Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  “Give it back to him,” Kaanim says offhandedly.

  “Master! No, he can't be…”

  Apparently Kaanim has heard enough as Peter's mouth slaps shut, fast. Peter walks the box over to me and I take it, thinking better of making a move to open it.

  “Strange you did not use the light, or the power of the sword during our little snatch and grab,” Kaanim says, teasingly. “I think your exact words were 'Start glowing dammit', weren't they? I was there, in possession of one of my children. Honestly I expected more, given your reputation.”

  I look at the box in my hand, Yayne inside. Pull it out? Then what? If I dispatch Kaanim, nobody will be left to mess with me. But if I pull it out and it refuses me again. I’m sure my host will just seek out another messenger, because I’ll be torn to pieces.

  “Oh, go ahead Arthur, pull it out. Show us the light. You have my invitation to do so, with understanding you don’t turn it on us. If you do, I have a human that will put one of those 50 caliber bullets right through your head. He has been taking aim on you for this entire conversation. And I won’t see you in hell because I’m just a bio-weapon. No soul, right?”

  I regard the box. I regard the challenge. I see Peter nervous as all get-out. So I walk over to the table and set the box on it. Kaanim doesn’t bother moving away from me. Then I turn to him.

  “You sure you want that? I mean, that would be kind of rude, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think you can ignite it anymore,” says Kaanim totally deflating my play. “I think there’s a corruption in you the sword won’t abide. Maybe a curse – say, a Garrigin’s death curse? One that potentially turns you into something even more hideous than me?”

  I have no words. What he just said kind of cuts me to the core. The sword did not respond to me. Has it rejected me? My thoughts spin at the implications.

  Kaanim’s laughter breaks my downward spiral of thought.

  The next words return me to the moment. “Ah, I see they have repaired your vehicle. I insisted on a good tire – 100,000 mile warranty. I’m sorry about the scratches, perhaps your insurance will provide some cover for that.”

  I realize he must be looking through one of his children’s eyes.

  “I’ll just be glad to be on my way, thank you.”

  “My message for the fine General is simple,” Kaanim says. “Tell him I await the conflict of his orders. Myself and all six thousand three hundred forty-seven of my children spread across this lush planet. He will seek you out at some point. I understand you two are something like – buddies? Really, it’s probably more accurate to say that you are a pet, but who am I to judge?”

  It’s been almost a year since I’ve heard a peep from the big purple one, unless you count the very unflattering news coverage of the incident in Nebraska. Who’s to know when I'll hear from him again?

  “Consider your message memorized, Kaanim. And should we cross paths, I’ll tell him what you said. Now, where’s my car? I really want to get the heck out of here.”

  Chapter 19

  Zebulon, Helterzen Capital City

  “Are you sure you're not going to war Ahzna?” says the hunch-backed, deformed weapons keeper. “Do you really need singularity grenades for an escort? And a grav-gun?”

  Ahzna turns her gaze on the clerk, unsettling him.

  “Luck favors the prepared,” she says back, taking the grenades and inserting them into a pouch formed from the nanite body armor on her thigh. Once inserted, the armor seals itself around them.

  “Inventory now includes two class-three singularity grenades,” her armor's AI says through their neural-link, acknowledging the deposit.

  She responds to the AI, “Helm up.”

  The armor extends, flowing to the top of her skull, mid-way to her forehead and down across the sides of her head, encasing it, except for her face. She reaches to her side and the suit releases a curved reflective glass from another nanite pouch. She places it over the opening to her face. The suit responds by attaching itself to the glass, affixing it in place.

  “Blast glass installed, initiating HUD,” says the AI. The head's up display lightly outlines on the glass. The AI indicates that the weapons keeper appears to be armed.

  Ahzna turns to leave, but is stopped by the weapons keeper's voice.

  “You forgot something,” he says.

  Without turning, Ahzna says scornfully, “I forgot nothing, mixed breed product of shame.”

  “Look who's talking about shame.”

