by Reiter
“In the time it took for you to be blinded, Traveler, the Chorus has been awakened, cleansed, and reconvened. We will take no action against this woman. It is our shame we must now resolve. We welcome your return, and it would appear the prophecy is true.”
“You are relieved and delighted,” Dungias observed. “I doubt you mean to be misleading, but if you speak of the prophecy that I will change things throughout the Rims, you are mistaken. I have changed nothing. The Stars are now as they were when the prophecy was put forth, and relative to that perspective, no change has come to this region of space. There is still so much work to do.”
“And you should be about it, Dungias,” Eesa replied. “For what it is worth… thank you.”
“That worth cannot be measured,” Dungias said with a bow. When his head came up, the tile under him and been restored. Only the smoke of the transfer of energy remained. Dungias started for the door. “Yes, a great deal of work lies ahead. If nothing else, all of these efforts have simply added to the list. So be it.”
Time management is an oxymoron. Time is beyond our control, and the clock keeps ticking regardless of how we lead our lives. Priority management is the answer to maximizing the time we have.
John C. Maxwell
(Rims Time: XII-4203.27)
As another transmission request registered on his wrist-com, Isaiah smiled, shook his head, and deactivated the device, taking it off and tossing it into the gutter. He knew it would only be a matter of time before J’Raldri would have his locks removed and track it. Her love and staunch loyalty brought a smile to his face, but at the moment he had to act without her. Circumstances had pushed the Governor into a position where he did not have time to try and convince his bodyguard and closest friend that he needed to be given wide berth on this matter.
“It isn’t as if there’s much danger,” Isaiah thought, amusing himself. “I’m just walking alone onto the Lift, headed for the Bowels!”
When the massive doors closed behind him, Isaiah put his hand to his wide-brimmed hat and tugged it down to make sure his face was cast in shadow. He wormed his way around many others that were taking seats on the floor, reaching the far end of the lift-car where he placed his back against the circular wall. Keeping his head down, his body shuddered as the lift-car started its long descent.
“And what have we here?” he thought, lifting his head enough to look to his right. Wiping his nose as he gawked at Isaiah was a little skinny boy who smiled innocently at the man. “A spotter!” he concluded. “… and just my luck, he’s marked me!” Isaiah breathed in deeply and lowered his head. “And here comes the reception party!”
“Hey mate, you got a cred to spare?” a scratchy voice called to him.
“You want spare change, get a spare job!” Isaiah returned. “First and last words you get for free, mate!” Isaiah lifted his head high enough to spit on the boy. Letting his right hand hang at his side, Isaiah wiped his mouth with his left.
It was on them now; how gamey were they? How many were there? How good were they? So many questions… so many answers all held in stasis until someone jumped. This particular group did not have many to their number; the one who had spoken to Isaiah simply grunted and walked away. The boy had already taken his leave, and Isaiah maintained his place on the wall. He closed his eyes, keeping his other senses sharp. He was glad to have the hat when the stench of the Bowels reached his nose.
“And you never have to ask why the place is called what it is!” he thought, trying his best not to move. Nothing made a body stick out more than a reaction to the malodor. He could hear a few coughs a good distance away from him.
“This place stinks!” a young male voice complained.
“It sure does, kid,” Isaiah thought.
“You’ll get used to it, boy!” a harsh voice snapped before the Governor heard the rattling of chains. “Now shut up!” Isaiah lifted his head to see a dirty man holding on to a section of chain connected to the neck manacle on a dirty little boy.
“Darken that white skin, and curl the hair a bit… yeah, that kid could be a mirror of yesterday,” Isaiah thought. “Trouble is, I’m not a bad-ass bounty hunter who’s too lazy to clean his own weapons. Ah, those were the good times, eh?” The little boy turned to look out the window of the lift-car. “And you thought the smell was bad.” The eyes of Isaiah Gundryss squinted when he saw a tear rolling down the boy’s dirty face. He stared at the boy, specifically the eye, searching for something that went along with his memory of another time.
