“So, let me see if I’m hearing this right,” Cash said. “You think I’m some bad-ass killer who sabotaged the flight, murdered a pilot, and hired someone to attack us, all so that I could locate a mysterious hidden cargo on our ship? And you thought the best plan for dealing with such a man is to point a gun at him and threaten his life?”
“Yesterday, I put an ass-whooping on an assassin who wasn’t filled with bullet holes,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Well, at least she didn’t have any bullet holes before she met me... So, threats from a man who can’t even chuckle without wincing in pain seem a little hollow, right now.”
Cash glared silently at me for a moment, and I could see the monumental effort he was putting into controlling his rage.
“Also, I never said bad-ass,” I added.
“Which just goes to show how little you actually know about the things you’re talking about!” he exploded. A machine monitoring his vitals beeped twice, indicating a rise in heart rate.
“So, enlighten me then,” I said, forcefully.
“Look, Skye, whatever I am is frankly none of your business, but my...profession...has nothing to do with what happened to our transport, what that thing is in the cargo bay or who put it there.”
“That’s an unbelievably big coincidence then,” I said.
“You know, it’s ironic that you’re accusing me of being some shady asshole, and yet you’re the one pointing a gun in my fucking face!”
I stared at him for a second and considered his point.
“Fine,” I huffed and tucked the weapon back in my holster. “Maybe that was a little dramatic. But I haven’t had the best experience with hired killers lately. I figured I’d take precautions.”
The room was silent for a long moment as the tension between us slowly dispersed.
“You have to admit, though, it’s an unlikely scenario,” I pondered. “Trouble always tends to follow people like you around.”
“Said the Outlaw to the Hitman,” Cash pointed out sardonically.
I didn’t even bother wondering how he knew I was an Outlaw. Apparently, it was the galaxy’s worst kept secret at this point.
“Fair point,” I admitted. “But if not you, then who? And so what, the hit attempt was just random and unconnected?”
“Hell, it could be anyone,” Cash said. “Or no one. Maybe it was you, for all I know. Although I’d say you coming in here, waving a gun around and hurling out accusations kind of makes me think it might not be you.”
I shot him a scornful look, but evaluated the situation assuming it wasn’t Cash or had anything to do with him being a hitman.
“I suppose there’s no way to tell until we manage to dig out whatever is in the cargo bay, or until whoever was after it tries again,” I observed, and Cash nodded agreement. “But that still leaves your attempted murder yesterday dangling like a loose thread.”
“Maybe not,” Cash said thoughtfully. “As unlikely as it may seem, maybe we have no choice but to assume that the two aren’t connected. People in my line of work tend to get territorial when they’re on a job. I think my sudden appearance here could have spooked her. If she thought I was here to interfere with her mission, that would be a good reason to strike first and fast.”
“That’s assuming she even recognized your name and knew what you are,” I said.
“She would know,” Cash said simply.
“Ooh bigshot,” I mocked, but Cash just looked at me matter-of-factly.
So, he’s someone people in his profession would recognize by name. That’s no small time killer. If he’s good enough at what he does to gain that kind of notoriety, he’s also not someone they’d want to challenge head-on.
“Well, a deal is a deal,” I said and removed a long metal object from an extra slot in my jacket holster. “Especially, if that deal helps you track down and eliminate that particular pain in my ass.”
I had recovered the barrel of the assassin’s rifle before leaving the scene after she got away. It was the end piece of the weapon that my daggers had sliced off. I handed it to Cash.
“You think this will help me identify which assassin tried to kill me?” he asked. “Why?”
“Two reasons,” I explained. “First, once I put two-and-two together about you, I noticed that you kill-for-hire types seem to be awfully attached to your weapons. She seemed no different. Lugging a long-barrel rifle around while trying to evade someone who is chasing you isn’t exactly efficient. If it was just some gun she got from the local arms dealer, I imagine she would have wiped it clean and tossed it.”
“That’s a good point,” he said, “and a rookie mistake. I wouldn’t have taken Carla for a job like that because I would want to be able to toss the weapon when I was done. What’s the second reason?”