  Ahzna wheels around, amazed he would think to speak to her with such arrogance. But then, doesn't everybody as of late? She stops as the weapons master reaches under the counter and slides forth two slim cylinders - disruption grenades, the Dzemond equivalent of flash-bangs.

  That makes her smile. The weapons master does know his craft. She reaches forward for them, only to have him quickly snatch them up.

  “Everything you requisitioned is overkill for an escort mission. It's more apt for a straight-up assault. You're even wearing your honors armor, that's invasion-grade.”

  “Better than invasion grade,” Ahzna says interrupting him, her voice modulated by the suit. “Get on with your threat or whatever it is you think you'll get from me.”

  She considers readying the kinetic blasters on her arms, but reconsiders, knowing that he is holed up in a bunker. And knowing how weapons masters are, countermeasures are already in place.

  They consider each other for a short time and he breaks the silence. “No threats. All I want from you is some respect. I may not be some pure-breed Baalig prodigy like you. But I am Dzemond nonetheless, and very good at what I do. Acknowledge that.”

  “Or?”

  “I keep the disruption grenades.”

  Ahzna smiles. He asks for nothing that she hasn't already acknowledged to herself.

  “Glass up,” she tells the AI, which reacts immediately. “You are my favorite weapons master, because you are indeed the best at what you do. Best of all of them. Though you are still a misshapen mixed breed freak.”

  “Good enough,” he says back, now pushing the grenades to her.

  “My favorite misshapen, mixed breed freak,” she purrs at him, her features softening in a play to give him hope of something happening that never will. She takes the grenades and deposits them in another pocket created by the nanite body armor.

  “Give me your hand,” she says gently to him, holding out her own.

  “And have my arm torn off?”

  “Not my intention, Hverizk,” she says making sure to use his name. “Why would I harm my favorite weapons master? No, hand? Your loss.”

  He warily extends his hand through the opening across the desk to her. She takes it in hers, bends down and puts one of his fingers in her mouth, sucking gently, and not breaking eye contact.

  “Proof that you are my favorite weapons master,” she says in that silky tone.

  Hverizk, visibly shaken, stammers out a “Y… Yes.”

  She turns and leaves, thinking to herself that is as close as he will ever get. And more importantly, that his mouth will stay shut just long enough.

  Making haste, she joins the rest of what will be the escort team in a ready room. There are three others present. Graung stands at a podium looking unhappy. A short while later, Horas Emil joins them.

  “Since we have a full escort now,” Graung says glowering at Horas, “I will begin with the briefing. We have credible sources indicating that dissidents are planning to either prevent the passing of the emperor's negotiation team to earth, or to pass through themselves and warn the local population. Either is unacceptable. We are to secure the team, deliver them to the crossover point and...”

  “Kill anything that gets in our way or looks at us funny,” comes Horas' voice.

  “Exactly.”

  Ahzna smiles. After all, she so carefully planted all this disinformation. She raises her hand, as much to show respect as to be noticed for a question. “Garrison Master,” s
he says making sure to keep things very professional, “Given what I read in the file, may I suggest a dozen armed Vetsighar stationed in the fore-yard? They would be useful in slowing down an attack so that we may pick our shots.”

  “Cannon fodder. Good thinking, Luunz. I'll have two dozen stationed there, “ says Graung pointing a finger at her. “She's inside the transport, rest of you on the outside. Go, now.

  They move fast to the transport - a solid black vehicle that hovers above the ground, shaped like a long capsule. The four other armored Baalig jump to the top and secure themselves. Ahzna steps inside through a drop door that also functions as a ramp.

  “To the palace,” she says to the pilot. He seals up the door and they go.

  At the palace, the four on the roof of the vehicle take formation. The door drops and Ahzna beckons the pair of Ambassadors to enter. The ambassadors are a male and female. The female, Cubati, the male a Tsereten; they both run as if hounds are chasing them.

  “It figures,” Ahzna thinks to herself, “A temptress and a mind bender.”

