Galactic Champion 2

by Dante King

  “Do you feel that?” Beatrix asked. “The power?”

  I did. It was a heady, emboldening sensation, like I was having my batteries recharged by a lightning bolt. I became more aware of my surroundings, of the movement in the air, and the beating of my heart. I heard my footsteps like never before and noticed the intricate texture on the wall and stairs.

  “It’s Void-tech,” I said. “Whatever it is, it’s powerful.”

  The sensation suddenly stopped, and the tower became eerily quiet.

  “How does he do that?” Beatrix asked. “How does he know what we are saying?”

  “He’s probably got microphones all over the place,” Reaver said. “Did you notice how many self-important people were staying in the palace? I’m sure Tortengar made them feel spoiled like all they had to do was run their business, eat the food, and live a life of comfort while he managed the intricate details and affairs of his city. In reality, he was probably keeping them here to make it easier to spy on them.

  “And the people thinking he’s a brilliant leader, always a step ahead of them. Any plots to overthrow him would be dealt with before the ink could dry. Wouldn't be the first time.”

  “If he were a good leader,” Beatrix said, “he would not need to spy on his people. They would come to him. He would trust them.”

  “What we saw in the city proved he’s a bad leader,” I said. “We didn’t need any more evidence than that. Any leader who won’t take care of his people or empower them to take care of themselves is a bad leader. He allows them to suffer just that so he can live in luxury. He enslaves them and profits from slavery, which by itself is enough reason to kill him.”

  “He’s also an asshole,” Reaver added.

  We all laughed.

  Near the top of the staircase, the door to Tortengar’s throne room came into view. It was open, revealing the opulence of the room beyond.

  The floor was flagstone with sparkles of lightning-blue stone scattered throughout. The part of the wall we could see was covered in richly colored tapestries that showed scenes of some hero defeating various monsters. The hero, dressed in gold and red, was depicted as handsome while his opponents were terrifying in stature. I could only assume it was supposed to be Tortengar, though someone who’d really defeated as many enemies wouldn’t have tapestries made of the events. If anything, he’d have his enemies’ heads mounted on his wall.

  Beneath the tapestries were fine wooden chests with big gold locks on them. Inside, I guessed, was the wealth of the people, kept from them by their greedy dictator. If the rest of the walls were occupied with similar-sized chests, there could be enough treasure to purchase an entire planet.

  I looked forward to returning it to the citizens. For good or bad, they would have the choice of what they wanted to do with it. Either way, it would get the money moving again.

  The room itself looked to be about twelve yards wide. I couldn’t see around the corners, but I did feel a slight breeze. There was a window or door open to the main palace somewhere in the room.

  “Don’t be shy,” a voice, much higher-pitched than the one that came from the speakers, said. “Come in.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at my warrior companions. They smiled predatory grins, adjusted the grip on their weapons, and waited for my command.

  “Try not to kill him,” I reminded them. “It’ll be hard to get him to answer questions if his brains are splattered across the floor.”

  “No promises,” Reaver said.

  I leapt into the room, tucked into a roll, and heard a snap of power behind me. When I sprang to my feet, I found a four-armed alien dressed in red and gold, wearing a multi-pointed hat. He was sitting in a high-backed black chair a dozen feet away, which I hadn’t been able to see from outside the room. His eyes were white marbles except for the yellow edges, as if he were jaundiced. There were no irises I could identify, and the pupils were large.

  His skin was the color of violets, if the flowers were kept in a dark room and hadn’t been watered for a long time—more gray than anything else. The nails on his long fingers were manicured, long, and pointy.

  Behind him was a doorway that opened onto a small balcony.

  When I looked around, I found my companions were locked out of the room by a forcefield, which darkened and became almost opaque when Beatrix struck it with her hammer.

  “I assure you,” Tortengar said, his voice eerily calm, “your friends will never make it into this room. Nobody ever has, without my permission.”

