A Wilki Jhanden story
The worldlet had no real purpose, and thus had no real name. It was a spec of a world, a moon really, adequately habitable by anything from a biosphere similar to Earth’s. From a galactic standpoint it was the planet which was of interest, a massive, rocky world swimming in organic molecules and studded with rich metallic deposits. Known as Arterem by those species with spoken languages, its true name, the one spoken by the consortium of methane breathers that had settled the planet a thousand years earlier, was unable to be articulated by any means of communication humans used.
This sector of the galaxy was rich and densely populated by a number of species, most commonly crystalline creatures. The methane breathers had capitalised on the conveniently large and rich Arterem, milking a profit where none of their neighbours could go, at least not cheaply. It was a trading hub, exporting raw materials consumed by dozens of surrounding civilisations, a growing and prospering economy.
Being this close to such a planet yet lacking any resources of its own, Arterem-B had no hopes of emulating the rise of the mother planet. It survived by scrounging off the dregs of the trade, hoping to achieve wealth by proximity. But it produced nothing, its only virtue being its nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere that, with a few tweaks, made it the only habitable world for lightyears.
Essentially the moon was a port, a place where travellers could take refuge and restock on long journeys without having to brave the hostile environment below. As such the only signs of civilisation were a few ageing spaceports ringed by bazaars. Wealthy travellers usually were heading to a specific destination and did their best to avoid these bazaars, knowing that their money would only buy them trouble. And yet the so-called businessmen running the stalls could be sure of a reliable, if meagre, income. After spending weeks or months couped up in a small box, breathing the same cycled air and eating whatever the algae blooms happened to offer, most people were willing to spend what little they had in exchange for whatever vice took their fancy.
Wilki knew just how dangerous these bazaars could be. The drug pushers sold powerful stuff, too powerful to enjoy in a community where crime thrived. Money wasn’t the only thing that could be stolen - there were markets for blood, skin, faeces, even thoughts, and passing out anywhere on a bazaar world was guaranteed to end with you waking up poor, naked, sore and hungry.
Sex, too, was trafficked on these worlds, with an alien physique for every taste. Which was the problem; the phrase caveat emptor applied more to the galaxy’s oldest profession than any other industry. Even if all parties involved had good intentions, each pairing of incompatible physiologies was a risky experiment, one conducted on body parts many sentient beings valued above all others. Which lead to a side industry of self proclaimed doctors, offering salves and antidotes to treat bizarre and embarrassing burns and poisonings.
Technology was bought and sold at exorbitant prices, much of it illegally acquired. Considering that even the most run down passenger ship was capable of faster than light travel, they were surprisingly simplistic. Complicated equipment needed even more complicated equipment to manufacture it, something that was only available of the older and wealthier worlds. If it couldn’t be assembled by hand, it wasn’t likely to be found far from its point of manufacture. Hence, bazaar stalls could often be seen selling anything from full-res hologram generators to pens that synthesised their own ink.
Even food was a risky purchase. The nutritionally complete yet strangely flavoured pulp that the algae tanks produced on human-built passenger ships never grew dull, if only because no two mouthfuls tasted quite the same. But that isn’t to say that it tasted pleasant. The smell of spices and cooking meat always hung over the streets of bazaars, enticing those with eager stomachs to empty their wallets, though any spaceport in the galaxy attracted more than just humans. There was always the risk of ingesting something a little too exotic for human biochemistries to handle.
That left gambling, the one vice where you knew what you were getting into from the start, and hence the only vice that Wilki Jhanden allowed himself to indulge in. Gambling was the best way to pass time on a passenger ship, the ultimate in universal, low tech entertainment. It was no mystery as to how it had become so prolific in the spaceports that serviced these ships.
The tent was made of a thin, beige cloth spun from whatever plant-equivalents blanketed the planet above them. Like the rest of the bazaar it was filthy and aged, its usable lifespan being extended by little more than patchwork and hope. It had a smell about it, somehow accumulating the intoxicating aromas of the cooking all around it but making it sour, as if the sweat and breath of every creature had permeated the material. Out the front was a simple tin sign, painted in fading letters: “Emoker Inside”.