The lift-car stopped, ending Isaiah’s search, and the doors opened. People stood up, gathered their things, and started to file out.
“Listen, mate, if it’s the company of a young boy you’re looking for,” a haggard woman whispered to Isaiah as she took hold of his shoulder. Isaiah sent the back of his fist into her face. She fell to the floor, stunned and bleeding from the nose. She screamed in pain and protest as others laughed, but nothing else was made of the matter and Isaiah walked out of the lift-car.
It was a little known fact that the Bowels had its own docks. Many of the major distinctive communities on Black Gate did. They were all exclusive and well-guarded. Isaiah was looking for one person in particular; his reason for coming to the Bowels. Entering the docks was not an option, but Heaven’s Gate was just outside the docks entrance. Isaiah walked inside the bar and brothel.
Those who tried to live cleaner lives were under the impression that the guild houses held the best personnel for hiring pilots and mercenaries to perform deeds that were better off never coming to the light of day. For a good credit or two, that was a justifiable presumption. If one wanted to improve their chances for getting the job done, and done cleanly, it was off to the Bowels. Heaven’s Gate was something of a city square for the traffic flowing to and from the docks, and Ethel was certainly the gatekeeper. The square-shouldered Delman female had a sweet smile for every patron and a sonic hammer for those who could not mind their manners and her rules.
Isaiah walked into the establishment and looked to the area where he had been told to make the meeting. The other party was not yet seated and his instructions had been pretty clear. He was not to take a seat at the booth without the necessary party… Isaiah was to wait at the bar.
“What can I get you,” the bartender asked after the Governor had stepped up to stand in front of one of the open stools. Again, he would not sit. He would not even lean forward.
“Whatever’s handy and hard,” Isaiah replied in a low voice. The bartender nodded and put down a small glass, filling it with a dark brown liquid from a handheld dispenser.
“Two credits,” the man said, still holding the glass. Isaiah reached into his left-hand outside coat pocket and produced a twenty-five credit note.
“I’ll run a tab.”
“You got it tab man,” the bartender said, taking the note. His left index finger flashed red as he ran it over the note. He then nodded and placed the note in the register.
Taking a sip of the drink, Isaiah was reminded of why he had given up drinking many years ago. This was the second occasion where he was glad to be wearing the wide hat that covered his face. He put the glass down, thinking that glass was probably going to be mostly full by the time he was ready to take his leave.
“You stay right here or I’ll give you another beating!” Isaiah quickly placed the voice as the dirty man from the lift-car and he turned around, leaning back against the bar. Just outside the front door he could see the man securing the chain to a post with a magnetic lock. The dirty boy had definitely cried more than one tear since the Governor had seen him last, and his clothes were more torn. The words ‘another beating’ echoed in Isaiah’s mind and he took a bigger sip of his drink. The mirror image through time and memory was looking more and more accurate. “Give me a beer!” the man demanded as he walked into the establishment.
“We don’t scream our orders in this establishment,” the bartender replied.
“Then you sho
uld have had a beer in my hand before I spoke!”
The bartender looked at the man and chuckled. “Yeah, that’s one,” he said as he nodded, fetching the beer for the man. “You want port?”
“Whatever garbage you got on the pump,” the man said, waving the bartender off.
“Garbage is who we serve, not what we serve,” the bartender replied. “… and that’s two.”
“Word of advice, friend?” Isaiah said before making eye contact with the bartender. “Put it on my tab. And give him the good stuff, if you please.”
“You got it, sir,” the bartender said before reaching for a large mug.
Isaiah then looked back at the man and took a sip of his drink. “My advice: calm down and enjoy a minute off your feet. You can be brash and loud for the rest of your life.
“… however short that might be!” Isaiah thought.
“Any man who buys me a good beer can give me advice,” the man smiled as he took the stool next to Isaiah. “Name’s Hopper, Elton Hopper.” The dirty man wiped his hand on his dirty leg before offering it to Isaiah.
“They sometimes call me Del,” Isaiah replied, giving the man a firm grip as they shook hands.
