Star Brigade: The Supremacy (SB3) (34 page)

Taorr steeled himself for whatever Ghuj’aega’s goons would dish out. At least Zojje would be safe.

“Killing you? Not an option…yet. Maiming? Too obvious. So…” the Ghebrekh leader persisted with casual menace, “I punish
him
to
punish you.”

“Him?” Taorr was lost, too hungry and weary to guess.

The female Ghebrekh holding the swaddled object handed it to Ghuj’aega, who unwrapped the soaked cloth. For a long, unbearable moment, Taorr’s mind didn’t believe what his eyes saw. In the Ghebrekh’s hands rested a spindly forearm cut off just below the elbow, dark blood dripping from the severed end.

By the greyish-copper complexion and length of the fingers, Taorr knew instantly this was a Kudoban’s left forearm.

His stomach knotted up. A roar filled his ears, masking his choked gasp. After some time, Taorr strangely overcame the queasiness, but not the grief…the guilt…the fury. A red haze of hatred bled over Taorr’s vision, dislodging all logic. First Mhir’ujiid, and now Zojje.

Taorr launched himself at Ghuj’aega with an ugly tackle, the collision actually hurting his own shoulder. But Taorr was too irrational to care.

Now he straddled the Ghebrekh, shrieking curses, his bloodied fists rising and falling. “YOU KILLED ZOJJE!”

His blows were snapping Ghuj’aega’s head back and forth. The Ttaunz couldn’t even hear himself. That loud roar of sound drowned out everything.

Taorr barely noticed that Ghuj’aega’s lackeys did nothing, standing in place like carved, obsidian statues. He wanted Ghuj’aega dead—
needed
Ghuj’aega dead.

Yet Ghuj’aega did not once defend himself, simply absorbing every reckless punch.

Then Taorr wrapped his hands around the Farooqua’s throat, his fingers squeezing as tightly as his failing strength allowed.

Ghuj’aega belted out a harsh and triumphant cackle, enough to break through Taorr’s madness.

“There you are, boy,” he hissed through thin bloodied, bruised lips. “I was wondering when the ‘real’ son of Maorridius Magnus would appear.”

That question gave Taorr pause. In a moment of clarity, he recalled what horrible profanities he had directed at Ghuj’aega as he pummeled him. It had been Taorr’s anger and grief speaking,
not
him.

The Ghebrekh, still pinned, calmly wiped blood from his mouth. “Your Zojje still tried appealing to my morality even as blood gushed from his forearm’s stump.”

Taorr released Ghuj’aega and staggered back on hands and knees. Zojje was alive—maimed, but alive. Hot tears of joy blurred his vision.

But he understood why the Ghebrekh had let him attack—to prove a point.
Ghuj’aega could have laughed off my pathetic attack and killed me.
A lump formed in Taorr’s throat at that chilling thought.

Ghuj’aega sat up, still wearing that macabre grin.

“When the mask falls, you are as xenophobic as the rest of your worthless kind.”

“That is
not true
!” Taorr screamed, his throat hoarse. He was so close to completely unraveling…again.
Can’t give him that satisfaction
. Taorr steeled himself and stared Ghuj’aega dead in the eyes. “I don’t hate your entire race, just you…and anyone who follows your perverse creed.”

Ghuj’aega’s gaunt features froze. “You know
nothing
of my beliefs.”

Taorr’s laugh was hard and dour. “You want the Ttaunz dead so your kind can reclaim Faroor.”

Ghuj’aega advanced. “You’ve scratched a veneer,” he snarled.

Taorr instinctively crawled back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“See,” Ghuj’aega began, kneeling at Taorr’s left side as casually as if the two were friends. The Ttaunz recoiled. “Its not about how many I kill, who I kill, where and what I destroy, or which side wins.

“Because when I’m done, these two races will drown in each other’s blood. That…I promise.”

Taorr, too stunned to look the Ghebrekh in the face, heard no irony in Ghuj’aega’s words.

“You…want the Ttaunz and the Farooqua to destroy each other?” he whispered, barely breathing.

“Come now, son of Maorridius Magnus,” Ghuj’aega hissed mockingly. “The sheep following me are evolutionary dead-ends.” Loathing contorted the Farooqua’s face. “The Ttaunz are no better. Your worthless kind should have perished, but by some absurd cosmic twist, a fraction of you survived.”

Ghuj’aega edged in closer. “I know the truth, why the Zenith Point chose me…enlightened me. Why else do you think I’ve been…jumping into the past? To fix things. I have almost found the moment in time when my species became
that
.” He pointed in disgust at the Ghebrekh by the tent entrance.

