As he neared the robed woman, Harrier began noticing details. She walked in a stilted cadence. Every step she took seemed planned rather than natural. Her wings never moved. Not a twitch. Even a bird fluttered from time to time, ruffling its feathers, but the Goddess' wings remained fixed - lifeless.
None of his crew seemed to notice her periodic clumsiness or dead wings. Her promises of Utopia and freedom from worry were all the convincing they needed. Harrier was determined to take back his command and despite the blasphemy, he laid hands on the Goddess.
Expecting to twirl her around to face him, Harrier was astounded when his physical efforts had no effect. He was a strong individual, but he might as well have grabbed an oak tree. Pulling the shoulder on a normal person would have spun the body to face him, but all his exertion did was antagonize the Goddess. Slowly pivoting toward Harrier, the dark haired woman grasped his pistol and crushed the barrel like it was a paper straw.
Loud gasps erupted from the surrounding crowd and someone near the back exclaimed, "Sir, please. Do not anger the Goddess. Her powers are beyond comprehension, but She seeks only to help. Do not interfere."
Instead of backing down, Harrier said, "Do not believe this charlatan! We are at war, and she would have you abandon your defenses and fellows for empty promises. I give you the promise of future victory, and what does she offer? Oblivion?"
As if in answer to his charges, the Goddess spoke. "The Non-Believer offers not love and salvation but promises of hardship and death. As a consequence of his actions, I call upon the best of my Champions to deal with him."
Stepping away from Harrier, she raised her arms and cried, "I call upon the Leader of the Scottish Warrior Clan to attend me."
Nothing happened. Excited murmurs began turning into questioning whispers. Harrier thought he recognized weakness and said, "A true Goddess commands instant obedience. You have undone yourself."
Turning to his crew, he ordered, "Give me a pistol. I will end this charade."
Something stirred the air behind him. Harrier felt his collar flutter from the breeze and noticed everyone nearby gaping at something behind him. Twirling to confront the unknown, Harrier gazed up into the face of a red haired, bearded man at least four inches taller than him. The man’s face was twisted with hate. The figure grabbed Harrier by the neck and lifted him until his feet dangled. Harrier felt blood balloon in his brain, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. He tried to raise his arms to flail at his attacker, but they wouldn't move. He tasted something hot and sticky on his lips and realized his nose was gushing blood and mucous. The pressure in his skull became unbearable. Hearing became impossible as his brains leaked from his ears like thick pudding. Harrier's last living thought was "I don't deserve . . ."
Chapter 23 - Transition
"Your people need you," Helleen said.
"I'm not so sure," Whatsit replied. "They've done just fine without my influence."
"If you define over-population, starvation and annihilation as acceptable," Chellsee murmured.
"Not only do they have to deal with their own shortcomings, now they have the added stress of sharing their planet with former conquerors," MerrCrr said. "You have no choice but to help your fellow Chrysallamans.
"It's not how I was raised," Whatsit said. "I'm more Human than Chrysallaman in the way I think and react."
Hanging his head, he sighed, "I have nothing in common with my own people. They need a strong leader."
"You have me," Chellsee responded, squeezing his arm.
"And me," Helleen said. "And me," Cherree agreed. "Don't forget me," MerrCrr said.
Smiling, Whatsit was about the answer them when his FLR chirped.
"This is Hisspat Zeck. Whatsit, are you available?"
"Yes."
"I need you on the surface to help with a policy decision. Meet me at these coordinates. Zeck out."
"I don't like that guy," Whatsit said. "I think the Prime Minister title has gone to his head."
"Meeting with him will hone your political skills. Besides, he is the acting Head of the Planetary Government. Best to see what he wants," Chellsee said.
"I agree," MerrCrr said. "You need visibility at the palace and whether you like it or not, the people down there need you."
"All right, but I'm not staying." Whatsit grumbled as he pulled the draw cord of his sombrero a little tighter.
***
A light breeze whiffed by Tom's face as the Winged Goddess appeared in the Destinnee conference room.
Pulling off the latex Asiddian nose, Becky rubbed around her nose and cheeks trying to remove remnants of the glue used to hold the disguise in place. Shrugging out of the hidden straps keeping her wings high on her shoulder blades; she slipped off the golden robes and tossed them aside.
"The Greek or Roman who invented those awful robes is probably the same person who invented the underwire bra. A born torturer."
"You should get out of those stilts before you trip and hurt yourself."
"I kinda like being tall for a change," she replied as she sat on the edge of the conference table and began stripping away the Velcro fasteners. "I'll have to admit they make it difficult to walk with a natural cadence. Most of the Asiddians were too awed by the experience of meeting a Goddess to notice."
"I think the professors back on Earth would have a field day explaining how two civilizations developing trillions of miles apart would attire their gods in similar outfits," Tom replied.
"How are our Asiddian guests doing? Any bad reactions to ending up in our custody rather than in Asiddian Heaven?" Becky asked as she tossed aside the stilts.
