The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (9 page)

“And we’re not M-fanning in to the Chidurian
Enclave why?” Spud asked, irritated.

Eikhus hesitated. “I’m not exactly
persona
grata
there.”

“How does that not surprise me.”

“Spud!” I scolded. Eikhus’s expulsion from
Mingferplatoi was still a painful subject. The Kharybdian’s abrupt
eruption after learning of Benedict’s devastating raid on his home
planet had almost drowned two classmates—and had led to questions
about his solidity under pressure and his fitness to be a Zygint
operative. Reminding Eikhus of those humiliating events was not
very kind at all. Spud did sometimes tend to be a little deficient
in his social skills … and his empathy. Besides, he should know
that M-fanning could leave unwanted tracks, in case our colleagues
at Zygint Central developed a yen to locate us for being AWOL.

After another hour of hiking, we climbed
above ground and found ourselves behind a field of Sabras, tall
cactus-like trees, inside the periphery of Zyga’s Chidurian
Enclave, avoiding detection—we hoped. The planet Chiduri, located
at the tip of Orion’s sword, is noted for its parched desert
climate, baked by Hatsiya’s three suns. A testament to Zygan
bioecological technology, the Chidurian Enclave was, unfortunately,
as hot and dry as the planet Chiduri itself. I began to long for
the relative chill of desert Sidon. One glance at Spud’s face
revealed that he was equally distressed by the literally hellish
conditions.

We’d ditched our parkas and raingear and
Ergaled ourselves into beige hooded robes. The blistering heat now
actually made us grateful for Eikhus’s cooling perspiration, and we
stayed close by our companion for the last kilometer of our journey
as we crept down deserted back alleys and dusty roads.

To reach Matshi’s kalyvi, his cave-like
dwelling, we would unfortunately need to cross some busy streets.
In order to avoid the curious gazes of the crab-like Chidurian
pedestrians, Eikhus misted himself on us, with Spud’s grudging
approval. Looking appropriately sweaty for a pair of tourists to
the Enclave, we made our way to Matshi’s kalyvi across the crowded
thoroughfares, dodging combatively-driven six-wheeled autogamil
vehicles. Chidurian drivers are among the most aggressive in the
Universe, which, I suspect, is why many of Zyga’s best fighter
pilots are Chidurian.

Fortunately, we arrived at our destination in
one piece. Except for Eikhus of course, who was still dispersed on
us as scattered droplets. Matshi, a seven-foot crustacean sporting
a purple Chidurian anorak that draped from his cephalothorax over
his eight appendages, answered our knock and led us into the kalyvi
with solely a nod. The moist coolness of the cave was a sharp
contrast to the desert outside, and Eikhus was quickly able to
merge into a slightly less viscous version of himself. We crawled
underground down a long circular passageway for what seemed like
several storeys, passing closed doors along the way. By the time we
reached our meeting room, Eikhus had grown back to nearly his full
height and density.

My jaw dropped as we entered. Seated around a
large table were some of Mingferplatoi’s most illustrious
drop-outs: Ulenem, the chameleon-like Assassin of Orion Alpha;
Setsei and Suthsi, Meiotes from the planet Ytra; Nephil Stratum, a
cloud-like Syneph from the Plegma; and Sarion, the Comic of Megara.
So many classmates I hadn’t seen since my early days of catascope
training almost two years before.

“Magnificent,” Spud muttered with no little
irony. “I’ve died and gone to juvie.”

Matshi wasn’t as diplomatic as Eikhus. He
faced Spud with a sneer. “I see you’ve still got a rod up
your—”

“Thank you,” Eikhus interjected quickly,
soaking Matshi’s robes. He turned to face the group. “Thank you all
for coming.”

Murmurs of greetings in five different
languages came our way. I responded with the Zygan squeaks
expressing friendship and gratitude, and nudged Spud to take an
empty seat next to mine at the table. He forced a smile and mumbled
a half-hearted Zygan, “Hello.”

Matshi offered us mugs of soothing Chidurian
ale to sip as we began to tell our story. A drop of Chidurian ale
is reported to not only refresh tired travelers like us, but repair
mitochondrial breakdown in muscle cells and enhance muscular
development. The drink is like ‘roids in a bottle. And the effect
lasts for months. That’s why the ale is a budget-buster outside of
the planet Chiduri and its Zygan Enclave. Chidurians serving as
soldiers and guards throughout Zygfed, who can’t afford even a sip,
speak longingly of returning home and indulging once again in their
native nectar.