“Well, those hands have seen work, Del!”
“I was about to say the same about yours, friend. What’s your trade?”
“Acquisitions,” the man replied, taking a healthy gulp of his beer.
Acquisitions. It was a softer and more sophisticated way to say Slaver without drawing the kneejerk reaction most clean people would give. Isaiah knew then the man was not a frequent visitor of the Bowels. There was no place for such flowery verbiage here; people spoke plainly, if at all.
“That include the stock got you locked up outside?” Isaiah asked.
“A piece of advice you can give me. Getting into my business, how–”
“Just looking to purchase, is all.”
“Sorry, Del, that piece of property is already bought and paid for. Just delivering the goods at this point. But give me your wave code and I’ll open a channel when I’ve got more stock.”
“This is one of those times and places where the smart play is not the right play,” Isaiah thought. “This is not what I came to do… but I can’t shake it. I feel like yesterday is calling me out!
“If I were to give you that, I doubt you’d ever call,” Isaiah said, gulping down his drink. It did not taste good, but as the heat hit the back of his throat, his nostrils flared and his body was steady. He put the glass down and the bartender quickly refilled the glass. “Not many open a channel to my code trying to sell slaves. In fact, ‘not many’ is inaccurate. No one, not a damn soul, has ever called me to offload a slave. It’s not the kind of thing my bosses look kindly on.”
“That’s not a problem friend,” Elton shot back. “Discretion is my strong suit.”
“Damn, you’re thick as a brick!” the bartender remarked, shaking his head as he looked at Elton Hopper.
“What’s going on here?” Elton said as he looked back and forth between Isaiah and the bartender.
“I’m taking the boy,” Isaiah said calmly, picking up his glass.
“The hell you are!” Elton said, getting up from his stool and reaching for the small of his back. Only one of his feet was on the floor when his face received the contents of Isaiah’s glass. The concoction burned his eyes and mouth and Elton cried out, dropping his knife.
“How very droll,” Isaiah said, landing a stiff left cross to the man’s chin. “… bringing a knife to a fist-fight.” As Elton fell to the floor, Isaiah had started to advance on the man, but there was far too much movement around him. “Just how many bugs do I have on my hands to stomp on this one?”
“More than you can handle, asshole,” one man, on Isaiah’s right, claimed as he leveled his projectile rifle. “I’m sick and tired of shits like you giving Slavers the high hard one. Now, you’re gonna let that man get up, and then you’re gonna let him have a swing at you. Two swings maybe!”
“Maybe even three,” a man on the Governor’s left added as he laughed.
“Fine by me boys,” the bartender said as he reached for a lever next to the handle that he pulled to serve the beer. “… but allow me to show you the benefits of short-range point-to-point teleportation!” A flash of light blinded most people inside, and Isaiah was suddenly outside Heaven’s Gate, along with all nine of his recently gained acquaintances, flying into the middle of the street. He landed on his feet but was moving too fast to keep his feet and fell to his back, rolling over three times before he stopped.
“Dammit,” he hissed as he rolled over on his chest and tried to get up. His disguise had suddenly become very costly, as his legs could only bend so much.
“You ain’t hurt, is ya?!” a man yelled as he ran up and kicked Isaiah in the ribs. The Governor barely moved as the man fell to the street, clutching at his injured foot.
“He’s armoured!” one man yelled.
“His face ain’t!” Elton declared as he lifted his foot up into Isaiah’s jaw. Already moving in the direction of the blow, Isaiah was not stunned by it, but he was rolled over on his back. He blinked his eyes rapidly as he opened his mouth and shook his head.
“So, you just gonna take my property?!” Elton yelled. “Get him up, I wanna knock ‘im down again!”
Hands took hold of various places on his body and Isaiah was lifted from the street.
“Bingo!” he thought.
