Chapter 5: Little Toys

As the suns set in millions of systems across the GSA, only one name rivals that of Grand Minister Withryn, the diplomat of the free galaxy, and that name is Hallastaare – a breathy name that conjures dying gasps, shadows and the deep asphyxiation of dark vacuums. Some myths say men have died from fright or worry just by hearing his name. Others spent their entire life and fortune hiding from him. But even the more curious don’t even believe he exists, or at least doesn’t exist anymore, that a long time ago the being known as Hallastaare perished, but his inner circle continually perpetuated the myth to keep his business going. To this date there isn’t a deal in the entire GSA that doesn’t have a thin connection to Hallastaare – even the government deals.

One thing remains the same throughout all the stories, no one has ever dealt directly with Hallastaare. Sellihca knew as much too, which got him to wondering if the soul that had contacted him was the true Hallastaare, or yet another one of his minions. But as he has for years, he’ll bite. The pay is good and no matter where he went in the GSA it was always nice to have that name at his disposal – especially in his field.

As Sellihca’s ship, the Broken Fang rocketed through the atmosphere of Yort – a planet teeming with primitive life – he was already planning the kill. Nevar Mar hailed from the Arma Cluster – a system notorious for their barbarians. Surely, Mar was a stout, thick-skinned, brute of a creature with horns adorning his arms and legs. Skilled in the ancient art of Hi-Keng, Mar was sure to be deadly. Sellihca watched Mar’s vitals flicker over his viewport as the ship jostled through entry.

“Big and strong,” he said to himself. “Shouldn’t be hard.”

Standing up, Sellihca turned the controls over to autopilot and walked to his armory. Inside, display lights lit up a tremendous array of weaponry and armor. Being a mercenary for more than 75 years, Sellihca built a sizable collection. But his prize had been with him since the beginning – the Saculian Armor. Gleaming smooth and golden, each piece was fashioned in the likeness of the Canaan Dragon – especially the helmet.

Sellihca looked at his dark reflection in the golden sheen of the armor – his deep indigo skin and burning white eyes stared back at him. He knew what this was. A test. By defeating Mar, Sellihca would become Hallastaare’s prime enforcer and with that position came almost limitless power. An image of his mother flashed in his mind – the many nights he spent with her guarding their sheva flock from the ravagers. She taught him how to use his keen eyesight, how to slip into the night undetected.

As memories washed over him, he reached into his open tunic and rubbed a great scar that ran vertically down his chest and sternum. Certainly if his mother were alive, she’d be proud of him, right? Or would she be embarrassed that deep down, he had doubts about what he was born, trained, and bred to do. The Broken Fang shuddered as it neared the temple for a landing. Sellihca slid the pieces of the golden armor over his body. Each piece whirred, hissed and beeped as it snapped into place. Twisting the helmet over his head, the entire suit pressurized and the eye-panels lit up with green light.

On the stone roof of the temple, his ship fired its retros and eased into a landing. Older and more worn than most, the Broken Fang still held a special place for Sellihca. Built to be a standard food transport, it had enormous amounts of cargo space, but after being hijacked and converted to a slave trader, it had been marked and scarred with plasma burns over the years – so much it was entirely black. He came into possession of the ship after his first kill – when he was hired to hunt down the captain of the slave ship. That was back when he thought all jobs would be righteous. Back when taking the ship was an act of pride – a token for his first kill; now it was a constant mark to him reminding him of the things he has chosen to do. Not that he could change any of that now. For him, it was too late to turn back.

* * *

Deep within the Un’Galli temple in the middle of a great sanctuary, the creature known as Nevar Mar hung suspended in a meditation field. A grey light poured down around him from the ceiling and Mar hung limp in the field, his arms and legs slack and his head looking up toward the source of the light. His body was stout and massive. Horns and spikes lined the sides of his arms and legs as well as down his spine. He didn’t move as Sellihca stepped into his sanctuary.

“You dishonor my temple with your technology,” Mar said, his eyes closed.

Sellihca continued walking as if ignoring Mar’s comments.

The grey light shuddered and disappeared though Mar remained suspended as if held there by his own will. Sellicha stopped a moment and watched as Mar slowly floated down to the ground.

“Without that armor you would have been dead years ago,” Mar said.

Sellihca continued toward Mar and said, “Good thing I have it, then,”

Mar brushed some dust off his shoulder and said, “If you knew how infected this galaxy has become with technology…an abomination,” said Mar. “There is no more faith. Faith and trust are no longer living things. They’re artificial. Have faith in the COM. Trust your ship. Your armor will protect you. Trust in Grand Minister Withryn. Find faith and you’ll never need again.”

“Are you always this talkative?” asked Sellihca.

Mar stretched his arms and said, “You mock what I believe in, but someday you’ll see. Death will be staring down those white eyes of yours and you’ll know someone was sent to correct all this. Life wasn’t meant to know this much about life.”