Well indulged, and appropriately grateful,
Spud and I related the singular events and experiences of the past
few days. After filling in the group, I summed it up. “So, we’ve
absolutely got to find Sutherland.”

“You mean Benedict,” Nephil Stratum said, her
pearly nebulous cloud-like tufts shimmering as she spoke.

Maybe her Ergal had mistranslated?
“Sutherland,” I repeated.

“No, I
mean
Benedict,” she insisted.
“If what you say is true, that the E-shield on your ship was
breached, it has to be Benedict. Getting his buddy out of
trouble.”

Spud shook his head. “Seems unlikely. There
is no loyalty among thieves.”

I jabbed him in the arm, and nodded at Nephil
Stratum. “I think you’ve got something there. Benedict grabs
Sutherland to keep him from spilling his guts.”

Perched on a tall stool that
dwarfed his solid reptilian two-foot frame, Ulenem the Assassin
jeered as he twirled his sharp athame dagger like a baton between
his limbs. “Spilling his guts would be better,” Ulenem said, his
lizard-green skin turning menacingly spinach-colored.

Setsei, who resembled a four-foot apostrophe,
quickly moved his seat a few inches away with both his right hands
to avoid the spinning blade of the Madai weapon. From the head
portion at the top of his smooth ovate body, he emitted the Ytran
version of a dramatic sigh. “Well, peachy keen. All we have to do
is break into Benedict’s command center—wherever that is—kidnap
Sutherland, and get out alive. Oops, that last part … not so easy
…” His meiote and mirror image, Suthsi, was clearly nervous,
sliding closer and wrapping his two left arms and his flagella
around his partner. “Not so easy,” Suthsi echoed.

Nephil Stratum’s own snowy hue turned a
darker shade of gray. She drifted over to face us. “Hate to rain on
your parade, but it may not be as hard as you think.” She broke off
a small tuft of cottony vapor and levved it to the center of the
table. It misted open and revealed a small multihedron gem that
sparkled with hundreds of colors. In a few moments, the sparkles
dissolved to reveal a life-size holo of Benedict before us in the
flesh.

I gasped. Sitting only a few feet away from
me was the vicious outlaw reputed to have killed thousands of
Zygans in his quest to overthrow His Highness. I was grateful that
Benedict’s body was halved by the table, reassuring us that he was
only a holo. Still, my reflexes trumped my rationality. My
practiced fingers had crept to my Ergal and were gripping it
tightly as I watched.

Benedict was clutching a tablet on which he
was scratching furiously with a stylus. The low resolution of the
holo didn’t allow us to see what he was writing, but his mutterings
sounded like he was trying to solve some mathematical problem.
“Alpha … m-c squared … equation … trapezalnitaks … summeldare … ram
… catastrophe …”

Suddenly, his face lit up and he cried,
“Eureka!” He looked up and, to my alarm, seemed to scan the room,
his fierce blue eyes finally resting in my direction with a
piercing, icy stare. I kept telling myself ‘it’s just a holo’, but,
faced with that penetrating gaze, I couldn’t suppress a cold shiver
that bored all the way down to my spine.

And then, to my immense relief, Benedict
disappeared. I heard several deep breaths echoing mine from around
our table.

Matshi was the first to speak. He looked at
Nephil Stratum with admiration. “How’d you do that?”

Spud interjected, “Irrelevant. Where was he,
and what was he doing?”

Matshi’s face looked appropriately
annoyed.

“Short answer, Matshi, dark matter,” Nephil
Stratum appeased her host. “Zygint Central constantly monitors
“beings of interest”. Unfortunately, without an auxiliary energy
source I can only keep the download going for a few minutes.”

“You tapped into Zygint’s comm feeds!”
Awesome. I was impressed.

Nephil Stratum nodded. “I honestly can’t
determine where Benedict is,” she continued, responding to Spud.
“But, obviously at least one comm specialist at Central knows,
because they’re tracking him live. It looks like … someone will
have to go to Zygint Headquarters to get that information.”

The knot in my stomach returned as the entire
group turned and looked at me.

