Death Drop (2 page)

Chapter 2: Commitments

T
alfus leveled his weapon at the approaching craft as four doors abruptly opened on the bottom of the ship. He relaxed his trigger finger slightly as the cavernous, black openings at the front of the vessel gave way to two landing skids, followed by two identical planks in the rear.

Malo slowly sidestepped toward his partner, making certain to clear Talfus’ line of fire. Talfus’ marksmanship was fast becoming legend as the war with the Durax raged on, and Malo knew well enough that until the mysterious occupants aboard the ship disembarked and drew closer, the rifle clutched deftly in Talfus’ hands was their best line of defense against an attack.

“Why not land?” Malo grunted over the quiet purr of the freighter’s engines.

“I believe he’s scanning the surrounding area for any signs of an ambush.”

“Good idea. Why not we do?”

“A scanning frequency on this plateau could be detected from space without a barrier field to shield the signal,” Talfus said, like an older, albeit much smaller, brother showing his younger sibling the ropes. “The ship’s hull protects its transmissions, but we’ve got the next best thing: I posted lookouts on the north and south ridges of the plateau. If they see anything that looks like a Durax raid, they’ll call for back-up and signal us to abort the testing of the Serum and use our escape route.”

“What signal Malo look for?”

“If this transponder light on my gun starts to flash green, I want you to stop what you’re doing and run. I want you to run with all of your heart and strength back into the mine shaft and use the tunnels to lose any pursuers. Do you understand?” Talfus placed one hand over Malo’s heart and felt the slow, deep thud of his partner’s life force pounding against the Moxen’s chest like a war drum.

“Malo not leave without Talfus.”

“Malo, I’m giving you an order,” Talfus said with an edge of austerity.

“Malo die by fish man’s side. Won’t leave friend.”

Moxen use of spoken language was elementary at best. They were a simple, hardworking race with little use for the complications of words. Malo spoke no more but began to sing. Song was the purest expression of a Moxen’s emotions and could be as varied and as breathtaking as the stars in the universe. In this instance, Malo was singing to his friend of his commitment and brotherhood. His humming started in a low tone then gently rose in a beautiful, melodic crescendo. The mesmerizing aria reminded Talfus of swimming in the azure waters of the Zwale River on a lazy autumn afternoon while the Third Sun gently caressed the cool, glistening current with rays of golden amber. It was the most exquisite sound he had ever heard, and although it only lasted a moment, it felt like he had lived a lifetime bathed in its glorious resonance. He knew it was a rare honor for a Moxen to bestow this gift on alien ears; deeply moved, Talfus knew at that moment that he would concede and let his friend stay by his side.

“Malo have enough heart and strength to carry Talfus,” the Moxen said when his ballad was done. “Malo won’t leave fish man behind.”

Talfus couldn’t argue with the giant any further. He understood Malo’s feelings perfectly. From the moment of their pairing in the Dissension, Talfus knew that it would be physically impossible for even the strongest Waadi warrior to pull a Moxen out of harm’s way, but it hadn’t taken him long to decide he would sacrifice his life and fight to the end if Malo were ever injured in battle and incapable of escape. In his heart, Talfus knew the Moxen would risk life and limb for him too, but he never expected to hear the words, let alone the moving song, that so powerfully expressed Malo’s commitment.

“Malo, my friend,” Talfus said, smiling, “you have enough heart to move mountains.”

Chapter 3:
Dark Stranger

A
pparently satisfied that there was no impending ambush, the freighter pilot gracefully maneuvered the Zebulon to the ground. Talfus kept the barrel of his rifle trained on the front of the ship, although he wasn’t sure from where on the craft the crew would emerge. His comrade stood two short Moxen strides behind him and to the left.

Talfus’ scale-clad muscles tensed as two doors on either side of the cockpit elevated gracefully and perched in an open position. There was no movement from inside the vessel, and a look of confusion crept slowly across the wrinkled brow above Malo’s snout.

“How we know the Mewlatai?” Malo asked uneasily.

“We’ll know them by sight, I think,” Talfus said without taking his eyes off the space hauler. “I’ve heard it’s impossible to mistake them for any other race. I’ve heard they have a certain…way about them.”