Taorr might have heaved once again if there was anything in his stomach. Nothing was making sense. He gazed on desperately at the two towering Ghebrekh guards, clueless at their leader’s true intentions.

“They can’t help you, boy.” Ghuj’aega grabbed Taorr roughly by the jaw, forcing the Ttaunz to look at him. “My flock only understands kineticabulary. For all they know, we are discussing fishing.”

Any hope of escape rapidly vanished from Taorr’s mind. Fresh tears stained his dirty face.

Ghuj’aega rose and moved toward his guards. From the corner of his eye, Taorr spied Ghuj’aega snatching up Zojje’s severed limb from the female Ghebrekh guard. The terrorist leader then whipped about and threw it at surprising speed. The bloody forearm spun through the air like a boomerang.

Taorr tried dodging, but a daily diet of almost no food and countless beatings left him too weakened.

SWAK!!
The appendage struck Taorr upside the forehead, knocking him flat. He lay sprawled, face smeared in dark Kudoban blood, forehead stinging.

“Enjoy your meal,” Ghuj’aega sneered as he and his lackeys exited.

Still on his back, Taorr turned his head to gaze with tear-blurred eyes at the forearm of his friend. The spindly limb lay inches away, now soaking the dry earth around it with tiny ribbons of purple blood.

Your meal
. He shuddered in disgust at Ghuj’aega’s words. His stomach, however, grumbled loudly.

Tomoriq Fel had attended tonight’s lavish Ttaunz celebration for about five macroms, and already he was bored stupid by the sea of haughty homogeny in every direction.

Each Ttaunz male’s hair was done up in ridiculous bird-like plumes while every Ttaunz lady with their shorn locks wore thorny hideous headdresses. Everywhere Fel looked he saw bright, buttony Ttaunz eyes and long Ttaunz faces chiseled like marble sculptures. Despite minor variances in skin pelt color, clothing styles, and hair, everyone looked physically immaculate, thanks to the centuries-old Ttaunz mandate of genetic modification before a Ttaunz’s ex vitro birth.

The human grimaced while weaving a path through the crowd of party guests in the estate of Union Senator Praece from Faroor. The ethereal instrumental of a well-known tune from Ttaunz’s Supremacy That Was could be heard in the background.

Young and old, politicians and merchant lords, vapid socialites and wannabe philanthropists, nearly all were Ttaunz decked out in their finest robes of Pallanorian chael. Chael was the latest trend in Ttaunz fashion, and in Ttaunz culture, appearances meant everything—besides pedigree and affluence, of course. Fel could smell the wealth and privilege oozing off this crowd, some who could give Terra Sollus’s moneyed elite a run for their currency.

To any of these guests, Fel appeared to be a mysterious, handsome and well-dressed highborn Ttaunz: long white hair styled in entwined braids, glossy green pelt, tall and lean, wearing glittery black robes with intricate gold patterns.

Yet all Fel got in passing were curious glances and the slight inward turn of shoulders to block him from joining any Ttaunz groupings. He welcomed the anonymity. In reality, the human was half a world away in a VR wearable suit projecting his “Ttaunz” hardlight holo-disguise into the exclusive gathering. Attending this gathering in person as ‘Tomoriq Fel’ would attract too much attention, distracting from tonight’s mission.

If Fel didn’t know any better, it felt like he was on Faroor in one of those ridiculous highborn mansions.  However, Senator Praece’s palatial estate was a close simulacrum located on Terra Sollus’s San Andreas coastline. The vaulted ceilings were covered in vibrant frescoes of renowned Ttaunz from the past. The entire flooring of Senator Praece’s abode was lustrous, white-stained amberlake wood. Walls of high-end ferroment coated with a beige pigment towered by the guests’ sides. At the ceiling’s apex, a four-tiered halolight fixture floated like an inverted pyramid, blocky layers expanding out and collapsing into themselves with rapid succession. The halolight illuminated several lengthy tables full of exotic delicacies, all from other Union memberworlds. Steamed blackmarsh conefish covered in tangy goldberry sauce from Terra Sollus and sun-blossom breadcakes smothered in shimmery green braesca jam from Aurealis were just a few of tonight’s dishes. Fel couldn’t miss the tired cliché of Ttaunz highborn mansions: large Ttaunz busts of Praece’s grandsires on pillar-like stands lining either side of the ballroom to show off his impeccable lineage.

The cornerstone of his home was always the translucent wall-length viewport boasting unobstructed outlooks of the setting bullion sun—plus the floating island estates further off over the sea.