“I’ve seen a lot of plasma rifles in my life, but, like yours, I’ve never seen one quite like this one,” I said, leaning forward to tap the barrel in his hands. “It’s custom. And if it is, then maybe it can be traced. There’s a small mark on the underside of that barrel. I got a good look at it when she tried to bash my face in with it. Maybe it’s a maker’s mark? If so, that’s traceable. At least, I imagine it is for someone like you. Your assassin was well-connected. I assume that’s a general quality in your profession?”
Cash simply nodded as he thought through everything I had told him.
“I think Ryuuk recognized the craftmanship on my rifle when he was working on it, even though I filed the maker’s mark off a long time ago,” he finally said. “I wonder if he could recognize it.”
“Maybe,” I replied with no small amount of doubt. “But the problem is whether he can manage not to shout it to the whole damn city...”
As I was speaking, we heard a commotion in the hallway as surgical center employees seemed to be rushing down the hall. We both looked at each other tensely. I guess we had been through too much in the past few days to assume whatever it was wouldn’t somehow involve us almost dying.
I stepped to the door, and Cash sat up straighter in the bed and swung his feet over the side so he could stand if needed. Peering out, I could see Syreni medical workers rushing to a nearby employee lounge. Through the room’s windows, I could see they were crowding around a view screen streaming local news. Our room also had a view screen. I walked over to it and flipped it on.
Images of Syreni-style buildings collapsing under the weight of rushing water filled the screen. The headline on the news cast read, “City of Mandala Destroyed. Thousands Killed.”
“Some of the images you’re about to see may be too graphic for younger viewers,” the newscaster said as images of bodies floating in the murky water left by the destruction flashed on the screen. “Earlier today, Queen Lethe unleashed the nation’s sea beast, Acheron’s Spirit, upon Mandala in response to civil demonstrations regarding the crown’s foreign policies with the Malunites.”
The newscaster seemed visibly shaken as she reported on the incident but was valiantly struggling to maintain her composure. The broadcast flipped over to another newscaster, a male, who asked questions about the event.
“Tanek, what kind of warning did the people of Mandala have before the attack? Do we know if they had time to evacuate before the city’s dome collapsed?” the male caster asked.
“Farik, according to our sources, the Queen acted suddenly and without any forewarning in an effort to make an example of the Mandalians,” the female newscaster said. “The sea beast breached the dome’s defenses within minutes of besieging the city. It’s collapse, as you can see from the footage, had devastating effects on Mandala.”
Before and after images of Mandala showed a thriving, metropolitan city built into the edge of an undersea mountain. From the pictures, it seemed like this city sat closer to the surface, as natural daylight illuminated the buildings nestled under its protective dome. Images of the destruction showed tall buildings collapsing as waves of water flooded into the city. Most of the city was leveled within minutes, and sometime later, remnants of Mandala slid down the side of the mountain to disappear into the dark gorge below it.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Occasionally, the cameras caught footage of a shadowy leviathan sweeping ominously through and around the remnants of the city. It was hard to get a clear impression of the beast as it seemed to be made of rippling water and shadows.
Returning to the door, I glanced out at the Syreni medics still staring at the broadcast in the breakroom. Some looked devastated and openly wept. Others seemed stoic, nodding their heads as the broadcaster spoke.
Turning, I shared a long look with Cash.
“We’ve got to find a way out of this place, and soon,” I said.
* * *
Later that evening at the Merry Mermaid, I sat a table with Dick, Vomero, and the now medically liberated Cash, sharing drinks and talking about the day’s developments.
“So they just let him go after all that talk about cybernetic patches, etc., etc.?” Dick asked.
“National tragedies have a way of making people want to focus on what’s important and let go of things that don’t really matter,” I said.
“She means, they stopped caring if I kill myself, given that they just watched thousands of their countrymen die at their own government’s hands,” Cash added.
“Everyone is talking about that attack their queen ordered on her own people,” Vomero said.
“The footage is on every viewing screen,” Dick added. “It’s the stuff of nightmares.”
