his skin?
One morning no different than any other they’d recently endured, they were summoned to the main testing area. That was not good. The testing area was what Malraff called her torture chamber. They’d visited it once or twice, but never for the room’s intended purpose. Up until then, they’d been mostly subject to medical tests and procedures in a medical lab set up by Pastersal. Malraff would help, but that initial part seemed scientifically driven. There was, both kids knew, no scientific purpose for torture.
The guards opened the door and escorted them in, but then left them alone in the empty room. It wasn’t as big as the medical lab. The shelves were packed with tools, probes, knives, and many items they could not identify. Ominous-looking machines were neatly lined against the walls. In the middle of the room was a stainless-steel table raised to waist height. Its surface gently angled inward to a drain into the center of the table. Hoses, handholds, and straps lined the edges of the table. A large bright lamp was suspended over the table and could be easily moved by the operating agent, much like in a dental office.
The room was ice cold and had a slightly floral smell. Though there were no soft material
s to absorb sound, the room was silent despite the numerous idling machines. Mirri felt fear in the room. It wasn’t that she was afraid. No, she felt the fear from others who’d been there before. She began to shake. Wave after wave of hopelessness, pain, and horror slammed into her consciousness like she was at sea during a hurricane. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard the lingering screams of those who suffered here. The voices begged, swore, and desperately promised, but mostly they were anguished. Mirri wished she could ease their suffering, but mostly, in that room alone with Slapgren, she wished she had never been born.
“What?” asked Slapgren. “You look like you’ve just seen the Three Headed Beast and he asked you to move in with him.” He smiled unconvincingly. He was very frightened too.
“I wish it were only that,” she replied weakly. “No, this place is horrible. I … I think I hear the dead.”
“Mirri, you’re tripping. We’ve been here before, and you didn’t hear sad voices.” He patted her shoulder.
“We were here with the Seer and the doctor. We’ve never been here alone.”
He grunted an empty chuckle. “What difference would that make? Screaming ghosts are screaming ghosts.”
She turned to him and took both his hands. She clutched them to her chest. “If Malraff was the one who made you suffer so and then killed you, maybe you’d stay quiet when she was in the room too.”
“Mirri, I’m sorry you’re so scared. It’s impossible not to be. I already wet my pants twice since the door closed. But, hang in there, my sister. Don’t go to pieces. I need you. Please?”
“I wish I were going insane. What follows would be much easier then.”
“Her hands are tied. Sure, she’ll try and scare us and hurt us a little. But then she’ll let us heal, and we’ll be fine.”
“We have but three hopes. One, Uncle Jon comes soon and very soon. Two, our little acquisitions can help us, you know, what we discussed.”
“Sure, they’ll help us…”
She pressed a finger firmly over his lips. “No need to speak of what we already discussed.”
“What’s the third hope? Those first two are kind of low percentage.”
“That she accidentally kills us quickly. Both of us.” She pulled his hands harder to her breast.
From behind came a grinding, crackling-cellophane voice. It wasn’t loud, but the speaker had to be shouting, it was so unnatural in its assault of the senses. “You hope my injuries and time away from the game will cause to me err so badly? Nonsense, child. I have more practice under my collar than you could possibly imagine.” High Seer Malraff laughed. It was a supreme torture just hearing that emotion come from her. It was frightening, unliving, hateful, and it was hungry, lustfully hungry. It didn’t want more. The laugh wanted everything.
Mirraya stood straight. If she was facing a horrific death, why be scared? Why give the bitch the satisfaction? She turned to face her tormentor. “Slapgren, I guess you won that bet. There are no gods, and she’s didn’t die. The universe must really hate itself, letting a waste of space like that live.”
Malraff lunged at Mirri with the intent of wringing her neck. But the pain and incoordination in her legs made her nearly fall. A figure from behind raced to her side and caught her. It was Sentorip.
“Release me, scum,” she howled at her Descore and swung an elbow at her chest. “If I need the damn doctor’s spy I will ask for you.”
Sentorip released her, and she nearly toppled. Sentorip gave Mirraya a hateful glare. “I’m back, wretched child.” Then she winked once without otherwise changing her vicious facial expression. “I serve a proper Adamant now, not alien trash such as yourself.”
“Help me to my seat,” said Malraff, raising a bony paw to indicate the direction.
It would have been painful watching Malraff struggle so in torment while simply taking a few steps. Then again, it would only have been if Mirri didn’t hate her so fundamentally.
Once Malraff had lurched into her seat, she panted several minutes without word or motion. “Send in my assistant,” she said more in resignation than glory.
A slight Adamant of advanced years skulked into the room, foreboding and dread emanating from him like light from the noonday sun. Here was a male who enjoyed his work and was always eager to serve.
“Cembert,” chided Malraff, “why do you always make me wait? Strap her in, shoulders only. Quickly now.”
“T-to w-wait f-f-for a prec-c-cious thing issss to charrrrish it so … s … so much more, my devotion.”