  I pretended to cast a mournful glance at the women doing their best to fight their way through the forcefield. Beatrix had stopped hammering on it, and Reaver was blasting it with her rifle. Neither appeared to be having any positive effect, and none of it was making any noise at all.

  What I was really doing, though, was inspecting the room. Somewhere, there had to be a shield generator. It would be protected, I knew, but not as well protected as the room itself. If I could find it, I could drop the shield and allow my reinforcements to enter. Judging by their angry frowns, I was certain I’d have to remind them again not to kill Tortengar until I had the information I needed.

  The dictator leaned back in his chair, drummed the fingers of one hand on the armrest, and steepled the fingers of two others while he stared at me. “Not so tough when you don’t have your—”

  I’d heard enough. I snapped my pistol up and fired. The blast of energy was absorbed and dissipated by some kind of energy shield. Blue sparks danced across its invisible surface for a full second after the shot failed to reach him.

  Torgengar flinched, inspected himself, then laughed.

  “You see?” he said as he waved his hands about the room. “You have no power here. You can’t kill me. I am Tortengar. I command Thaz’red, and soon, the entire planet!”

  A dull, steady thrum snapped both of our heads toward the doorway. Sparks flew in time with the low beats.

  “It would seem,” I said, turning back to the dictator, “that your time is running out. That’s the funny thing about security. It’s a rare security system that takes into account all possible attack vectors.”

  He turned his head away from the door and frowned at me.

  “This is true,” he said, “but it will take her quite some time to chip through the wall with her little hammer. By then, you’ll already be dead.”

  I sent three more shots in his direction. One for each knee and one for his opposite shoulder, but they were all absorbed as before. He flinched with each shot, burning fractions of seconds, which would bring me closer until I was within slashing range.

  Suddenly, I was struck by a force I didn’t understand, and a sensation I hadn’t felt in many years. It touched a spot in my mind and my brain between my eyes and under my nose. It wasn’t painful so much as it was uncomfortable. It shook me, made my heart race, and made it almost impossible to think. I crashed to my knees as Ebon fell from my grip.

  Tortengar rose and adjusted his long robe. “It is a pity we haven’t been friends,” he mused as he took a few steps toward me. “It would have been a glorious thing to observe you commanding my guards. I suspect they, like your females, would have followed you unto their death. As it is, when I’ve dispatched you and your companions, there will be heads to send rolling.”

  He reached for Ebon with long fingers; I lunged for the blade but fell flat on my face.

  “Oh, very good,” he said as he lifted my sword from the ground. “You have chosen to prostrate after all—a kind gesture, one I will not forget. But alas, I think my elders will have a hard time respecting me if they hear that’s all it takes to receive my grace after a violent rebellion. So. All that’s left now is for you to die. You’re a tough one, I admit. Most others were already dead by now. I’ve never experienced it myself, you see. I have this to protect me.” He held out a hand and showed me a ring—a simple, narrow band of pure, unreflective ebony. “I’m not sure how it works, but I do know it prevents me from suffering. So,
does it? Does it… hurt?”

  He bent at the waist and turned his ears toward me as if he were waiting for me to respond. I had plenty of things I wanted to say; I just couldn’t remember what they were.

  “Pity,” he said. “I do enjoy hearing the last words of the doomed. It doesn’t look like your females are making much progress, so I’ll sit here and let them watch you suffer. As soon as I drop the field, they too will suffer the same fate. Won’t that be lovely?”

  He leaned forward again as if he was waiting for me to respond and he didn’t want to miss my answer.

  My mind reeled and swam through the thick layer of confusion. I was adrift in a sea of syrup and blind as to which way was up. I struggled to stand, but my head began to pound, and the syrup had turned to blood, I could taste it in my mouth. I pushed harder against the invisible force, and it pushed back harder, making my eyeballs feel like they were being stepped on. I coughed once and crashed to the ground again, exhausted. I’d only managed to lift myself a few inches.

