The Rising Sun: Episode 1 (4 page)

“That was
fast,” Ion commented, turning to the Iveling on the neighbouring
line of seats. “If only we had space gates connecting us to the
outer spectrum.”

The Iveling
looked up from his magazine, staring at Ion with a slightly
intrigued look. “What d’you wanna go to the outer spectrum for?
That place is no good and the whole world knows it.”

The outer
spectrum, the outer portion of the spectrum that came beyond the
inner spectrum, was unorganised, mostly lifeless region. Ion knew
that the tone of foreboding the man spoke with was owing to the
fact that the outer spectrum was deemed a dangerous, unnatural
place. Which people avoided. There were numerous reasons for this,
but the primary one was that fugitives, or those fleeing from
prosecution in the inner spectrum, were usually found hiding in the
outer spectrum. Thereby making it a dangerous place which was
generally kept away from.

“I’ve been
there.” said Ion, sitting sideways on his seat. “To the outer
spectrum.”

The man lowered
his magazine, his attention now shifting fully to Ion. “Yeah?” He
spoke softly, as though afraid he might be put behind bars for
talking about the outer spectrum. “Did you- err,” He hesitated.
“Did you happen to meet any of …
them
?”

“Who?” asked
Ion, though he had a faint idea he already knew.

The man’s
whisper crawled softer. “Mystics of course.” He swept a look about
him, clearly afraid to be caught talking about a topic that incited
such fear among people. And a topic that had caused too much
agitation in their world, over millennia.

Mystics were
men whose minds transcended the level of regular ones, thereby
giving them supernatural strengths and powers. They were hunted
down and prosecuted heavily inside of the inner spectrum. Condemned
by the Kingdoms and states of the inner spectrum, along with the
Naxim, a powerful anti terror organisation, the mystics still
surviving had all fled to the outer spectrum. And they were the
main cause for the outer spectrum to be deemed to be such a deadly
place.

“Did you run
into any of them?” the man repeated.

Ion gave a lazy
shake of his head. “No, of course not.”

The man gave a
grunt of laughter. “I shoulda guessed that. If you did, you
wouldn’t be alive, would you?”

“Mystics aren’t
really what make the outer spectrum dangerous.” said Ion.

“No?” asked the
Redling, his tone boding a whisker of scepticism.

“No,” said Ion.
“There’re more deadly things out there than them. Try the non man
beings, for instance.”

The man’s gaze
sharpened at this second out of bounds topic that they were now
delving into: If not mystics, the non man beings, the completely
inhuman life forms that inhabited the scarcest region of the outer
spectrum, boded the major cause of the fear people held for that
place. They were mostly uncivilised, beastly creatures who hadn’t
been seen for ages now…

The mixture of
curiosity and thrill mounting on his face, the man bent even
closer. “Indeed. I’d agree with you on that, but non man beings
aren’t easy to find, even in the outer spectrum. They’ve gone deep
into hiding for long now, ever since the time of the empire.”

“And we’re
lucky for that.” said Ion.

“Blasted right
we are.” said the Iveling, shaking his horned head. “Imagine having
wretched creatures like the Ensys … or even worse, the Zelgron,
here in our planets.”

Zelgron…

The word left a
quick shiver to run through Ion. He fought off the dread rushing
up.

“But having
said all of that,” said the man, pausing for a moment’s thought.
“I’d still hold the outer spectrum dangerous mainly because of
them
. Mystics.” He gave another grunt of laughter, slowly
raising his magazine again. “I’d rather face a Zelgron than a
mystic.”

Ion frowned at
the man for a second, wondering if this topic was worth it. Then he
slowly said, “Do you really think that all of them deserve to be
condemned?”

The man lowered
his magazine, turning to him with a look of dawning incredulity.
“Who, mystics?”

Ion nodded. “I
mean … come on, surely there’ve gotta be innocent ones among them.
And surely they don’t deserve the prosecution they face,
right?”