No sooner had Talfus finished speaking than a mysterious, cloaked figure glided from the starboard side opening of the craft and onto the craggy surface, making no sound as it moved. The stranger reminded Talfus of the waters around the Cape of Zalaste during high tide: graceful, flowing, and deadly. The creature’s movements were elegant but distinctly predatory, and both Talfus and Malo felt awe and fear whisper a warning into their minds. Though it was hooded, Talfus could feel the dark figure’s gaze piercing his soul like a blade. Just before his mind could send the electrical impulses to the rest of his body telling him to fire his rifle, the creature slowly and deliberately opened its cloak.

“I’m unarmed, master Waadi.” The stranger spoke with a growl as hard as the forbidding landscape around them.

“Would you be so kind as to lower your weapon?” The very tone of the newcomer’s voice struck dread into Talfus’ heart, and although posed as a question, he knew this was not a request. The stranger’s lack of caution as he strode toward them only added to Talfus’ doubts. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed that Malo, too, was on high alert as he slowly moved his cloven hoofs wider apart and crouched slightly.

“I say again, I come to you by your request and I’m unarmed. Please lower your weapon.” This time the petition was softer and allowed Talfus the small hope that this outlander was the Mewlatai they had been waiting for.

“I’ll do as you ask, if you’ll do something for me,” said Talfus.

“Ask what you wish, master Waadi.”

“Show yourself.” Talfus had proved his valor in countless battles, and there wasn’t a soldier in the Dissension that wouldn’t consider himself lucky to have the Waadi fighting alongside him on a mission, but these last words creaked in his dry throat, betraying a fear he tried desperately to keep hidden from the approaching stranger.

“But of course. I’m afraid smuggling the Serum through systems overrun with the Durax and their minions has affected my manners. In my business, it pays to be invisible.”

The stranger held his robed limbs outward as if he was preparing to embrace his awestruck greeters. By some unseen force, his dark cloak shed from his body with a flutter and disappeared behind him before Talfus could finish drawing a captivated breath. Malo’s already huge eyes were wide with amazement, and both he and Talfus wondered what other gifts Mewlatai minds had at their command.

“Hmph,” grunted the stranger amusedly. “You flatter me, but my race doesn’t possess those types of powers.”

The small fins on either side of Talfus’ neck stiffened as he cocked his head in bewilderment.

“I find that hard to believe,” Talfus said. “I mean, neither of us said a word, but you seem to know exactly what both of us are thinking!”

“I don’t need powers of the mind, master Waadi,” said the stranger, with a hint of annoyance. “Even a Mewlatai cub could read your faces.”

The skin under Talfus’ large eyes flushed with embarrassment.

“Forgive us, Shendo,” said Talfus respectfully, using the ancient, formal greeting for a Mewlatai warrior. “It seems that our socialization skills have also suffered from long years of war with the Durax.”

Somewhat surprised by the amphibian’s knowledge and use of the ancient custom for address, the dark stranger bowed his head, ever so slightly, accepting Talfus’ apology.

“Forgive me for asking, Shendo, but if you can’t move things with your mind, how did you…” Talfus quizzically nodded in the direction of the disappearing robe. The Mewlatai warrior paused for a moment, balancing between irritation and tolerance; then his mouth slowly curled into an amused smirk. Talfus wondered how many of the warrior’s enemies had noticed the perfect contrast between the skin rimming his ebony lips and his gleaming, razor sharp teeth, just before he took their lives. The sight of the warrior’s incisors made Malo tense his muscles in an instinctive response to prepare for danger.

“As you wish, master Waadi.”

Talfus could almost feel time scraping by as they all stood on the plateau, not moving. The tension was agonizing, and Talfus hesitantly thought about asking again, when he noticed it. The cloak appeared just over the Mewlatai’s right shoulder and floated there as if commanded by the arid winds that scoured the barren flattop. The Dissension soldiers were standing resolute in their confusion when a sudden flash of lightning revealed the source of the Mewlatai’s powers of levitation. The black cloak was nimbly grasped in a fifth appendage that originated somewhere on the warrior’s back, and Talfus immediately realized he had forgotten about the legendary dexterity of Mewlatai prehensile tails. It was said that their tails were as strong and as capable as any of their paws and were often tipped with a short dagger when a Mewlatai warrior was in full battle dress.