Wilki was the only human at the table. He was far out from the Human Domain, probably closer to the galactic core than he had ever been, and as such didn’t recognise any of the species sharing the table. One he assumed was a methane breather from Arterem, based on the breathing apparatus and stocky body indicative of a high gravity upbringing. Two appeared to be clouds of gas held in place by a thin, gelatinous membrane. One was a sentient crystal of some kind, humming in strange frequencies. Three appeared to be mammals, clearly not of Earth, but beyond that he couldn’t identify anything about them.
The final figure at the table was wrapped in a cloak, it’s visible features heavily bandaged. Through the cloths he could make out three separate limbs protruding from the torso, two where arms would be on a human and one emerging from the centre of its chest. The middle arm appeared strong, with a circle of fingers protruding from equidistant points on a hand, while the other two hands appeared to be four clawed graspers. He couldn’t make out the shape of its body, but it didn’t appear to be humanoid. It handed him a small disk as he entered. “Welcome,” it said through what was clearly the translator, “please be seated.”
He did, a twinge of excitement brewing inside. “Welcome to Emotional Poker,” the hooded creature said, “the game played from rim to rim. Anything can be bet. Donations needed to the house for players to enter, house takes ten percent of each pot where possible.” The chips were divided between them, irregular wood-like disks painted in different colours. The cards soon followed.
Most sentient species possessed some means of manipulating their environment. In fact, as far as he was aware only some crystalline species lacked that ability. He wondered what evolutionary force had given them the power of thought, given they were unable to physically act. All the other players collected and examined their cards. The mammalian creatures used a variety of limbs to pick them up, whereas the gas entities rested on the table for a minute, only floating back up once the cards were inside them. The crystal did not make a move for the cards, yet still placed an opening bet. Wilki shielded his cards with his hand, wondering if and how it had read its own cards.
The opening round started off with betting the promise of a pun, going no higher than the promise of a pun that had amused at least three individuals. This was the nature of emoker, and how it differed from traditional card games. The problem with gambling on a ship was that no one started with any real wealth, so playing with material currency was impossible. People played for the only thing of value in an isolated world with no recreational technology - stories, jokes, anecdotes. In bazaars emotional poker starts with abstract prizes, a nice icebreaker before the physical goods are introduced.
One of the gas clouds lost the hand, and so told a pun that made no sense after translation. But that wasn’t the point, the point was all other players were amused, if only briefly, waiting for a punch line they wouldn’t recognise. It was an odd way to pass the time, but the real amusement came from trying to crack the poker faces of species that communicated in entirely different ways.
The methane breather lost a round in which the betting escalated, forcing Wilki to endure a rather disgusting personal sexual anecdote. He then had to share an impersonal story of harmless misfortune after misjudging the mood of the table.
“.. it was only then that he realised the ikthoid hadn’t sold him the pet snake he was after, but had sold him her husband!” he said, finishing up just as someone entered the tent. Wilki turned to face the newcomer, his jaw dropping. The newcomer was human, the only other human on the moon that he had seen, and what a specimen she was. She was tall, draped in a cloak a thousand times more stylish than their host had, a rich velvety orange that matched the curls of hair drooping across her face. Dark sunglasses concealed her eyes, but there was no hiding the amused, confident smirk on her full, green lips. Without saying a word she strode up to the table, threw a handful of coins at the host and took a seat opposite Wilki’s. The room was stunned into silence as the coins were collected and the cards and chips dealt.
“Hope you don’t mind the intrusion, boys,” she said, counting her chips, “but I just love this game.”
Wilki had travelled alone, ever since he had possessed the means to do so. He was aware such thoughts made him a jerk, but to him other people were either a distraction or a source of puzzles, nothing more. In his life there was only room for the endless void between stars, a wellspring of novelty and wonder that no individual could match. As he gazed at this enigmatic woman, he began to question this entire philosophy.