  Once on board, the door is sealed and the craft heads on its way to the military nexus. The ambassadors talk amongst themselves, ignoring their brutish Baalig company. Ahzna returns the favor, standing motionless.

  “Do you think there will be an attack, soldier? On a complex that secure?” asks the Squid-faced Tsereten.

  “If there is, the station's defenses are formidable and you have four battle-ready Baalig to assure your departure. What happens afterward need not concern you.”

  The transport comes to a stop. Ahzna touches the point of her suit for communication. “Are the Vetsighar in place? Is the area clear?”

  “Meat shields in place. No sign of aggressors,” comes Horas' voice.

  Ahzna smiles every so widely under the reflective glass of her helm. All the parts are in place, just as she planned.

  “Preparing to exit transport,” she reports through the comm., “One other with me until we are firmly secure inside.”

  The door falls down, only steps from the entrance to a large domed building. She gestures for the Ambassadors to exit quickly. One of the Baalig team swoops down in front of the exit, scanning the surroundings. The ambassadors go, following him, with Ahzna taking up the rear.

  They are met by an Ar'l Skaar, a race of magical adepts with glowing purple third eyes and another attendant. A small being with an almost frail looking body and a bulbous head – a Genois, known for intellect and scientific prowess. A fitting pair as the nexus is driven by both the arcane and the engineered.

  “Follow us to the portal, you may disrobe there if you wish. The arrival on the earthen-side is rather messy,” says the sorcerer. Inside the dome building is a second structure, shaped like an hour-glass, and they enter the bottom of the construction.

  In the middle of the room is a portal, with sigils that are pulsing in various colors. The ambassadors step over to the side to remove their clothes.

  “How long until connection,” Ahzna asks.

  The sorcerer opens his third eye and scans her up and down. “A little over 300 seconds, Ahzna Luunz. Does the emperor know you are here in this capacity?”

  Damned know-it-all Ar'l Skaar, she thinks to herself.

  Pulling up the blast glass, she regards him eye to eye. “I have no idea and could care less. I am here as the Garrison Master told me to be. To protect you, them, and this mission for the glory of Emperor Zbelbuub. Do you wish me to abandon the mission?”

  “Hmmph,” is all he says, turning away from her to attend to other matters.

  Ahzna pulls a small device from one of the pockets her armor created. With a flick of her thumb she opens it and pushes a small button, then returns it to the pocket. She begins silently counting down.

  The ambassadors come out, ready to travel. The Tsereten, wearing what is no doubt a disposable robe and the Cubati wearing nothing, of course. They make their way to the pad in front of the gate, when they suddenly hear loud explosions and feel tremors.

  The communications channels fire up.

  “The Vetisghar are under attack. Enemies must be cloaked,” comes Horas's voice.

  Ahzna calmly responds, “Lay down suppressive fire, all directions. Cut everything down. Don't stop until the ambassadors are clear.”

  She smiles. Yes, there will be chaos.

  She runs over to the other Baalig in the room and shouts “Guard the entrance - no one enters!” Then she hurries back to the ambassadors, now looking very concerned due to the sounds of explosions and heavy weapons fire from the outside.

  “Fear not,” she says to the ambassadors, flipping down the glass to her helm. The timer she set for the gate shows six seconds left. She is standing right behind them, wings slightly out to look like she's protecting them.

  The gate becomes a red shimmering light.

  She sweeps both ambassadors to the side and dives into the portal.

  ⁂

  “Come - this realm beckons you!” shouts Javrg as the two men to his side collapse in exhaustion.

  The blood of the gate dilates outwardly, violently, then explodes, coating the room in blood. A winged creature lands on the ground. It pulls itself up to its knees and removes a face plate covered in human blood. The rest of the helm recedes back into the mass of the helmet.

  “Baalig! What is the meaning of this? Where are the ambassadors,” Javrg shouts at Ahzna, stepping up to her.

  Ahzna quietly stands and looks down at Javrg.

  “Well?” he shouts.