“Whether or not
that’s true, I really don’t care.” said the man. “But I’m
definitely glad they’ve been chased out of our world. We can’t risk
being enslaved by a tyrant like Redgarn ever again, can we? Even
now, the scars left by Redgarn and the empire that his mystic
followers brought about aren’t gone, kid. And in getting rid of all
mystics to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again, the
Naxim’s done a pretty bold and
necessary
move. We’ve gotta
be grateful to them.”

Ion’s frown
deepened. He disagreed with the man in this. He knew that
condemning all mystics, good or evil, was nothing close to bold …
it was cowardice. The world had suffered because of the actions of
a few mystics, but prosecuting all of them for it was
oppression.

“How can you be
so sure?” Ion argued. “What if there’re a good number of innocent
ones among them?”

The man
frowned. “It’d be hard to find innocent mystics, and if we do find
them,” He shrugged his shoulder. “It’s too bad they’re a part of
such a lethal class of men. In either case, we’ve no need to worry
of mystics now that we’re at Sacrogon.”

“Why’s that?”
asked Ion.

The man shook
his head in a display of disbelief. “Come on, kid. This planet is
on the Naxim’s highest priority list. The Naxim’s lookout and
alertness in this planet’s sharper than in most others. They’ve got
a tight hold here, and anti mystic security is way too high. If a
mystic tries wandering into Sacrogon, he’d be risking every hair on
his body.”

“Yeah, he
probably would,” agreed Ion, slumping back against his seat.

He absently ran
one hand through his spiky red hair, relishing the feel of it. He
knew that the crimson colour of his hair, along with the tint of
orange on his skin which was barely noticeable(and which came to
prominence in sunlight), were features of the species he belonged
to. A rare species, known as Fyrlings. The thousands of man being
species found across the spectrum, such as the Fyrlings and the
Ivelings, were all distinguished by subtle and usually
insignificant features. Like the Iveling’s horns and dark patches,
and like Ion’s skin and hair colour. Among the countless species,
three stood out and were found predominantly in the spectrum: the
Ivelings, the Elflings(who had slanting eyes, and pointed ears),
and the Redlings(who had short red fur covering their entire
body).

Less than two
minutes passed before the rim of a giant brown orb slowly drew
across Ion’s window, with the cruiser zooming towards it. Sacrogon,
Ion admitted, was the smallest planet that he had been to. Now
exiting space, the cruiser scaled down its speed drastically. In a
few seconds it had breached the planet’s atmosphere, streaking
through its spongy, cloud strewn sky.

As the cruiser
glided into the lower level of the sky, the planet’s ground slowly
came to clarity. The city, or whatever could be seen of it from
this distance, appeared as a giant maze of short concrete buildings
spread over a vast, brown ground. Ion couldn’t help noticing that
the city carried an unglamorous, shabby air. It appeared to have
grown over an explosive, unplanned pattern. The tiny streets were
squeezed between the sprawl of structures in whatever space
available.

The city zoomed
to clarity with the cruiser’s rapid descent. In a few seconds, the
giant vessel angled towards a gigantic, empty expanse in the middle
of the maze of structures. As the tiny dots perched on the empty
expanse slowly grew to clarity, Ion realised they were ships: this,
simple, inelegant and plain as it was, was the planet’s ship
station. The ground came hovering upwards as the cruiser soared
down, and in a few seconds, the cruiser had landed on the great
brown expanse, sending a slight shudder down the corridor.

Shuffling and
bustling as they hurried towards the exits, the passengers pooled
towards the doors located down front. Ion waited patiently for the
crowd to clear before gathering his own belonging, a small black
rucksack placed under his seat, and heading out himself. As he
emerged into the open, he squinted to let his eyes adjust to the
shift in lighting.

The cruiser had
landed somewhere at the edge of the clearing. Slightly ahead of
him, a line of short concrete buildings stretched against the
horizon. The lower range of the sky had a faint pinkish glow. The
evening sun, a blood red orb, lay half immersed in the line of
buildings, with a crimson halo painted around it.

Ion allowed
himself a few seconds to intake the scenery as he stood and gazed
at it. Then, reaching into the rucksack held in one hand, he
unzipped the bag and dug through his contents for a while before
extracting from the mess, a crumpled yellow chit.

Right where I
left you.

