Dimension Shift (Hammer's War Book 2)

by James McEwan

  St. Claire was almost to the end of the street and out of the police zone when a police officer he did not know stopped him. “Excuse me, ma’am, have you seen this man?” he held up a holo of St. Claire. He knew not to answer too quickly because it would raise red flags so he took a good look at the holo.

  In the best female voice impression he could do he answered. “No, can’t say that I do, but he is kind of handsome. What did he do?”

  “He is an extremely dangerous cop killer, so if you do see him please do not approach him and please call us.” the officer said.

  “Oh thank you,officer, I will.” St. Claire said.

  A second wave of relief washed over him. This just might work he thought. He was a few steps down the street when the officer called back to him. “Wait, there is one more thing.” he yelled to St. Claire.

  Shit, he thought. He stopped and turned around to see the officer holding out something in his hand. “Here is my card, call me sometimes. Maybe we can get a drink or something.” he said as he slid the card into St. Claire’s hand.

  Floored by the attempt to pick him up, St. Claire smiled. “maybe.” The officer winked and then left.

  Stunned at how well his disguise was working, he really had to hand to the shop girl; she really knew what she was doing. He passed through every police checkpoint without a second look. It helped that people were concentrating on finding a man. He had reached the trash transfer station and now it was time to find a way onto the trash shuttle bound for New Houston.

  Dressed as he was, he could not enter the Transfer Station, so he began to look about. A nearby lighted shop window surmounted by a blinking, flickering sign which sputtered out the words "Ye Old Curiosity Shoppe" attracted his attention. In need of somewhere to change, this shop appeared to be the only place around. A hand-lettered placard spelling out the words "OPEN - WELCOME" in the same archaic style as the sign, hung from a chain, looped over a brass door knocker in the form of a strangely contorted face. Moving his hand toward the ornate door pull he was amused as the eyes of the face on the door knocker glowed red and the door opened silently inward. He stepped inside and was impressed by an amazing array of strange and exotic objects.

  By some trick of lighting or architecture, the little shop seemed much larger on the inside than it had appeared to be onthe outside. Gothic arches soared up into the darkness of what appeared to be a night sky - star-studded, complete with a nebula and a couple of comets. On the walls between the arches were mounted heads of strange creatures; some he recognized, others were alien to him. He recognized a Dreenoi head. It's great red-lit eyes, short knobby antennas, and extended mandibles gave it the almost comic expression of surprise. Or perhaps, the taxidermist had intended it to be an expression of ferocity.

  Here also was the toothy snout of a Denebian Slime Devil looking as if it were fresh and still dripping from the jungles of Deneb IV. There were others, but looking like the crown jewel of the mount collection was a head of a Ralnai Thog. There was no mistaking it, the dark scaly slope-headed face that was a hideous parody of its smaller cousin, the reptilian race of the Ralnai. The drooling slash of its blood red mouth hung open lined with two rows of razor sharp teeth. Its black beady eyes stared down at him in a way that made his skin crawl.

  St. Claire couldn’t look at the ugly thing any longer, so he turned his gaze to a glass case filled with strange jars. It was not the jars, but their contents that filled St. Claire with a creeping sense of dread. The jars that held large pickled insects or serpent-like things or even diaphanous but hauntingly recognizable items which might or might not have been the inner parts of humans or human-like creatures did not put him off.

  The thing that started to put the wind-up St. Claire was nothing more than a humanoid figure that hung lifelessly in a large jar at the center of the display. Drawn by curiosity he moved closer, putting his face as near as possible to see the tiny thing. It was no more than a half meter high, its pale green, scaly skin, tiny webbed hands and feet floated listlessly in the faintly yellow colored liquid where eerie bioluminescent specks flickered on and off in pastel colors. It was the thing's face, however, that drew St Claire. It was the face, in miniature, of a beautiful woman. Despite the thing's dead white eyes, the more he looked, the more the face seemed to him like that of someone very important to his past. Someone inexplicably forgotten - he drew closer. Suddenly the creature sprang into frenzied life, opening a fang-toothed mouth seemingly too large for its head and lunging toward the face that loomed above it. There was a resounding "KLUNK" as its head hit the side of the jar and bounced off. The liquid in the jar turned frothy as the creature swam frantically back and forth its jaws snapping in frustration. While that startled St. Claire, it was the psychic blast of pure hot, unadulterated hate that sent the man reeling.