“I’ve told you never to call me that, fool. I’m High Seer or Mastress to you, slime of the bottom of a wet stone.” As she spoke, she unconsciously batted the back of a paw at him.
They must have been, Mirraya reflected, an old married couple.
Once a harness like yoke of sorts was secured around Mirri’s arms and torso, Cembert backed away silently.
“Is it tight this time, worm bait?” demanded Malraff. “Wait. Don’t answer. I don’t have the time or inclination to hear you stammer and drool.”
“A … as … sss you wi …”
“Silence.”
Wisely, he nodded and withdrew further, making no other response.
Once composed again in her chair, Malraff stared at Mirraya. Slapgren was a forgotten trinket, standing alone.
“Do you know what’s on the menu today, wicked child?” Malraff began.
“I’d wish it was your still beating heart, but I know you don’t have one.” Mirri spat on the floor demonstrably.
“Such bravado. So full of life. Such a pity all that will end soon. And it will end poorly for you, I fear, my disrespectful child.”
“It can’t end too soon for me,” Mirri shot back. “The sooner I’m dead, the sooner I don’t have to listen to the idiot that is you.”
It took all her resolve and the discipline gained by years of muted service for Sentorip to not guffaw at that quip.
Clearly, Malraff’s initial reaction was to recoil and strike at the teen. But her frame eased. Again, long experience afforded her the ability to control herself. She forced a dry chuckle. “Those words I have heard many times, but only before I begin, never after.” She grumbled a sick giggle. “Ne-ver af-ter. No, no, no.
“I bet you think I’m going to torture you, wicked child? I suppose you believe I will try and make you pay for what you did to me?” She stroked absently at her scalp. “I was once beautiful, in my own manner. I am no longer. The pheromones of heat are not powerful enough to cause a male to disregard my face now, thanks to you, dribble drabble.”
All three looked at one another, stunned as to what dribble drabble might mean. Their combined fear rose ten percent past absolute.
“Well, if you thought that, you’d be wrong. Yes, you’d be mistaken. You, for I can feel your thoughts, are confident that the emperor wants you alive for further study and that I will not hurt you. But if I do, then I must surely allow you to heal. Interestingly, such is not the case. No, today I will perform a simple execution. Your execution, flibber flabber.”
Cembert started to say something that the voice of reason might interject, but stopped before he started. He knew the high seer too well.
“Cembert, please be so kind as to remove the cover from Vat 3.”
His ancient eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Then he recalled himself, stooped, and complied.
The smell of the boiling acid immediately filled the room. Breathing became difficult, especially for the already debilitated Malraff. But physical discomfort alone was not going to quench her determination. She playfully tapped a few icons on a control panel. Mirraya was silently lifted off the table. She stopped rising once her feet cleared the surface.
“In terms of future research, I’m afraid that pathetic specimen will have to suffice.” She tossed a paw at Slapgren without looking over. “You, evil spawn, will be unavailable for further study.” Malraff started to laugh but was halted by a paroxysm of deep coughs.
When her lungs finally allowed her, she continued. “Unless someone wishes to swim through the vat of acid to do so.” She tapped the screen a few times.
Mirri lifted higher and was moved to a position over the vat. She could not breath, the fumes there were so pungent. She began involuntarily to squirm and wriggle.
“Ah, excellent. The discomfort begins,” squawked Malraff. “Soon, the pain and then the …”
She stopped speaking with a gurgly bark. A long thin dagger sprang from the back of her throat and shot out well past her muzzle. Blood sprayed everywhere. She clutched the blade and tried to force it to the side so she could better see it. Before she could put much effort to the attempt, she slumped forward, dead. Sentorip stood visible from where she’d been concealed just behind the high seer. There was a broad smile of joy and contentment on her face.
Slapgren felt a familiar internal tingle. He grinned as he transformed into a torchcleft dragon. He spread his wings and beat them powerfully and called out triumphantly. Then he took wing and landed in front of Cembert. The old man hadn’t moved. Even as the dragon rocketed its razor-sharp talons at his neck, all Cembert did was shrug his shoulders as if to say, so what. Then Cembert died.
Slapgren flew over and grabbed Mirraya, though gently, and pulled her away from the column of rising fumes. As he held her, Sentorip tapped a series of icons and the chain slackened. Slapgren set her gently on the ground and wrapped his wings behind himself.
Mirri leaned over and kissed him on top of his ragged beak. “Thanks, you ugly breast,” she said.
She turned just in time to embrace Sentorip who was airborne in her direction. The two females hugged long and hard, both crying like babies. Slapgren made no move to join in. Actually, he sidled back a few steps.
“I knew you were on our side,” Mirraya said through her sobs.
“I was clever, wasn’t I?”
“You were.”
Sentorip reached into a pocket and produced the control switch for the stasis field.
“No way,” exclaimed Mirri. “How’d you manage that?”
Firestorm: Galaxy On Fire, Book 3 Page 12