Whoever she was, she played well. And aggressively. She was throwing her chips around almost carelessly, waging a decent chunk of her winnings on even the most trivial of prizes. It was, on paper, a bad strategy, and yet after several hands her collection of chips was the largest and she hadn’t had to tell so much as a weak joke.
On the next hand he folded early. She followed suit straight away, smiling at him. He knew what she wanted, and she knew that he knew it. Suddenly the coincidence of meeting another human out here didn’t seem so random.
Next round, he bid high, escalating both the number of chips and the prize at the end. Again, she mimicked him. The others folded quickly, not wanting to be caught up in the insanity. Her soft grin took a predatory edge when she realised it was just the two of them. “Let’s say we make this interesting,” she said, twirling a chip between her fingers. “We keep raising the stakes, one after the other, without limits. When one of us can’t handle the pot,” making it clear which of the two she meant, “we play for the previous amount.”
“Without limit, huh? I’ve seen marriages end, businesses destroyed, lives ruined playing like this…” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Heck, wars are often less destructive.”
“So we’re agreed, then. Impersonal slapstick story, ten chips.”
Wilki raised an eyebrow. “Starting small, huh? Impersonal management failure story, thirty chips.”
She waved a hand casually. “Personal cleverness story, thirty chips.”
“Personal ignorance story, forty chips.”
The others watched this salvo of bravado keenly. This was what every emoker player hoped to witness, a high end bet ending in either a horrendous story or financial ruin, or both.
“Personal sexual story,” she said, lowering her glasses to deliver a wink. Wilki was amazed by her eyes, a vivid green that seemed to explode from behind the shades. “Eighty chips.”
“Personal sexual story involving non-permanent injury, ninety chips,” he countered, trying not to get distracted. He could feel his heart racing, this atmosphere was intoxicating.
“Personal story of bravery where a crime was prevented, one hundred and thirty chips.”
“Personal story of bravery where a crime was committed, one hundred and fifty chips.”
“Personal story of bravery and intelligence, where permanent, non-fatal injury was prevented,” she said, adding in a low voice, “two hundred chips.”
“Personal story of bravery and intelligence where a life was saved, two hundred and fifty chips,” he countered, not missing a beat.
The woman smiled, leaning back on her chair. “Personal story of bravery and intelligence where an entire planet was saved from destruction. All in.”
Wilki stared back, his mind frantically thinking. “Very few people would have such a story,” he replied, hoping he sounded casual.
She lowered the shades, once more piercing him with those eyes. “Match my bet,” she said, flipping over her cards, “but as you can see, I’ve already won. Tell me my story, Wilki Jhanden. Tell me about Siceltown.”
He leapt from his chair, scattering his hard-earned chips as he did. “Who are you?”
She shrugged. “No one important. My employers, on the other hand, are very important. And very eager for your services.”
***
The pair found themselves at what had to be the classiest establishment resembling a restaurant on the entire moon. The thick tent walls trapped the heat in wonderfully as well as gave the room a deep maroon hue. They even had a low table to just the two of them, even if they were lacking chairs. Which was unfortunate, given the stale smells trapped by the sandy ground beneath them.
“I must say, this is exciting,” the woman said as the waiter slithered over with their food. The slimy, pulpy mass smelled little better than the rest of the restaurant, though his empty stomach shifted eagerly at the sight of the chunks of meat and vegetables in it. She fished out a piece using a skewer and bit into it with the savagery of a lioness, and yet with grace he had never witnessed. “My employers have been looking for you for a while, you know.”
“And these employers are…?” Wilki asked, mimicking her stab at the food. His skewer didn’t quite puncture the unidentifiable meat as cleanly, forcing him to half drag, half scoop the flesh out.
She gave him an exasperated glance. “Oh come on, Mr Jhanden, you know I work for the Domain. Just like every other human.”
“There are free worlds,” he pointed out, “and free people.”