  “That’s it,” Tortengar purred. “Let it happen. Let go. There’s no reason to struggle. You’re only going to make it harder on yourself. Oh, and you should feel free to completely ignore everything I just said. I so enjoy watching this.”

  I relaxed my mind and fell back to my training. One of the lessons I made sure my troops learned was that, while violence of action and speed could solve most problems, sometimes thinking your way through a problem and avoiding force would create a much more satisfactory conclusion. As I contemplated how to apply it to my current situation, I felt the steel gauntlet crushing my sinuses and my eyes begin to feel lighter. My vision, which I hadn’t realized was cloudy, began to clear. My mind became sharp.

  That was it. Tortengar had used my rage against me. The technology he deployed relied on its victim to be angry to work. I’d broken the spell because I was strong enough to fall back on my training and smart enough to recognize what was happening. The thought of it almost made me laugh. Luckily, my face was turned away from the dictator.

  I raised my eyes and caught sight of Reaver squatting near the forcefield. She had both hands over her mouth. Beatrix was still beating on the wall, sending sparks flying across both of them. I winked at her, and her eyes went wide.

  Reaver stood, made a few rude gestures at Tortengar, and pretended to be angry. When she glanced at me, I moved my eyes up and down, simulating a nod. She turned up the heat by stomping her foot on the ground. Though I couldn't make out what she was saying, I was pretty sure it was instructions to Beatrix to do the same.

  The tentacle-haired woman joined in the dramatics and began bashing the floor beneath the forcefield. To her and Reaver’s surprise, a large chunk of the floor was vaporized.

  “Oh, dear,” Tortengar said.

  I heard the rustle of clothing and the tip of Ebon’s blade scrape across the floor.

  “It looks like I will have to speed things up a bit. I must have forgotten to have the floor near the doorway reinforced. No matter, though. This will be quite enjoyable too.”

  “Mrrmrrf,” I mumbled.

  “What’s that?” Tortengar said. “Did you say something?”

  I heard Ebon touch the ground, felt the dictator’s foul breath against my hair, and shot one fist up toward him. I only winged him, but Ebon clattered to the flagstones, and I heard the dictator grunt and slide across the floor.

  I found my sword, snatched it from the deck, and turned on my opponent.

  He was holding his forehead, which was oozing a viscous, red fluid.

  “That’s not possible,” he gasped. “You should have died by now!”

  “Not only is it possible,” I said, closing in on him, “it’s reality. Thank you for reminding me to keep my cool. Now, it's your turn. I have a few questions for you—but first, I’ll need that ring.”

  Tortengar hissed, reached into his shirt, and pulled the chain I’d seen earlier over his head. It was a yard long, and it had heavy rods on both ends, each about ten inches long, and made of Void-material. He swung it around lazily in one hand.

  “If you want it,” he growled, which was a bit comical with that high-pitched voice. “Come and get it.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” I said.

  I’d seen weapons like his before. Ancient Terrans from the East had invented one and named it the kusari-fundo. It was difficult to wield and had limited range, but for those who knew how to use it, the weapon could be devastating. I was pretty sure Tortengar wasn’t an expert.

  I wasn’t about to let him win on a technicality, though, so I raised my sword to middle guard. If the alien knew how to use his weapon, I was going to be ready.

  He did.

  The attack came in a flash. The kusari-fundo shot out at me, far beyond its physical range. I was almost surprised, but it was Void-tech after all, so the laws of physics could and would be ignored.

  I ducked the blow and realized my mistake as the weighted end struck me on the back of my left shoulder. The pain was incredible, and my left arm went completely numb. I changed my grip, deflected the next two strikes, and closed the distance. He was fast, but he still looked like an amateur. He was relying too much on the abilities of the weapon rather than using his mind.

  His next strike was aimed directly at my foot. I lifted my leg out of the way, knowing exactly what his plan was. I wasn’t disappointed. The weapon curled, wrapped around my right calf, and trapped it. He shot me a triumphant look until I kicked my leg back, yanked him close, and socked him in the mouth. I had to be careful, though: I wanted him hurt, not dead.