This crumpled
yellow chit was the reason Ion was here…

Dropping the
rucksack, he unfurled the yellow chit with both hands, and spent a
few seconds gazing into it. Then, drawing in a slow, deep breath,
Ion picked up his rucksack again and trotted forth into the
bustling city…

The silence was
rigid, stone like.

The large,
chamber like room was spread over a gigantic empty area. Its walls
were pushed well apart, and its roof hung higher than any ordinary
room’s.

On both ends of
the room, standing as still as the walls behind them, were two
lines of Rash-cons. Even in the inactive state they stood in, the
robots seemed to fill the space around them with a fierce
mechanical menace. Something that their timid, thin builds failed
to hamper.

At the far end
of the room, standing around a particular spot in a guarded,
uncomposed manner, were six men. Their postures were unrelaxed, and
their faces reflected the same sense of turbidity. All six pair of
hands carried an identical black coloured gun. It was no larger
than a pistol, but with a fine curvish elegance in its craft. The
Sparkler was the widespread used gun in the spectrum. Built in
three modes with one to kill, one to stun(to render unconscious),
and one to freeze(temporarily paralyse), this was weaponry in its
most advanced form. Unlike bullets or darts, the Sparkler used
electro bolts for its shots, saving the carrier the arduous need of
carrying ammunition.

The six
Sparkler wielding men shifted mildly from time to time, and threw
occasional seething glances at the spot they stood surrounding. But
they would quickly switch their attentions back to the other
peculiar feature in the large room: a man pacing up and down it
relentlessly.

With his hands
behind his back, a Redling strode back and forth inside the large
room, his eyes glued to the ground ahead of him. The red fur
covering him all over was so short, a person standing at a distance
might have mistaken his skin itself to be red. The man seemed
completely oblivious to his surroundings as he strode up and down
the room in his thought absorbed state. Finally trotting to a stall
in his unresumed pacing, Grando slowly looked up. An unpleasant
frown had settled over his brow.

Very well,
then.
He thought to himself.
I guess you leave me with no
choice.

He wheeled to
face the line of Rash-cons on his right. “Go fetch me … the
Stinger.”

The robot took
a step forward, gave Grando a stiff salute, and then bustled off
towards the door of the large room. Grando’s eyes followed the
Rash-con as it walked over to the room door, which slid open
automatically to let it through, and then re sealed itself.

Grando sucked
in a deep, cooling breath, and then slowly turned to face the six
men at the far end of the room. His eyes centered on the peculiar
spot sitting amidst the men…

Racowl sat
bound to a chair in the midst of the six men, with his robes
tattered and torn at spots, and deep red cuts lining his exposed
skin. His face was purple and swollen at spots, with one of his
eyelids swollen and slightly blotchy. But despite the heavy torture
he had endured, Racowl simply refused to budge. His stubbornness
was unwavering.

And now, it was
time to change that.

Grando slowly
stalked forward, his eyes locked on the prisoner sitting bound to
the chair helplessly at the end of the room. The men standing
around him fixed their attention on Grando as he casually walked up
to them. Racowl’s eyes, bulging with terror, were locked over
Grando as he approached.

Stepping up by
his side, Grando gave Racowl a gentle pat on the shoulder. He
looked over the wall behind him. A dense clutter of pictures lay
pasted across the wall, such that little room was left in between
the pictures. All of the pictures had a face staring out of them,
and below the face, the word ‘Nemesis’ followed by a number.

“My enemies,”
said Grando, shaking his head at the clutter of pictures. “rivals,
nemeses. All of them come from such diverse backgrounds. Some of
them are traitors, some members of enemy terror groups, some of
them ministry officials. But all of them have one thing in common.”
He lowered his voice to a silky whisper. “I need them all dead.
Fast. And die, they will. Now, let’s see here.” He ran his
forefinger over the wall, along the clutter of pictures. “There’s
nemesis 5, a desecrator. I’ve been trying to find him for months
now … Ah, and nemesis 8, an enemy terror group leader. I should
have him killed soon. And nemesis 12, an army officer … he’s a
prick, that man. And of course, nemesis one, my most dangerous foe.
I need to kill him before he kills me. And this is a pretty deadly
one.”