“If you mean yourself, you are the perfect example. You do your thing well beyond the official boundaries of the human race. You are often the first of our kind that aliens in this part of the galaxy meet, and you make a good impression. Also, it’s nice having people out where our agents are unwilling to tread.”
He gave her a hard stare. “I do not work for… those people,” he said, each word carrying the slow emphasis of a glacier. “Besides, that isn’t what I meant and you know it.”
A smile graced her lips as she chewed a purple vegetable. Those lips, green and enticing, as hypnotic as her eyes… “Yes. I just wanted you to be certain of your situation, as far as I understand it. You work for the Domain, therefore you work for my employers, ultimately the heads of MIST.”
Wilki snorted. “And here I was thinking you were Civil Intelligence, here to arrest me. Does that mean you can tell me your name?”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking I can’t detain you, or that I’m any less capable than those mail-peeping freaks. The Domain needs all sort of eyes and ears in every corner of space…” she said, pausing. “As for your question, my name is Ruby Kell. Pleased to finally meet you, Mr Jhanden.”
“You’ve been following me.” A statement, not a question.
“Been trying to.”
“And you got a lead from Siceltown.”
She nodded. “Yes, the Domain Navy landed there not long after you left. We were surprised when your name popped up, I was expecting you to be using aliases or something, Not that it would have helped, your fingerprints were all over this one.”
He shrugged. “And now you’ve found me.”
“Yes, I have,” Ruby said. “Listen, Mr Jhanden, we want to offer you a job. High reward for your unique talents, of course. The Domain looks after its most helpful citizens very well.”
“Stop calling me that,” he said. His food lay unfinished before him, his hunger forgotten. “And no, not interested.”
She sighed theatrically. “We really have to do this?” she asked. “I can offer you money, even if you don’t want it. But I can offer so much more. You want to see the galaxy, don’t you? I can offer you a private shuttle, comfortable and faster than anything out there. I can offer you restoration treatments, taking you make to your biological early twenties and keeping you there for four decades, longer with continued treatment. I can show you the galaxy, Mr Jhanden, all for one little job.”
Her glared at her. “Stop calling me that,” he repeated. “I know what you are doing. I suggest you stop.”
She leaned in closer, unintimidated. “Then let me tell you about the job, the one thing we both know you love. The puzzle, the intellectual pursuit. This is one beyond anything you have encountered, I promise.”
He threw down his skewer, standing up. “Not. Interested.”
Ruby made no move to stop him as he headed for the flap. “Four disappearances at a high energy lab over the past two years,” she said, still facing his abandoned plate. “Not a trace of any of them, and believe me that is odd.”
Wilki turned slowly, standing beside her. “This lab, I take it, is a MIST lab?”
“Of course.” She nodded.
“On Earth?”
“Where else?”
He sat down beside her pulling her face close to his. “Listen to me, no more of this crap. Tell me who sent you. Give me a name.”
She smiled, her eyes shining like emeralds. “He told me that by now you’d know who he is.”
Ruby Kell laughed as Wilki leapt back, recoiling from her revelation as if it were caustic. “Come,” she said, standing and dusting herself off. “My private shuttle is this way.”
Thirteen Years Earlier
The sun beat down with the furious intensity of Second Summer. So far the air remained cool, a large body of moisture rolling in from the coast keeping the temperature from spiralling upwards. But the resulting humidity just made it worse.
Wilki was thankful for his suit, syphoning away his excess heat and maintaining his fluids. His was a good design, Navy standard, capable of keeping him alive and comfortable in far worse conditions than this. Supposedly it could even protect him from harsh vacuum, though he’d never had the chance to test that. For now, at least, it just had to save him from the worst that Earth had to offer.
He ran, moving effortlessly through the long grass. It was slowing him down, something he could not afford at this stage, but out here he was exposed. The hill was a good thirty metres ahead of him, the treeline well behind him, the concrete bunkers even further to his left. The grass might not offer much physical cover, but at least he could make himself invisible. Besides, it was his favourite kind of manoeuvre - entirely unexpected.