"The initial reaction was horrified disappointment. They were convinced the Winged Goddess had come to save them. Many remain depressed, but some are becoming angry. We used their beliefs against them, and they don't appreciate it."
"McPherson ended General Harrier. There's no coming back from your brains being squeezed out your ears."
"Wow. Is McPherson okay?"
"He seems to be feeling better. Throttling Harrier helped, but he's still trying to cope with the fact that Doc's gone."
"Colonel Jenson requests permission to enter," Lloyd announced.
"Yes," Tom replied.
Doug opened the hatch, nodded at Tom and went straight for Becky. Getting as near as he could to a fellow officer per FORCE regulations, he asked, "You all right?"
"Yes except I wish I could be taller. The stilts . . . oh forget it."
Burying her face in Doug's chest, she held him tight for a moment. At last she gazed into his eyes and kissed him.
After an awkward long moment, Tom cleared his throat. "I guess that clears up most of the questions I had."
Lloyd interrupted, "Ernest is requesting your presence in the lab. It appears he has found something interesting in Dr. Heinbaum's notes."
***
Ernest was talking to Miguel when Tom, Doug and Becky reached the lab.
McPherson was hanging out a Heinbaum's desk trying his best to act interested in Princess Peregrine's wedding ring. Miguel had insisted on Carolyn adopting the Earthly tradition and had selected a golden ring inset with the Asiddian equivalent of a multi-faceted diamond. The difference between an Earth and Asiddian diamond was the flickering glow of photons released by the interaction of gold with the diamond. Over a period of time the glow would diminish, but with a half-life of 10,000 years, no one was concerned about it losing its luster.
Becky gave Doug a meaningful glance and hurried over to relieve McPherson. She made sure Doug heard her oohs and aahs over the ring.
Ernest flexed his new arm. "It's amazing how natural it feels," he gushed. "Just as supple and sensitive as my original. I'm even getting used to the color."
There was still a bandage where the new arm joined the old, but if Ernest wore long sleeves and kept his hand in a pocket, he appeared normal.
McPherson walked up and wrapped his arm around Ernest. "We were going through Doc's notes to see if
he was thinking about new inventions."
"Yes, reading about his ideas helps cope with his loss. Some of his concepts were outlandish, but one attracted our attention, and we asked Miguel to come help."
"He figured out a way to I-FLIT without the need for Lloyd's intervention. You see, it takes quite a bit of Lloyd's computational capacity to perform I-FLITS for more than four people at a time in a combat situation."
"It is taxing," Lloyd agreed.
"He conceived a modified Klotator based on the FLIT technology. Every person who first I-FLITS to a location has a Klotator attached to the bottom of a shoe. Pressing down with thirty-five pounds of force on the ball of the foot permanently adheres the Klotator to the surface of the deck, floor or surface wherever you travel. From then on, I-FLIT between your current location and the Klotator location is simply a process of selecting the serial number of the particular Klotator. The relative movement of the destination no longer matters since the Klotator moves with the destination."
Holding up a dull gray disc the size of a nickel, McPherson sighed. "This is the Klotator contained in his notes. Miguel has confirmed it is serial number 'Destinnee 1". He must have been experimenting with it on the day he died."
"What do you mean died?" Heinbaum demanded. "I see no evidence of appropriate mourning over my supposed demise. There's not even a statue dedicated to the great Dr. John Heinbaum."
Everyone turned and stared at the lab door. Heinbaum and GooYee smiled at them.
"DOC!" McPherson exclaimed as he ran and grabbed the skinny scientist in a bear hug. "You're alive?"
"Of course. No ill-conceived alien device can overcome the intellectual powers of Dr. John Heinbaum. Now put me down before you break my ribs."
"Actually, the modified Klotator idea was mine," GooYee grinned.
Heinbaum's scowl became a smile as he clapped GooYee on the shoulder. "I suppose my limited education does rub off on occasion."
"I never considered the possibility of lucky guesses equaling a good education," Gooey replied with an evil grin.
Heinbaum wanted to yell an angry reply but with McPherson was hugging him too tightly. All he could do was wheeze.
Everyone gathered around Heinbaum and Gooey. The joy of seeing them alive was overwhelming.
"How did you escape?" Tom asked.
"Our old friend Yuri-Milost had chosen Cuddlur as her hiding place," GooYee answered. "She must have thought we were testing a new device and swooped in to steal it."
"She's as dangerous as a coiled snake. How did you manage to overcome her?" McPherson asked.
"It required only a few moments to show her that intellect always triumphs over brawn," Heinbaum bragged.
"What he means is he used his secret computer backdoor to highjack the Verbinna after she captured us," GooYee interjected.
"Hold your tongue, you green skinned clown," Heinbaum rumbled. "Oh. I forgot. You hold your tongue regardless of the danger."
GooYee was formulating his reply when Tom cut him off. "Where's Yuri-Milost, now?"
"I dare say her atoms were stripped of protons and neutrons and scattered to the four corners of Hell when the bomb exploded. We won't be seeing her again," Heinbaum replied.
Lloyd announced, "Whatsit is requesting your presence. It appears he is under arrest."