* * *

Yes, I still carried a Zygan Intelligence ID.
If
it hadn’t already been pulled. My actions had caused us
to lose Sutherland. And, rather than returning to face the music,
I’d gone on the run. I was absent without leave, and Gary had
probably already reported me to Headquarters as a violator. If I
went to Zygint Central Headquarters as myself, Shiloh Rush, I’d
probably be busted with my very first WHO entry scan. And, if I
was
caught, I’d likely be sent to face the terrifying
judgment of the Omega Archon. I’d be kicked out of the Zygint
corps, and, at the mercy of His Highness’ harsh code of justice, I
could end up … a corpse.

My only chance to succeed in tracking
Benedict’s location would be to M-fan into Zygint Headquarters
disguised as another Terran, and one who would have easy clearance
for Central Comm. Going as Gary was out. He was a well-known player
at Zygint, and my acting skills weren’t
that
good.

“Everett Weaver?” Spud suggested, his tone
clearly ironic.

Just envisioning pretending to be dorky Ev
for even a few moments made me nauseated.

“What about the nice one?” Nephil Stratum
offered. “The one you said had fixed your ship.”

Wart … Ward Burton. Now, that sounded better.
Wart was high-level enough to have access to Central Comm, but he
rarely made the hours-long trip from Earth to Zyga, so he probably
wouldn’t be well known by the Central team. That would work in my
favor. It would be a little, uh, embarrassing to be the second Wart
identified trying to enter Headquarters while the real one was
already there. I nodded. “Good idea. Okay, I’ll go in as Wart.”

When we were on assignment, we were allowed
to use our Ergals to anamorph our superficial appearance and dress.
It would be easy enough to Ergal my appearance to look like the
tall, African American man in his early thirties that I’d be
pretending to be. With a change in my surface appearance, I might
even be able to skate through the WHO scans at Headquarters entry.
But, if I had to make it through the deeper NDNA scans to get into
Comm, I’d be in trouble. I was going to have to bite the bullet and
mute; that is, Ergal the change all the way down to my DNA
nucleotides. Unfortunately, muting without high-level authorization
was a grave violation of Zygan policy. If arrested, I’d probably be
immediately dragged before the Omega Archon, and face a sentence
burning in the flames of Hell.

“What the hell,” Sarion joked. “Losing
Sutherland, you’re probably already marked for the flames
anyway.”

I smiled weakly at the Megaran’s humor. I had
only experienced a few minutes of the Omega Archon’s punishment,
and prayed that I would never experience such torture again. But, I
had no choice. Spud had courageously offered, through clenched
teeth, to go with me to Zygint. I patted him on the back and
declined. It’d been my fault we’d lost Sutherland—I should never
have stopped to help at Io—so it was up to me to take on the
danger, and the risks, myself. Alone.

Nephil Stratum had me cryptocommed (wired) as
invisibly as possible. It did give me a boost of courage to know
that the gang was monitoring me from the cave, and maybe could
mount a rescue if something did go wrong. I thanked my erstwhile
classmates for their support once again and, with a final glance at
Spud, who reflected my anxious gaze, I set off for the headquarters
of Zygan Intelligence.

Not wanting to leave tracer tracks that might
lead back to Matshi’s kalyvi, I dragged myself, muted as Wart,
through the baking, dusty streets to the transport station in the
center of the Chidurian Enclave, and X-fanned to Mikkin, Zyga’s
capital city. I M-fanned directly into the cool, soft clouds that
enveloped the base of Zygint’s Headquarters, relishing their
comforting softness as I floated towards the entrance of the tall
thomeo.

Zygint Central Headquarters was modeled after
typical Orion-thomeo architecture, mile-high skyscrapers with broad
bases that narrow as one rises to the higher storeys. From a
distance, a thomeo looks like an enormous ice cream cone turned
upside down and driven into the ground.

I have to admit I was pretty nervous as I
approached the WHO scan for entry to the building. Would the
scanner be able to tell that I had muted into Wart? I held my
breath as the light washed over my tall, male torso, almost gasping
with relief as the door opened to let me into the busy lobby.
Acting—and I mean, acting—relaxed, I ambled towards the lifts for
the ninety-ninth floor (which, like all Zygan numbers, was in Base
Twelve) and the Comm Center, which had housed the feed Nephil
Stratum’s jewel had tapped.

Central’s Communications Center, which took
up an entire floor of the thomeo, was the size of a football
stadium, and was filled with scenic holos from practically every
populated planet in Zygfed. And beyond. As I searched the holos for
signs of Benedict, I couldn’t avoid pausing at a halaropool scene
to catch my breath. The beauty of the Megaran spa truly calmed me,
if only for a few moments.