  She slaps him, knocking him across the room, his body sliding down the wall. A security guard pulls his revolver and is greeted by a burst of kinetic energy from the pulse cannon that forms on her forearm. The guard's sternum explodes in a gory splash on the already blood-spattered wall.

  The other security guard just freezes.

  She walks over to Javrg, picks him up easily by his lab coat, and shakes him to help bring his senses back.

  He looks into her red serpentine eyes, asking “What do you think you're doing?”

  Javrg is the recipient of a smile that makes him rethink having asked his question.

  “I have come for the head of Ahtsag Znuul,” she says. “Now, tell me where I might find him, unless you wish to endure a most thorough interrogation.”

  Chapter 20

  The suburban is mostly back together, except for the damage to the body from the buckshot around the rear wheel wells. I summon my crew one by one, with the exception of Vets who does not mind being in the white as she uses it at meditative time. I tell each of my summonlings to remain silent and get inside the vehicle.

  Neither Kaanim nor any of his kids make a play for us, though Kaanim's kids are a little jittery when Arix and Sil arrive.

  After we leave I am peppered with questions by everyone but Sil. I figure she’s either thinking she’ll get her answers from everyone else or in private. The group consensus is we're damn lucky.

  I drive us the remaining six hours to Chicago. It's an uneventful and quiet drive. Pffif's flask is nowhere to be seen and the only consistent noise comes from a tiny-sized Sheyliene, who flits constantly from my lap to Sil's and back again making idle chatter along the way. Idle chatter that I don't participate in because my thoughts are elsewhere, in particular on the subject of being forsaken by the holy sword. Of course, my silence gets Sheyliene worried and asking me questions, which then gets Sil asking questions. Or rather making observations.

  Luckily I have a protector, Mr. Pffiferil, who announces to the car, “If he wants to talk about it, he will.”

  The fact that the sword would have let me die bothers me. It used to be I could feel its anxiousness and eagerness when faced by such foes. Today, or whenever it was, we were attacked by vampires and I felt nothing - no urging, no warning, no glowing, no humming of divine power. All I felt was a heavy sword.

  The thought that Kaanim might be right plagues me the whole drive to Covenant House Nursing Home, the front for the
hands' operation center in the USA. Am I, like he said, corrupted? Have I been changed so profoundly that Yayne rejects me? It's beyond worrisome.

  Friggin' Maldgorath. I wish I could kill him again.

  Upon arriving at Covenant House, I park us in a visitor's space. We pile out and head inside, and things are fine until I notice the line of small singing silver bells over the front door. They were silent when I stepped in, but start spontaneously ringing when Arix and Sil enter.

  Demon bells - a first line of notification.

  “Well... bells,” says Arix turning to examine them nonchalantly.

  The lady at the front desk takes note of the bells and us. I'm pretty sure she must have hit some kind of a panic button. I try to disregard it all and just stride to the desk.

  “Hi, Arthur MacInerny and his special friends are here to see Dr. Bart.”

  Front desk lady says “I'll let him know.” and then goes to the phone. I take in the lobby and the senior population. It is clean, and everyone I see appears to be doing as well as they can. A lady with a stroller comes out of the hall and looks at me.

  “Whose boy are you?”

  I take no offense. Anyone who looks under the age of forty is a boy or girl here.

  “Just here for some rehab myself, ma'am,” I say back.

  “Well welcome, Tuesday is meatloaf day and Wednesday we have movies,” she tells me then gets about her way. That's when I see the real welcoming party coming up behind her - a security guard and a man in a trench coat, with the hilt of a sword peeking out behind his head - no doubt a Paladin of the Order of Light.

  The security guard has a hand on his pistol and the Paladin is just scanning the room, taking in our group.

  I step in to say “Hey, Arthur MacInerny here. Some of my group, uh, set the bells off.”

  The Paladin pulls out a smart-phone and begins doing something with it. He holds the phone up, I guess comparing me to the image on the screen. He puts the phone away and slaps the security guard on the shoulder.

  “It's okay, I'll take them to the research wing.”