  Holding his hands up to shield him as from an open furnace door, St. Claire turned away and stepped past a case holding amazing crystals of various colors, some of which appeared to glow and change colors in response to the psychic emanations from the creature in the jar.

  Moving further away from the nasty thing in the jar, he walked past a case which seemed to be dedicated to historic items from man's past. Here were a large flint spear-point and a collection of stone arrow-heads. Leaf-shaped bronze swords and a wooden shield faced with hammered bronze engraved into strange curling and re-curling patterns were arranged upright against the rear of the case like some demented flower. In front of these was a display of ancient pistols, here a wheel-lock with mother-of-pearl inlay stock, there a large caliber flintlock. But the one that caught St Claire's eye was a silver plated, engraved Colt .44 cap and ball pistol with the name "Sam Houston" on the barrel.

  "Who was Sam Houston?" St. Claire mumbled to himself. "Must have been one of the founders of New Houston."

  The store that seemed so small from the outside held so many wonderful items inside that St. Claire began to feel overwhelmed with the wonder of it all. There was a large array hanging from an invisible thread in the center of the shop. Tiny moons and planets spun about each other and a bright yellow jewel of a sun circled by a smaller red sun. It was beautiful, but St Claire had never seen or heard of such a solar system with a G-type sun and ared dwarf binary companion. There was a puppet theater where exquisite, fairy-like, winged creatures danced silently through an elaborate ballet, constantly changing partners and never missing a step. There were many wonders, some of which were so disturbing that St. Claire could not later remember them. But of all the wonders - at the rear of the shop lay a thing that he could not turn his eye from. It was the preserved hand, or more correctly the severed claw of a Ralnai mounted upright on a dark cherry wood base. The brass plate on the base said:

  The Hand of Tarokk-Kor

  Founder of the Ralnai Imperium

  First Lord High Deathmaster

  “No way.” St Claire said out loud.

  St. Claire was startled by a strange man who seemed to appear out of thin air. He was tall, thin and wearing a tweed suit with a bow tie. He looked young, but his eyes were somehow very old. On his head was a bright red fez. “Oh I assure you, it is. I was there when it was cut off.” the strange man said from behind the counter.

  “Now I know you are full of it. I was there when it got cut off... and you are way too young to have been there.” St. Claire said, remembering the battle.

  “Ah yes, the incredibly young private Dominic St. Claire.” the stranger in the fez paused to see the reaction on St. Claire’s face. “Oh, don’t be silly man, just because you are dressed as a woman doesn’t mean I don’t know who you are. By the way, just why are dressed as a woman?”

  “Long story, but wait. How do you know who I am?”

  “Oh I know who you are and I was most definitely there when you distinguished yourself.” he ran across the small shop towards St. Claire. About halfway, he stopped and slid the rest of the way on the highly waxed hard floor. He was flailing his arms around madly as if he was firing t
wo weapons and he was making laser sounds. “You were amazing with shooting and the shouting. Two laser rifles; one in each hand blazing away.” more laser sounds and arm waving. “Oh, Private St. Claire ... your first combat action, and you fought like a madman. Reminds me a bit of my wife.” he paused.

  “I was just a scared kid who just wanted to get home, but how do you know any of this?” St. Claire said, surprised how comfortable this strange man made him feel.

  “Oh I know all kinds of things, I’m kind of in the knowing things business.” he said, as he hopped onto one of the counters to sit.

  “Funny, I thought you were in this business.” St. Claire pointed around the shop.

  The fez-wearing man frowned. “Oh this is more of a… hobby.”

  “Mr., I’m not sure how you know about me, but if you don’t mind I just need to use your restroom.” St. Claire said.