“Unveil!” Isaiah commanded. An energy burst exploded from his armour, shredding his coat and flooring every man in his immediate vicinity. Isaiah wore sectional black and silver armour. His forearm blasters powered up as his swords rose to where he could reach over his shoulders and draw them. He sighed in relief as his legs were now free to move. Drawing both double-edged blades, Isaiah opted to demonstrate a level of skill with them, performing a quick kata. The blades softly whistled by his head and body before coming to a stop as he took a defensive stance.
“It’s a day for loss, Elton,” Isaiah said softly. “How much you lose is entirely up to you! Right now, it’s just the boy. You come at me with the same mindset you’ve been clinging to, I’ll relieve you of your stupidity, and the worlds of you!”
“Eat this, brownie!” the rifleman yelled as he lifted his weapon. By the time he fired, Isaiah had leveled his left arm at the man and his forearm blaster had fired, striking the shoulder. The rifle shot was off mark and passed through the crowd, hitting only the wall of a storefront. It was all the notice bystanders needed to start clearing the street.
“Not on my diet,” Isaiah whispered as he spun, blocking a downward swing of a sword meant for his head. Finishing the spin, Isaiah moved around the man, slashing his hamstring and thrusting his blade into the leg of another man.
“Get him!” one man shouted, and the remaining half dozen charged with swords, knives, and guns drawn.
Isaiah took one step back, huffed hard, and lunged forward scoring a belly slash of the first man, a block and neck slash to the second, and a spinning outside crescent kick to the third opponent. The fourth man shot Isaiah in the chest and the Governor fell down into a backward somersault. He stopped with one knee on the ground and both of his blasters fired into the chest of the man who had shot him. Moving his left bracer in front of his face, Isaiah blocked one of a series of shots intended for his head. When Elton’s gun clicked empty, he threw it down, drawing and activating an En-Mace. His hands were clumsy with the weapon, revealing that he had appropriated it by some means other than gaining it through training and mastering the form. The last man, however, was something of a swordsman and he too had a pair of blades, but he was not rushing forward.
“We keep it to steel!” the man shouted and Isaiah nodded in agreement. Elton held his place as the larger man moved in quickly, engaging Isaiah. The former Magistrate gave one step in defense of the initial two swings. After that he beat down each of the five subsequent attacks the man initiated, finishing with a spinning
parry that made the man trip by the Governor as he was deprived of one of his swords. “Eksurgees,” the man called out as he took hold of his sword with both hands, placing his forehead to the flat of the blade and bowing in a stance of fealty. “Lanshon Eksurgees. And I will serve you, Master, if you will have me.”
“Name me the reason why!” Isaiah commanded.
“That man there is my owner,” Lanshon stated, pointing as the man whose leg had been run through. “He set me on the quest to master the blade.”
“You’ve got a ways to go yet, son,” Isaiah remarked.
“Then show me the way, Master.”
“I am not your master,” Isaiah declared, relaxing only a bit. “… but if you fetch that boy there for me, and protect him, we will discuss your continued journey. You’ll have to make it as a freeman.”
“Then, under the code of the blade, I swear my service,” Lanshon promised. “May I have your name, my Lord.”
“Here is comes,” Isaiah thought, twirling the blade in his left hand. The code of the blade was no small matter to him, as it was by that code he had earned his own freedom and fought his way through the ranks of the Magistrates. Now was not the time to shirk it.
“Gundryss. Isaiah Deltré Gundryss.”
“Did you hear that Kot?!” a voice called out. “It’s the fucking Governor!”
“If you saw and knew the First Lady, you’d know why I was the fucking Governor!” Isaiah thought, amusing himself as he looked around. He set his eyes on Elton and allowed himself a very cold smile.
“We’re not done, are we?” Isaiah asked.
“Take him! Bloody do with him as you want!” Elton claimed as he powered down his weapon.
“You run, you die!” Isaiah proclaimed.
“You calling me to my death?!” Elton barked.
“Quite the opposite. I’m calling you to your life.”
“That’s all good and pretty, Lord Governor,” an armoured man said as he made his way through the thinning crowd. “But you’re in the Bowels, boy! And from the looks of it, you forgot what makes law around here!”