“How does everyone feel about leaving this city before all hell breaks loose and we’re caught in the middle of it?” I said.
“Getting back to the Pact Worlds is high on my list of priorities,” said Cash. “I can’t imagine that will be easy if shit starts falling apart around here politically, or physically.”
“That’s true,” said Dick. “A lot of people in the bar have been complaining about the queen’s actions. If civil unrest starts up here in Veridi, who is to say she won’t do something like put everything under martial law or even send that sea creature thing to attack parts of this city.”
“I’ve been combing through the ship’s updated data bases for this quadrant of the galaxy,” said Vomero. “There are other advanced worlds in this star system that might serve as a better launching point for a route home. There are even other nations on this world that might be more suitable.”
“You mean the Malunites?” I asked. “That’s the nation all this uproar is centered around.”
“According to some history texts I searched up, the Malunites are an offshoot of the Syreni people,” Vomero continued. “At some point in the planet’s very distant past, a sect of Syreni started prioritizing living above the ocean’s surface. After a nasty civil war, they broke off into their own nation in the sky.”
“There’s actually land above the water?” I asked.
“Floating islands,” Dick answered. “I met a woman in the market who grew up on them.”
“When were you at the market?” I asked. “I was there today and don’t remember seeing you.”
“It’s a big market, Skye,” he said dismissively. “And do you want to explain why you’re apparently always on the lookout for me and wondering where I am every minute of the day?”
I shot him an ugly look but didn’t respond to his attempt at irritating me.
“Anyway,” he continued. “The market lady, her family hails originally from the sky islands. They moved to Veridi a few years ago to expand their fruit import business. Apparently, fruit is hard to cultivate underwater. But recently, the crown has been shutting down any commerce between the Malunite nation and Syreni. The new policy of intolerance for Malunites or even naturalized Syreni who used to be from the sky islands has taken a toll on the economy and trading industry at large. It’s also bred quite a bit of hatred and suspicion between the two cultures in the city.”
“Well it sounds like making our way to the sky islands might just put us right back into the thick of things,” I said.
“I’m not so sure,” Cash interjected. “It sounds like most of the strife is starting from the Syreni side, and the economic trade problems may mostly fall on the side of the Syreni, as well. If businesses don’t like having their trade routes cut off because of domestic policies, I imagine it’s that displeasure that led to the situation in Mandala.”
“You’re damn right it does.”
Perlak arrived just in time to hear the end of Cash’s comment. She sat fresh drinks and the food we had ordered on the table.
“I don’t know what has gotten into the queen these days,” she said with equal amounts of anger and passion, “but attacking our own is just treason!”
“Perl!” Murlek called to his wife. “Just serve the food and be careful what you say and who you say it to. Don’t we have enough to worry about keeping the bar afloat in this economy? We’ve no need to borrow trouble.”
Perl huffed and glared toward her husband. “I have a right to speak my mind, Murl. Besides, these people don’t seem like loyalists.”
“She’s right,” Dick said with a wink at Perl, who blushed. “Nobody’s ever accused me of being loyal to anything.”
“It’s just so tragic,” Perl said, glancing at her husband and daring him to interrupt her again. He threw his hands in the air in surrender and went back to polishing the bar. “Some don’t even care about what happened to those poor people. They think they had it coming, called them surface scum and treat them like they’re more Malunite than Syreni, all because they live closer to the surface than we do here in Veridi.”
“And these people would be the loyalists you mentioned?” I asked.
“For sure. Those type of people have been around a long time, but at least before they had the decency to keep their ignorant and hateful opinions behind closed doors,” Perl said. “But lately, the queen’s policy decisions have brought them out of the shadows, giving them a voice and fueling this silly notion that those of us who choose to live in the deep water are somehow superior to those in the shallows, as we call it.”
“If they feel that way about their own people, I don’t need to wonder what they must think of the Malunites,” Vomero remarked.
Perl proved to be a very useful fount of knowledge, and we spent a few hours chatting with her and learning everything she could tell us about the political and social turmoil befalling Veridi and the Syreni people in general.