His gun was already outstretched as he hit the ground, the suit absorbing the impact as the thin, green blades swallowed him. Still too young to have been fitted with the implants, he was forced to use the telescopic sight to check the trees he came from. It was cheap, already fogging up from the sweat streaming down his face, but it was much better than nothing. Resourcefulness counted for everything. “Sai,” he whispered into the radio at his collar, “what’s the situation?”
“Nothing yet, sir, I can’t see them,” his earpiece replied. “Either they are taking their time, or they aren’t coming through the forest.”
“Damn,” he cursed. They were being smart, which complicated his plans. “Give them a few more minutes. If you don’t see them, you know what to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wilki was alone, which given the situation was probably a good thing. There was nothing in the field, no movement near the trees or bunkers. He was, for the moment at least, safe. But even so he could feel his heart hammering where he lay on his chest, the frenzied pulsing against the silence of the external world putting his nerves on edge. He couldn’t stay here, he was too vulnerable. And yet, without knowing where they were coming from, moving was a risk.
There was nothing else to do. He fiddled with his radio, setting the frequency for the global channel. “Hey Pollo,” he said, keeping low and moving slowly for the hill, “don’t you like the trees?”
Laughter filled the comms. “What are you talking about, Jhanden. I’m all over the forest.”
“Not likely. I can’t hear your sais clunking through the branches, nor can I smell you pissing yourself.”
“Face it, Jhanden, you’re trapped,” Pollo said. “I’ll flush you out into the open, kill you like a rabbit. Only difference is, your extinction will be slow and drawn out.”
Wilki smiled. “So you say. And yet while you make these threats, Beth is listening, laughing, cos in any moment you will find yourself in her trap. A moment after that, she will be in mine. SaiSmiths will never forget this day.”
“We are working together,” a female voice chipped in. “A temporary truce to force you into a fair fight.”
At this he ran, making for the base on the hill. The grass here was short and brown, baked crisp under a scorching heatwave. To his ears the crunching underfoot sounded impossibly loud. How they couldn’t hear it was beyond him. “Cowards,” he said, keeping his voice level,. He dived behind the hill as a shot whizzed past his head. “I’m already outnumbered, and still you are afraid of me?”
The comms fell silent. He continued to receive on the global frequency while queuing up his SaiJhanden on the voice channel. “They’ve taken a shot at me,” he said. “Watch for it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The shot had come from the bunker. They really were working together, not that he was surprised. His plan should work regardless. But it did mean the advantage was theirs. Nothing to it but to hope for the best.
He snaked around the base of the hill, keeping the mass of earth between himself and the bunker. That’s where some of them would be, the rest would be either holding back or moving through the trees. It was containment, cutting off his routes of escape, drawing the pincers in tighter around him. A good strategy given their numerical superiority. The logical move. The predictable one.
Risking a peek, he saw them, four of Beth’s SaiSmiths moving out into the open. Their squat, heavy bodies moved well, not concerned over the risk they were undergoing by attacking first. A very real risk. Wilki lined up the shot in his mind, anticipating their progress, and took it. Sticking his head up for a second he got off two shots, ducking back behind cover as enemy rounds flew over his position. One was a definite hit, a clean headshot. The other was aimed for the torso, but might have clipped the sai’s arm. A hindrance, but not fatal.
Being uncertain was frustrating. Whether he was facing two or three active adversaries was a vital thing to know. But his SaiJhanden couldn’t risk looking for him, not yet. He’d have to live with not knowing. Sighing, he angled his gun against the soil and let off a few rounds. The cracks thundered, hopefully giving the sais a moment’s hesitation. In the same fluid motion he leapt up, firing wildly.
Pain shot through his left shoulder as he fell back behind cover. His suit had protected him, but the impact had been unquestionable. Experimentally he tried to move it, but the suit had frozen the area. It had been a good shot on their part, but it hadn’t taken him out. Conversely, he had taken out two of them, including the one he had injured earlier. That left one almost directly on top of him, with plenty more lurking, invisible.