"Now what?" Tom asked.
***
Whatsit and his group I-FLITed into the palace throne room and marched toward the dais.
The I-FLIT capability wasn't commonplace, and the magical way they appeared was startling.
Noting several palace guards drop back into shadow, Whatsit thumbed his FLR and whispered telepathically, "Lloyd, I want you to monitor this meeting, and if necessary yell for help."
"Understood."
Hisspat Zeck sat in the diamond glass throne speaking privately with an assistant. Emperor Horcunt was standing close by snuggling with one of his concubines. Horcunt savored physical pleasure, and the easiest way to keep the old codger happy while his jaw was wired shut was a constant source of alluring females. As long as his needs were fulfilled, he was more than happy to let Zeck handle the day-to-day annoyances of running the government.
Signing a document, Zeck motioned the aide away, turned his attention to Whatsit and feigned surprise.
"You didn't need to bring anyone with you. I'm not going to bite your head off."
'There's an old Earth saying about safety in numbers. They needed to stretch their legs anyway. What do you want?"
"I fail to see how elongating their legs requires being on the planet," Zeck replied. "I don't like your tone. It sounds threatening."
Out of the corner of his eye, Whatsit noticed the guards taking positions he considered alarming.
"Zeck, you wouldn't recognize a threat if it walked up and slapped you in the face. Now what do you want? Is there a problem?"
"Yes there is a problem, and you are it. I need to consolidate power on Chrysalis, and you are an impediment. For some odd reason, certain Chrysallamans favor you, but I know you were raised and educated on Earth. You are no more Chrysallaman than General Blunt. There is no guaranteed way to cleanse your contamination other than imprisonment or death."
The guards surrounding them moved closer. The MA pistols they had been issued during the Asiddian defeat were aimed toward his group. Whatsit and MerrCrr were shielded, but everyone else would die. Raising his hands in surrender, Whatsit stood by as he and his friends were disarmed and bound with zip restraints.
"I feel better already, don't you?" Zeck asked.
"What do you intend?" Helleen demanded. "When the Chrysallaman Underground learns of our imprisonment, they will not stop until they find us."
"Perhaps I used the wrong words trying to be diplomatic," Zeck replied. "What I meant to say is there is no guaranteed way to cleanse your contamination other than death. Your friends and colleagues in the Underground will lose interest in you once your bodies are buried in unmarked graves."
Chellsee began struggling with the guards holding her arms, and one of them hit her. As she fell from the vicious backslap, Whatsit erupted into action. Using his feet, he kicked roundhouse style. Three times, the edge of his booted foot and heel connected with the jaw of a guard. There were three muted crunches, and the guards fell unconscious.
MerrCrr levered his arms in a twisting jerk and broke his restraints. Grabbing the nearest guard's arm, he broke it by snapping it backwards against his knee. Another guard hammered the back of his skull with his rifle butt, and MerrCrr stumbled as he fought for consciousness. The guard reversed his weapon and fired at MerrCrr's unprotected back. His PDS ballooned into existence, and Whatsit slammed his bound arms into the guard's neck with a double-fisted clothesline chop, flipping him backwards. There was a sickening crunch as the lizard's skull smashed onto the tile floor. Blood began to pool beneath it.
With over half his guards disabled or dead, Zeck pulled a knife from his robes, ran down the dais and grabbed Cherree. Pressing the wicked looking six inch blade into her neck far enough to draw blood, he shuffled away from the fight scene.
Chellsee was trying to stand, but she was dizzy from the slap. As Zeck seized her sister, she screamed.
"Stop resisting, or she dies," Zeck warned. "I will not hesitate to end her."
"Cherree," Chellsee cried.
"Don't hurt her, Zeck," Whatsit growled.
"This is marvelous. Your sentiments for this worthless female are your true weakness. I will derive quite a bit of pleasure in the coming months and years thinking about how easy it was to defeat you."
Pulling Cherree further away with the knife still slicing into her throat, he said, "Guards. Bind them all in multiple restraints. Your shields won't protect you from my blade and once you're properly bound, I'll cut your throats."
"Interesting choice for your method of death," Whatsit smiled.
"What . . .," Zeck began but he didn't finish. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shimmering flash and felt a
knife stab into the side of his throat. He felt every centimeter of the cold steel as it plunged through his esophagus. The blade was long enough for its tip to poke out the other side of his neck by over an inch.
Straining his eyes to the side, Zeck saw Horcunt standing next to him gripping the knife handle. As Zeck’s eyes began to glaze, Horcunt pulled back with a jerk almost decapitating him. The golden tiara slipped off Zeck’s head and clattered to the floor.
As Zeck weakened and died, Cherree broke free and ran to Chellsee.
"You shouldn't sit on my throne so often," Horcunt mumbled as he wiped away Zeck’s blood with the hem of his Royal Purple robe. "It's not proper."
Smiling at the giggling concubine, Horcunt waddled toward her.
Evolution of F.O.R.C.E. (The Origin of F.O.R.C.E. Book 3) Page 26