I asked her about the beast that destroyed Mandala, and she explained that it was an ancient entity believed to be as old as Kalo-Mahoi's oceans themselves. Known to many as the Spirit of Acheron, the beast was meant to be a protector of the Syreni people. It obeyed the commands of whoever possessed the Drowned Diadem, which had always belonged to the reigning royal.
“Using Acheron to destroy thousands of Syreni lives is blasphemy in my opinion,” Perl lamented. “Many of us feel that way, but the loyalists have gained too strong of a foothold here in Veridi to outright sanction the queen.”
“What’s a sanction?” I asked.
“Removal from royal responsibilities, at first,” Perl explained. “If certain reforms are not made, it can lead to complete dethronement and a new ruler would be crowned. It requires quite a bit of heavy maneuvering from our civil representatives. But with the loyalists mucking things up, it’s unlikely even something as heinous as this would get enough support for a sanction.”
I noticed throughout the evening that we weren’t the only ones in the bar discussing the day’s tragic events. Conversations among patrons ranged broadly between complete disapproval to zealous agreement with the queen’s actions, which resulted in quite a few heated altercations. Merl promptly put a stop to any arguments before they could become full-blown fist fights. As Perl’s recounting indicated, the Syreni people really did seem split on the issue.
It was late evening before our group decided to head back to the transport and work on an exit strategy. Realistically, we knew that getting the ship operational would be the necessary first step of any plan. When we arrived back at the ship, however, it became apparent that we weren’t the only ones chatting with the locals tonight.
A tall, human man was standing outside the ship talking with Ryuuk. His features were non-descript, the type of face that would be easy to forget, and the clothes he wore looked like the local equivalent of a boring business suit. He was impeccably groomed, however, as if he was a man who paid attention to detail and preferred those details to be unremarkable.
“Ryuuk,” I said in a deliberately relaxed tone, “who’s your friend here?”
“Friend?” Ryuuk responded. “Nah, I just met this feller. Seems okay though. He says he’s got a business proposition for us but wouldn’t spill the beans till ya’ll were here. Oh! Hey Cash! They let you go home, I see.”
Cash just shrugged. “I insisted,” he said.
“Seems about right,” Ryuuk responded with an understanding nod. “Anyway, guys, this here is uhhh...What did you say your name was, fella?
“I didn’t,” the man answered matter-of-factly as he stepped forward to greet us. “The truth is I go by many names as I play many roles among the local powers that operate in the shadows here on Kalo-Mahoi.”
“It’s kind of hard to do business with someone who doesn’t have a name,” Vomero pointed out.
I felt a stirring close behind me where I stood near the transport door. Turning my head slightly, I saw that Dick had moved to lean against the ship’s hull behind me. He affected a look of disinterest, but I felt I knew him well enough to know that wouldn’t be the case.
It also occurred to me that, for the first time since meeting him, I could not detect the scent of his pheromones or even the normal scent I had come to associate with him. In fact, all I felt with him being in such close proximity to me was what I would describe as typical female appreciation of an attractive male. I tucked the observation away for the moment and focused on our mysterious visitor.
“If a name would put you more at ease,” said the man. “You may refer to me as Jack.”
“Well if we’re picking fake names,” Cash said, “then definitely not Jack.”
“How about Owen?” Matthew said. “I knew a tall guy named Owen, once.”
“Then, to you, I am Owen,” the man said.
“Fine, Owen,” I said with sass, “What business proposition are you here to discuss?”
“Certain powers I represent would like to offer to solve certain problems that hold you here on Veridi. Namely, they’re offering to clear your pending security checks and pay off any debts you may accrue here, plus extra to help you on your way as you depart the city.”
“And how do these powers know that we’re looking to leave Veridi?” Cash asked.
“My sponsors thrive by knowing everything there is to know about people coming in and out of Veridi before anyone else knows it,” he stated vaguely.
“What they’re offering is no small compensation,” I said. “What is it that they want from us in return?”
“To put it simply,” said Owen. “They want you to start a war.”