The Mewlatai was a fraction taller than Talfus, but all physical similarities stopped there. The Waadi was long-limbed and slender, crafted by evolution for swimming at great speeds and distances. The Mewlatai, however, looked as if he was carved from stone. Every exposed surface of his body rippled with hardened muscle. His arms and legs pulsed with power, each culminating in an enormous paw that looked more than capable of wielding Malo’s gigantic battle hammer like it was a Moxen plaything. But even without an instrument of destruction clutched in his skillful grasp, the Mewlatai concealed a lethal weapon: claws as sharp as any sword and as black as death.

“You and your large friend may call me Blangaris.” The warrior spoke in a low growl as he moved stealthily forward. At this distance, Talfus could make out the Mewlatai’s pleated, loose fitting pants and a sleeveless jacket that exposed his arms. Where his attire stopped, Talfus could see large, dark spots beneath Blangaris’ short fur that glimmered with each flash of lightning. The warrior was as dark as a starless night in a desolate system, save for two things: a distinct patch of orange fur burned like a raging sun upon his chest; and this was outshone only by the amber infernos that issued from his eyes as they held Talfus and Malo in their mighty gaze. Talfus found himself fixated on a light discoloration beneath the orange fur on the warrior’s torso and quickly cast his glance downward when he realized he was staring at a large scar. As his eyes fell past the Mewlatai’s waist on their way to the ground, he noticed that there was something missing, and his face twisted with confusion again.

“I thought it would be best to come to you unarmed, as a token of…goodwill.” Blangaris growled this last word more than the others, and a wave of trepidation crept up Talfus’ spine and pierced his mind like a swarm of a thousand stinging wasps.

“I’m sorry, Shendo. But they say that seeing a Mewlatai warrior without his Kaiten sword is like…”

“Seeing him without his tail?!” Blangaris snapped. “I apologize, master Waadi. I thought that coming to you unarmed would help you to better trust me. Perhaps I should board my craft and leave; you and your friends can continue to fight your war without the benefit of the Serum.”

Blangaris had already turned toward the star freighter when Talfus’ desperation overpowered his fear.

“Don’t leave, Shendo!”

Blangaris slowly faced the two Dissension soldiers and held them in a fiery stare.

In his heart of hearts, Talfus knew the Mewlatai had the only weapon that would help level the battlefield against the Durax. If Blangaris boarded his ship, he would take all hope with him and disappear into the ether, never to be seen again.

Chapter
4: Hope and Despair

“L
egend has it, the Mewlatai are the only race in the known universe that isn’t affected by the mind-spike of the Durax. How’s that work?”

“We’re all granted our gifts, master Waadi,” replied Blangaris. “The unseen forces that shape our fates don’t answer to mortals, so we don’t bother to inquire. It’s a mystery why we’re immune to the power of the Durax, and that is why they fear us so. Without their powers to aid them in battle, they’re no match for a Mewlatai warrior in hand-to-hand combat. And this is why they’ve come to depend on their…mechanizations.”

Malo shuddered as the thought of the giant killing machines that ravaged his home world instantly turned his thick, warm blood to ice in his veins.

“I’ll grant you the gift of our powers; that is, if your kind will take…but some of you already have. That’s why they sent you, is it not?”

“That’s true,” said Talfus, still a little wary of Blangaris’ mysterious way. “A Waadi Dissenter in the Xenol System was exposed to the Serum and has tested the results in several battles. Apparently, his mind was unscathed despite several Durax advances on his position. He was one of the first to be tested—before and after he was given the Serum—and our brothers in Xenol have been kind enough to give us his mind-scan readouts for verification purposes.”

Talfus didn’t take his eyes off of the Mewlatai as he eased his rifle to the ground and slowly reached into a small satchel fastened to his gun-belt. The Serum testing contents consisted of a small Tiranium crystal readout attached by wires to two round leads that he carefully affixed to either side of his face, just above his cheekbones. Malo cautiously edged closer to his friend and readied his battle hammer as Talfus, now defenseless, stood only inches away from the Mewlatai and prepared to receive the Serum.