Sellihca held up his left forearm and a long green energy shield flared out, then he pulled his right arm back and a wrist blade emerged quickly from his gauntlet. “I think you’ve had too much time to yourself,” he said.

Mar took a deep breath and grunted until his skin turned deep red. Then he did it again. Each time, he grew larger and more massive. After a few huffs, he bit down and convulsed as his entire body pulsed and ripped upon itself, muscles growing over muscles, almost tripling his size. Sellihca looked up at the towering mass of muscle and horns and said, “The nanoscouts forgot to mention this.”

“I have been fending off would-be apprentices for over two hundred years. All of them were just like you.” Then in a booming voice, Mar said, “If you let technology run your life, you let it take your life.” Mar swung a heavy fist at Sellihca, catching him in the chest and blasting him across the sanctuary.

Picking himself out of the rubble, Sellicha looked down to see only a minor dent in his armor. Then as Mar swiveled and charged at him, Sellicha released his shield and blade again. But this time as Mar charged, Sellicha deftly dodged, parried and twisted around his opponent – thanks to the micro retros built into the armor. At every turn and twist, the armor precalculated his movements and fired precisely when Sellicha needed the extra assistance to dodge and lunge. After a series of dodges, he ended up behind Mar and sunk his blade into the lower part of his back.

Mar roared in pain and turned around quickly.

“Yes. Technology MUST be the bane of all life,” said Sellihca.

Mar charged again and with every swing, Sellihca dodged, ducked and counter-struck almost at will, with the ease of a telepath. They fought like that for minutes – Mar being the slow brute and Sellihca playing the agile deft insect. Sellihca even managed to grab one of Mar’s arm horns and swing up to his shoulder, where he sunk his blade deep into the base of Mar’s neck. Roaring loudly, Mar reached back and managed to grab Sellihca and slam him down onto the ground twice – each time shedding some of his armor. Then Mar threw him across the sanctuary and broke the altar.

Broken and bloodied, Sellihca could barely move. His armor was almost completely destroyed – only his helmet remained on him. Mar walked up to him and said, “I tried to tell you.”

But before Mar could land the deathblow, Sellihca dug his hands into the scar on his chest and with a painful scream, ripped open his own ribcage. The last thing Never Mar witnessed in his life, were the fiery red eyes and the sheer power of the Canaan Dragon as it fully engulfed him and left him as a pile of ash at Sellihca’s feet.

Staggering for breath and holding his broken ribcage closed with one arm, Sellihca touched his chin with his other forefinger and then ran it down the edge of his ear, activating his COM. The implants glowed dully under his deep, indigo skin.

“Could use a clean up crew in here,” he said. Then he removed a small glass vial from his belt. Struggling, Sellihca scooped up some of Mar’s ashes in the vial and fastened it back to his belt.

After a few moments, a whole team of Mintas emerged from the temple entrance hauling medical equipment and a retrieval skiff. A race of shrunken creatures with long arms and legs and round little heads, Mintas were extremely intelligent and were often found aboard ships as crewmen, mechanics and medtecs. Three of them helped Sellihca up from the temple floor and helped him to the skiff, while four others began hooking tubes and wires to him. One of the Mintas climbed onto the skiff, pointed a sealant applicator at Sellihca’s chest and pulled the trigger, emitting a thick, clear gel over the bloody crevasse. Beneath the gel, something small and pale writhed within the confines of Sellihca’s body.

As the medical crew loaded him onto the ship, Sellihca was handed a comtab that pulsed with light. When he touched the green button on the side, the screen revealed a starmap of the GSA with a red flashing beacon over the system of Param. He touched the red beacon and two visual files pulled up, showing two grisly and gnarled Carniv – their numerous teeth and fangs growing out at odd angles in their cavernous mouths. The last thing that scrolled across the message was a location – The Shrapnel Club.

Underneath all the tubes and wires, the beeping and whirring of all the diagnostic devices, Sellihca knew who sent the message. And it looked like he had to clean up a job his predecessor couldn’t handle – a pick-up. He ran an indigo skinned hand over the hardened gel over his chest and thought at least the next assignment wouldn’t be as hard as his initiation.

* * *

At the Shrapnel Club, Halfsie was closing down for the night – flushing out the drink lines and barking orders to the cleaning droids. The whole time he kept his back to the door, not wavering a second from his duties. Every once in a while he looked up to a dark spot next to the stage. There was nothing there of course, just dark space playing tricks on him. Ducking down to the drink lines, he continued his work until he heard a strange voice say, “The courier. What’s his name?”

Halfsie peered up at Sellihca with his mechanical eye – the space all around Sellihca bubbled like molten glass as if he were stepping into this reality from a far more distant one. “I was wondering when you were going to come out of that cubby and introduce yourself,” said Halfsie.

“Again, I’ll make this simple. I wouldn’t want you to lose anymore of…yourself,” said Sellihca. “The courier. His name?”