Things were going well, for now.
He wriggled backwards down the hill, his gun still aimed forward. With his shoulder out of action it was slow going, but his training prepared him for this. He was expected to be able to operate with or without a shoulder, or a gun, or even, chaos forbid, without sais. As long as he was breathing he had to be able to function at one hundred percent.
The air was hot as he breathed deep, trying to keep his mind sharp. His suit held him snugly, the slick interior feeling slippery and unnerving against his bare skin. He decided to interpret this as a good sign, proof that his senses were working in overdrive, the adrenaline keeping him sharp. This was the worst part, the uncertainty of being on the back foot, the total lack of control. The one remaining enemy sai could come from any angle, or it could be pulling back, meeting up with fresh reinforcements. Feeling as though every nerve was burning with potential, he waited, hoping his suit muffled the pounding of his heart.
Instinct kicked in, his gun rising as though it had a will of its own. He stood up and fired, the line of the projectile just missing the crest of the hill. Fire returned, following the path of the shot in reverse, chewing up the ground where he had just been standing. The enemy sai had been moving to high ground, a move so textbook it was obvious. With a few more predictable moves on their part, he’d win this.
Running backwards, he kept firing, covering his own retreat. The sai kept shooting but not with any real accuracy. It was firing blind, trying to fluke a shot, unwilling to risk exposing itself. They both had each other pinned down, stalling the advance of the other. As long as it remained one on one this dynamic would last for a while, but Wilki had no doubt other enemy sais were converging on him at that moment.
Sure enough, shots rang out from the forest, followed by the hideous clunk of the rounds hitting synthetic skin. They were moving against him from the forest, cutting off his last viable avenue of retreat. A sensible move given the numbers on their side, though, he thought with a smile, they should have waited until they had dealt with his sai, lurking patiently in the trees for that exact moment.
His radio pinged with each confirmed fatality, SaiJhanden too busy sniping to talk. Wilki counted three before the radio went silent. He willed it to ping once more, hoping his only ally on the battlefield had managed to slip away. But he knew it was a risky play, right from the start. And now he was alone, truly alone, against an enemy that was still at half strength.
He rolled towards the trees, heading for the tall grass once more. His finger never left the trigger, keeping his immediate antagonist at bay, as he dived into the dying shelter. Brown blades shielded him from sight as he went silent, the bark of his gun ceasing. The enemy sai kept up the volleys. His silence would become obvious within a few seconds, precious time which he had to make the most of. He lined up the sight to his eye, scanning swiftly.
The remains of the last skirmish were immediately visible. Dark shapes cluttered on the short grass, their squat forms collapsing where they had been shot. Between them and him was three sais, covering the ground as quickly as they could. They had compromised stealth, knowing that Wilki was the last survivor of his team of two, racing to put the pressure on him. But pressured was what he did not feel. Five shots were needed to take them out, the last one reacting rapidly enough to extend its lifetime by a few precious moments.
Without looking he was already shifting his weapon around, firing madly in an attempt to re-establish his covering fire. Shots responded, this time from multiple angles. The sai on the hill was no longer alone. He sprung to his feet, running in long strides while keeping his head down. The soil compacted beneath his feet, giving each step an oddly satisfying spring. He circled the base of the hill at full speed, taking a running leap into the reed-like grass the moment the bunkers came into view. With the precision that came from a lifetime of training he fired mid flight, his aim guided by lightning reflexes, rewarding him with the sickening crunch of a headshot. His momentum carried him, which he enhanced with a roll into the grass, spinning to face the crest of the hill. He fired three shots, the first two coming short, slamming harmlessly into the earth.
He didn’t see the outcome of the third shot. His head jerked as though pounded by a hammer, his ears ringing as the kinetic energy of the projectile channelled into his skull. Falling to his back, he raised his gun in surrender, breathing hard. When his ears stopped ringing and his head cleared, he heard the mocking laughter poisoning the global frequencies.
*** continued below ***