  He was still standing, so I socked him again. He dropped his weapons and fell hard to his rump. “No!” he gurgled at me. Then, he spat a mouthful of blood, hitting me on my chin.

  I felt the pressure begin to return to my eyes and fought the rage back down.

  “Drop the forcefield,” I said.

  “Never!” Tortengar screeched before spitting at me again.

  I was ready for it and caught the wad on the flat of Ebon’s blade. He gasped.

  “Drop the forcefield. You know I can do it myself, but I’d appreciate it if you did it for me. I might even decide to show you some mercy.”

  The dictator scooted back until he was at his throne and reached for the right armrest.

  “Easy, there,” I said as I slapped his hand away with the side of my blade. “Let’s see what you’re up to.”

  I pointed the tip of my sword at Tortengar’s crotch as I inspected the armrest. There were several black spheres protruding from the furniture, held in place by wooden brackets.

  “Fex,” I muttered.

  There were six of them. It was almost enough power to run an entire Mars frigate, maybe two. Or, one seriously badass Void-tech ship.

  “So, how does it work?” I asked. “Do I press one of these?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Press the two at the ends of the armrests. Press them together.”

  He watched me closely and gasped when I ripped an entire armrest off, exposing sparking, sputtering wires.

  “No!” he hissed.

  I silenced the coward with a hard look before turning around. I smiled when I saw Reaver and Beatrix rushing toward me.

  “Troubles!” Skrew said over the comm. “Such many peoples! Angry peoples! They do things!”

  “What are they doing?” Reaver asked.

  “They fire and smash! Oh, not so bad. They killing the fancy-pantses what we saw before. But, uh-oh, now they much pissed and come to tower. Can shoot, yes?”

  “No,” I said. “Tell them to go to the balcony. I have something for them.”

  “Reaver,” I said as I held the broken chair piece out to her. Would you be so kind as to remove the Fex from this piece of the vizier’s chair?”

  “Certainly,” she said. “Why were you on the ground?”

  “He’s got some kind of tech in here that feeds off emotion. The more angry you are and the harder you fight against it, the more it punishes yo
u. I imagine he pisses a lot of people off, and when they come in here to settle their score, they die. Isn’t that right?”

  Tortengar didn’t answer.

  “Very well,” I said, keeping my blade at his crotch as I squatted to look him in the eye. “I’m going to offer you a choice. It should be an easy one, because I’m pretty sure that right now your city is realizing you’re no longer in charge. And you likely have a person or two to be a little afraid of with your guard down, don’t you, you greedy little bitch?

  “So, here’s your choice. I could strip you naked, tie you up, and dangle you by your feet from the entrance to your own palace. I don’t think it would be long until someone found you and decided to, oh, I don’t know…”

  “Throw rocks at him?” Beatrix offered.

  “Find orifices to poke burning sticks into?” Reaver asked.

  “Cut off protruding parts?”

  Reaver opened her mouth to offer another suggestion, hesitated, then laughed hard.

  “I’m not sure I could top that one,” Reaver said, “unless they have spoons. Give me a spoon, and I’ll be worse than your worst nightmare.”

  “You see?” I asked the former dictator, “And these are people who, well, yes, dislike you, but don’t have years of abuse to avenge.”

  “What is the second choice?” Tortengar squeaked tersely.

  “The second choice is that you answer my questions,” I said. “If you lie, I will default to the consequences for the first choice. If you tell the truth, I’ll make sure your death is quick and as painless as possible.”

  His eyes moved between each of the women, then back to me, probably searching for a hint of sympathy. Finding none, he nodded once.

  “Good,” I said. “First. Where did the creature in the sand come from? How did you acquire it?

  “It was a gift,” he said with a measure of pride. “A sign and symbol of my authority and power from the Sitar. They called it their Hysinth, which means God-Seed. It was a bodyguard—that’s all.”