Getting up from his crouching position behind the bar, Halfsie raised his mechanical hand to the bar to help himself up, only his hand was not there – the robotic fingers had bent backward revealing a hidden plasma cannon in his palm. Sellihca noticed it only briefly before it fired, sending him backwards and to the floor. Halfsie scrambled up and peered over the bar to see him, but he wasn’t there.

“I offered to make this simple,” said Sellihca behind Halfsie.

When Halfsie turned, there stood his intruder with an energy shield around him that looked like bubbling, molten glass. The shield looked to be repairing itself until it disappeared from sight again. Halfsie mistakenly raised his good hand to the intruder, only to have it met with a quick slash of a gleaming, golden dagger in Sellihca’s hand. Falling to his knees, Halfsie watched his hand bleeding on the floor.

Sellihca bent down and grabbed his chin and jerked Halfsie’s face to meet his. “The courier. His name?”

This time Halfsie complied. “Palo Solar. He lives at that upscale Palladin Complex.”

Sellihca let go of his chin and picked up the severed hand. “This is mine. Souveneir for that plasma blast,” he said. “And you’ll be glad you cooperated. Now, I won’t kill your friend. I’ll just make him your better half.”

All around Sellihca, the colagenic shield bubbled until he disappeared from sight. Halfsie heard the bar door slide open as the intruder left. He shook his head in disgust for his actions, wondering if he made the right choice. At his feet scooted a dome-shaped floor cleaner. It beeped at Halfsie, who said, “Might as well.” At his command the dome-shaped droid rolled over the blood on the floor, scrubbing it cleanly away.

Outside on the balcony of Palo Solar’s apartment, Sellicha stood watching him from the safety of his shield. He had pulsed the electric lock and opened it to facilitate a smoother entrance. Inside he saw Palo listening to his daily messages and then eating a derr fruit. Beneath the shield, his vision was impaired – like looking through murky water. Seeing the fruit juices dribble down Palo’s chin made Sellihca hungry and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since before landing on Yort.

He waited until Palo was sitting on his couch. It was an unfortunate coincidence, but one that Sellihca thought he could use to his advantage. Seeing a person emerge from the shield for the first time often caused confusion and possibly fear. He unholstered his stunner and pressed the glowing red button on his COM bracelet. The gelatinous shield around him bubbled and evaporated away and Sellicha stepped forward. Stupefied, Palo sat there, his mouth agape in awe, as Sellihca shot him in the head. Palo fell over on the couch and the derr fruit rolled out of his hand.

While he was out, Sellihca bound Palo’s arms and legs behind his back, then took the opportunity to ransack the place. He doubted the scan was there. Even amateur couriers were smart enough to leave their work away from their homes. But none of that stopped him from tearing the place apart just in case Palo did make such a stupid move. After an hour, he concluded there was no possible way the package was here. Sellihca knew Palo had delivered it to someone else, otherwise he wouldn’t have to clean this up. Damn, couriers. Flash a little more cred and everything goes to hell. But who? It had to be someone who knew what he was delivering. Mar really messed this one up – no wonder Haalastare was looking for someone else.

His stomach still quaked for food, so he picked up the half-eaten derr fruit and sat down at the table to eat it. By the time Palo finally stirred from his slumber, Sellihca had finished the fruit and was eating from a box whetvine crackers. He watched as Palo came too, realized he was bound, and asked, “What’s going on? Who are you?”

Sellihca finished the last of the crackers, dusted off his hands and then stood up from the table and asked, “The package, courier. Where is it?”

Palo struggled on the sofa to sit up and get a look at his attacker. “The what?” he said.

Sellihca walked over to him and faced him, his back to the balcony. “The package you delivered to the wrong person.”

Palo looked into his attacker’s deep indigo skin. He had never seen a Saculian before. “I delivered it to someone who was willing to pay a lot more for it.”

Sellihca rubbed the short black hair on his head and said, “That’s not very ethical for your field.”

“Just as ethical as ethical as this whole display,” Palo twisted his hands toward him to show him that he was bound-up.

That remark got to Sellihca. He pulled out his golden dagger and held it to Palo’s throat as he said, “I’ll ask nicely one last time. Where is the package?”

Just as he finished his question, the outside wall to the apartment erupted in debris and rubble. Sellihca managed to turn just in time to see a large mechanical tentacle lunge at him. As it spun him around, he saw a ship hovering outside the window with a mass of tentacles whipping into the apartment. One of the other tentacles grabbed Palo and pulled him into the ship. Sellihca wondered if he was next and prepared to be drug into the bowels of that ship, only it didn’t happen. The tentacle lurched backward and then thrust him through four apartment walls.

Lying broken amid the rubble, Sellihca reached to his chest and felt for his sternum scar. It was healing nicely and there was no damage to the precious cargo within his ribcage. His head spinning and his body numb, Sellihca activated his COM on his ear and chin and gurgled the words, “I could use a clean up crew in here…again.”