  The man slipped off the counter and pointed to a door to the back. “Oh, of course, this way.”

  “Thank you.” St. Claire said, and then took two steps past him before he spoke again.

  “There is one little problem.” he said.

  St. Claire stopped and turned. “Problem?”

  “The store policy is restrooms are for customers only and since you have not made a purchase I can’t let you use the room.” he said.

  “Really? You are really going to make me buy something to use the restroom?” St. Claire was getting irritated.

  “Well, the policy isthe policy and without policies, the fabric of the universe would unravel and we would be up to our eyeballs in unemployed bureaucrats.” he said.

  “Oh God, nobody wants that. What a horrible thought! Anyway, fine, I will buy something.” St. Claire pointed to a small gold and silver box with alien writing on it. “Here, I will take that one.” he said.

  “No, you don’t want that one.” Mr. Fez said.

  Mr. Fez, was what he was about to call the strange man who knew too much. “All right then Mr. Fez, why not?”

  “Mr. Fez. I like that. I may have to use that from time to time. Mr. Fez kind of sounds like a superhero, Mr. Fez, yes, Mr. Fez.” The man seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

  St. Claire snapped his fingers. “Hey, hello, remember me? Why don’t I want that one?”

  “Oh, that is a ceremonial reliquary of the Mogavie people of Seti Six.” he said.

  “So.” St. Claire said.

  “So, after the royal eunuchs had their three testicles removed, they kept them in one of these.” he said with a smile on his face.

  “Three testicles, huh?”

  “Yep ... and they would put them in one of these. In fact, that box belonged to the chief eunuch of the first king of the Mogavie.”

  “All right. I will pass on the testie box, what about this?” St. Claire said, as he picked up a wooden box with two items that looked like sticks with chrome springs on top.

  “Ah, Mimosine chopsticks, good choice but you don’t want them either.” he said.

  “Do I really want to know why?”

  Mr. Fez shook his head. “Not Really.”

  The next ten minutes passed with St. Claire picking something out to buy and the strange shopkeeper telling him that he didn’t want that item. Finally, St. Claire couldn’t take anymore. “Okay, enough! I will play along. What should I buy then?”

  “Ah! Now you are asking the right question.” he said. The man in the fez produced an object in his hands. It was round and made of metal that looked like weathered brass, but wasn’t. It was about the twice the size of an old earth silver dollar and it had markings on it that he had never seen. The markings looked like circles that overlapped and intertwined. Mr. Fez dropped the object into St. Claire’s hands.

  “Huh, lighter than it looks, what is it?”

  “I have no clue, nevertheless, that is the one you want, trust me.” he said with a large trust me smile on his face kind of like a used car salesman smile.

  “Fine, I will take it. How much?” St. Claire asked.

  “Oh ah ...” he stammered. “What do you want to pay for it?”

  “Oh I see, well I will give you ten credits for it then.” St. Claire said expecting a counter offer.

  “Done.” he said.

  St. Claire stuck out his credit card, but this just seemed to confuse Mr. Fez. “Problem?”

  “Ah no, no problem, in fact, you keep it, on the house.” he said.

  This was truly the strangest shopkeeper he had ever met. “Thank you, I think.”

  “My pleasure.”

  St. Claire thought he would press his luck. “Well, while I’m buying things, how about Tor Tarokk-kor’s hand then, how much?”

  Mr. Fez smiled. “You don’t want that. It’s a fake, the real one was purchased by the Vatican years ago, and the Pope uses it for a back scratcher.”

  “Really?” St. Claire asked.

  “No, but it makes a good story doesn’t it?” he said.

  “So, that one is real then.” St. Claire pointed to the hand in the case.

  “Nope, still a fake.” he replied.

  “So why did you tell me it was real then?” St. Claire asked.

  “I lied.”

  “But why ” St. Claire pressed.

  “Oh, would you look at the time. If you are going to catch the next trash shuttle you best get changed.” he said, as he jumped up and ran towards the back of the store pointing at the door.