The young merchant heirs and heiresses were easy to spot with their vacant stares and the certainty of their entitled opinions. “What did we all expect?” Fel heard one younger Ttaunz male spit. “The Magnus’s elder son spent more time with them than his own kind. Serves him right.”

“We should not waste time negotiating with unwashed murdering savages who do not even speak Standard,” another female hammered home. “We should handle the Farooqua the same way the Earth humans did those wretched Korvenites years ago!”

The inheritors to Faroor’s future
, Fel shuddered. He looked up at the second-floor balcony, where Senator Praece and his wife would eventually emerge to greet their guests.

“Another archaic Ttaunz tradition,” Fel muttered under his breath. Party hosts would make their guests wait sometimes for orvs before mingling. If it were up to him, he’d have projected himself directly into Senator Praece’s private chambers. But this estate’s encryption had forced Fel to enter like every other guest. Finally away from the boringly beautiful crowd of Ttaunz, Tomoriq found a depression in one of the mansion’s corridors. His locator algorithm had parsed through the estate’s deep encryption security and tracked Praece’s exact location. With a spoken command, the main ballroom vanished.

An instant later, he stood in a spacious chamber where he was surrounded by obscenely expensive dresses. In the next room over, he spotted a pairing of floating holomirrors for a pairing of stupidly gorgeous Ttaunz.

Saerece daughter of Hraima was chattering away in a singsongy tone, while her husband Senator Praece son of Proejer looked ready to staple her mouth shut. Of course, her world revolved around herself too much to notice. “No doubt the horny turtle will show up in another absurd dress that takes a nanoclic to strip off!” she continued.

“Careful,” Praece chided. “That ‘turtle’ is friend to Faroor’s future Viceroy.”

“Magnus of Faroor,” she corrected. “I know we’re on Terra Sollus, but there’s no need for proper ‘politicalese.’”

“Right.” The Senator inspected himself in the mirror, looking every inch the archetypical highborn Ttaunz: tall, lissome and covered by short, blue downy fur. The coppery braided hair complimented his sculpted features well, as did the elegant silver and crimson robes he wore.

Saerece herself was a vision in a slinky dress of obsidian over her slender, golden-pelted physique. Her indigo hair was shorn a few inches from the scalp like a proper female’s hairstyle. Both Praece and Saerece’s garments were made of lustrous Pallanorian chael, naturally.

“Look at us, and how far we’ve come.” Saerece wrapped her arms around Praece’s waist from behind, nibbling on his neck adoringly—inappropriate behavior for Ttaunz in public. Praece closed his eyes, relishing her touch.

From what Fel gathered in his discussions with Praece, the Senator did love his wife—but more how an owner loves a pet.

He snorted with amusement at the memory, which made his Ttaunz disguise do the same. Saerece turned her head toward the sound, saw Fel, and then backpedaled at comical speeds, pointing and shrieking. The Senator’s eyes snapped open and widened at the source of his wife’s distress.

“Please.” Fel raised the hands of his hardlight holo disguise as if surrendering. “Don’t stop on my account. I love a good show.”

The Senator regained his highborn composure, glaring at Fel with unrecognizing fury. “How did you get past my security—”

“Easily, Praece,” Fel cut in with a brisk hand chop. “Besides, we’re old UNIFY friends.”

Saerece, who had plastered herself against the room’s octagonal-shaped walls, was less than amused. “Praece, remove this middle-born churl from our chambers! And why do you have a UNIFY account—”

The Senator placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, silencing her. Startled recognition had washed away his outrage. “Saerece, he is a friend. Inappropriate and presuming, but still a friend.”

A few muttered words from the Union Senator calmed his spouse. She flashed her award-winning smile. “I’ll leave you to your business.” She then exited the chambers with a regal sashay in her hips.

“Quite the disguise,” Praece stated as he and Fel entered the art gallery adjacent to his bedchambers. Its platinum-lined walling was adorned with hologram paintings from Galdor, Monaskoa, and many other Union worlds. “You could have called.”

Fel shook his head. “A face-to-face was needed, given this past week’s events.” He strolled through the gallery. “How long will you keep them waiting downstairs?”

“Another orv” Praece shrugged, causing his fancy crimson robes to ripple like sparkling water. “Our expansion bill is heading into the Senate Chambers for a vote. That is reason enough to celebrate.”

“True.” Fel smiled upon hearing that. “Some might say your celebration is extravagantly ill-timed, given the chaos on your homeworld.”