  St. Claire almost forgot the reason he had come into the shop in the first place. Just then, the front door of the shop burst open and a tall handsome man with dark hair and bedroom eyes wearing an old earth military uniform came in. His light gray wool long coat was flowing behind him as he ran into the shop. “Time to go.” he said, but then he saw St. Claire and stopped cold in his tracks. “Well, Hello there I’m …”

  “Jack!” Mr. Fez said, cutting him off.

  “What, can’t I even say hello?”

  “No, now let’s go.” he said as he grabbed the man he called Jack and pulled him towards the back.

  “Go, go where?” St. Claire was now completely puzzled.

  Mr. Fez leaned in close to him. “remember how I lied about the hand?” St. Claire nodded. “well it was not my only lie.”

  “You’re not the real shopkeeper are you?” St. Claire was just now getting the picture.

  Jack spoke. “Nope. He is not, the real shopkeeper is a few seconds behind me, and he is one pissed off Orillia. So if you would excuse us, we need to leave now.”

  They ran to the door in the back of the shop and St. Claire hoped the shop had a back door. However, just then Mr. Fez popped his head back through the door. “Oh, one last thing, the object I gave you, make sure it gets into the right hands. He will need it soon.” Then he was gone, leaving St. Claire with more questions than answers.

  Standing in the empty shop, St. Claire was trying to sort it all out when he remembered what Jack said about the proprietor being an angry Orillia. Orillia was one of the closest races in the universe to humans. If humans came from monkeys, then Orillia came from gorillas. They were much bigger than humans, and far stronger too. Most of the time they were extremely kind, gentle people, but best not to get one angry unless you have a wish to have every bone in your face smashed into a pâté.

  St. Claire chose to get to the restroom and change. He hoped that he could fake out the Orillia and get on his way. He stepped through the door in time to hear a warbling whooshing sound coming from the back room that quickly subsided. “Strange.” he said, as he ducked into the men’s room.

  He quickly changed into men’s clothing and tossed the woman’s clothing into the waste unit. The lace panties were on top of the pile and St. Claire was kind of sad about letting the disguise go. After all, it worked so well. He walked past the unit on the way out of the restroom then he turned back, grabbed the panties, and stuffed them into his pants pocket. At the door, he could hear the shopkeeper yelling in his native tongue. St. Claire didn’t speak Orill
ia, but he could tell that by the tone he was not saying anything nice. The sound of an angry Orillia was not a comforting one and St. Claire remembered that discretion is truly the better part of valor so he slipped out of the shop through the small window in the men’s room.

  Chapter 11

  Thad rode as fast as the bike’s safety governor would allow. Quincy was not doing well, he was still awake, but he had lost his ability to speak. Thad was worried that if he didn’t get help soon Quincy would die. It was in that moment when he was losing hope of getting help in time that Thad saw something appear on the horizon. “Hey Doc looks like something is ahead of us. Let’s hope that they can help because I think Quincy is just about out of time.”

  It didn’t take long until they were close enough to see what it was up in front of them. it was a column of mammoth sized vehicles. All of them looked at least a hundred years old or older. They were all at least three stories high and the giant wheels were at least three times the size of a man. They were a mess of patchwork of old and rusting cover plates, combined with bright and shiny ones. Some of the vehicles looked better maintained than others as the same could be said of the weaponry they sported.

  Thad’s comm crackled. “Attention unidentified fast mover, you are approaching an armed company and if you do not identify yourself and your intentions then you will be fired upon.” Moreover, as if to drive home their point a large particle beam lit up the sky as it passed dangerously close over their heads.

  “I think they mean business.” Doctor Hammer said over the comm.

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Thad said, and then he changed comm channel. “Hey there, we are unarmed and mean you no harm. In fact, we need your help. We have an injured man and need your medical facilities if you have them.”

  Thad waited for a second while he slowed down as not to get in too close to the other nasty looking weapons. Again, his comm crackled. “We have them, but you still have yet to identify yourselves.”