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23: The Messenger
Masterson stared up into the barrel of his pursuer's weapon and slowly raised his hands above his head. Still lying on his back, he did his best to make sure the man knew he wasn't going for a weapon.
"The Wolf – where is he?" the towering, armored man growled down at Masterson, the sun glinting ominously off of his pitch black shoulder and chest plates. An angry glare twisted Fiske's face grotesquely.
"'The Wolf,'" Masterson thought curiously, "a title both insulting and personal." Remaining calm and weighing his options – as any good Mossad agent would have done in this situation, Talan chose to keep quiet, to wait and see what this strange man would do.
"I said, 'Where is he'!?" the tone became more insistent and Fiske's eyes narrowed as he jabbed the barrel of his rifle into Masterson's gut, sending a sharp pain through the teenager's middle.
Masterson gritted his teeth against the pain, but did not give in to the temptation to wince. Still lying motionless, Masterson said nothing.
The bounty hunter's finger started to tighten on the trigger and he jammed the gun's muzzle up under Talan's ribs, just sliding beneath the protective plating he wore. Masterson bit the inside of his cheek to keep from hissing at the pain of his insides being brutally rearranged.
He tasted blood.
"If you do not tell me this instant where that dog is hiding, I will kill you where you lie and toss your miserable body into the rift." Fiske inclined his head threateningly towards the cliff Masterson had just barely escaped tumbling into seconds ago.
That was when Talan's trained eye caught sight of something just behind and off to the right of Fiske.
In a daring move, Masterson said nothing and waited for the right moment to act.
"Have it your way then." the bounty-hunter said coldly, leaning into the rifle, pushing the muzzle further up under Masterson's tortured ribcage.
Frakken dashed in and tackled Fiske, knocking the rifle mercifully out from its painful lodging place. An all-out brawl broke out between the two former comrades.
Wolf knocked Fiske's weapon out of reach somewhere during the course of the first few moments of the fight, evening the odds out a bit.
Masterson scrambled to his feet as soon as his gut was free of pain again and tried to find a good opening in the fight to jump in.
The sounds of Wolf's fists smacking into Fiske's exposed face and Fiske's armor connecting with Wolf's body in a dozen places was sickening. The two showed each other no mercy, each seeming to feed on the hate they held for one another.
Finally seeing his chance, Masterson dove into the fray, catching Fiske from behind and knocking his feet out from under him, sending the hunter to the ground.
As he fell, Fiske reached and grabbed onto Frakken, taking him to the ground as well.
Wolf toppled over, caught off guard.
Masterson, now in the dirt again, rolled away to keep from being crushed by Fiske's armored body as he crashed down onto the rocky soil.
Both Fiske and Frakken kept a good grip on each other, both punching and kicking every chance they got.
Frakken landed a good blow to Fiske's jaw and there was an audible crack. The bounty-hunter countered with a hefty kick to Wolf's left knee, which sent a jolt of pain through Frakken's face.
Wolf clenched his jaw and kept fighting. He was so absorbed in his efforts that he was utterly taken aback when the ground dropped out from under him.
Masterson saw Fiske and Frakken tumble over the cliff's edge and he flew instantly over to where they had disappeared, fully expecting to see two bodies in free-fall, dropping toward the bottom of the chasm, and it was with both overwhelming relief and unhappy concern that he looked over the ledge to see Frakken hanging precariously onto a lip of stone and Fiske tugging on one of Wolf's booted feet and trying to get ahold of the other.
Wolf was stubbornly kicking the second hand away every time it brushed him.
Fiske growled in pain and frustration when one particularly hard kicked connected solidly with his seeking right hand. Hissing loudly, Fiske cursed at Wolf and curled his injured hand against his chest to keep Frakken from kicking it again.
This didn't keep the bounty-hunter from trying to knock his quarry loose of his hand-hold though. Fiske jarred Wolf's left leg over and over, causing the injured knee to scream and tempting Frakken to loosen his grip.
"Stop staring at him and do something!" Wolf bellowed at Masterson before letting another unacceptable word fly at Fiske who was gradually tugging Frakken's boot off in his efforts to unseat him.
Masterson took a deep breath and noticed that Fiske's armored gloves had somehow come off during the scuffle.
Silently thanking Adonai, Masterson drew his weapon; he stepped back and took careful aim.
"Turov! What are you – " Wolf didn't have a chance to finish his shout of alarm as Masterson squeezed off a single, precise round into the back of Fiske's exposed hand.
The bounty hunter flinched at the sudden seering pain as his flesh felt as though it was on fire. His fingers loosened a bit just as Wolf gave a good hard shake of his left leg. The hunter's eyes widened as he realized his mistake and went plummeting downward.
Frakken sighed in relief as Masterson helped him back up onto solid ground once again.
As soon as the soles of his shoes hit the rocky earth, Frakken turned to see what had become of his pursuer.
Both Masterson and Wolf looked down into the breech and saw Fiske on his knees, resting on a small ledge several hundred feet down. The bounty hunter glared up at them and shook his burned, partially blackened, fist in the air angrily, still cradling his other hand and letting loose a few choice words, to which Frakken replied in kind, shouting his own obscenities back down at Fiske and letting a smug expression spread over his face.
"Thank you, Turov." Wolf turned to Masterson, "For a moment there I thought I was going to loose my only good pair of boots."
"You are quite welcome. Though, if you are done with your unwholesome conversation with your former colleague, we should get out of here as soon as we can." Masterson looked at Wolf's battered knee, "And thanks to Fiske, we won't be able to get back quite as quickly as we came."
Frakken nodded, "You have – as usual – a point."
When the morning broke after Desslok's night of conversation with Starsha, he was in a noticeably better mood than he had been since he had sneaked off to find the ruins of Zimring's cabin. Despite the news he had received of his brother's genocidal schemes, he felt better knowing that there was at least one person now that he could be assured his brother could not stop him from contacting.
Dara, Garen, Constance, and the prince headed off early that morning, traveling faster than they had been. Desslok gave no reason for their swifter pace, but the members of his little entourage didn't complain. Even Constance had no commentary to give on the subject, which pleasantly surprised the prince.
They traveled until midday when Desslok called a halt for a bit less than an hour. The stated reason for it was so that Dara and Constance could rest, but the prince's real motive was to make an attempt to fulfill the princess Starsha's request that he contact Admiral Talan with the news of Deun's dark deeds.
As he thought about it again, the seriousness of the matter let its full weight fall on him. Even if the princess survived for a while, she would eventually succumb to whatever Deun had unleashed on Iscandar. The thought motivated him all the more to put a stop to Deun's evil before it was too late.
After making sure his group was safe, Desslok left his three charges briefly to try to contact the Admiral.
He hiked a descent distance East of them and took out both his communicator and Mintra'el.
He turned on the communication device and dialed up Admiral Talan, letting out a frustrated, angry growl when he received only static again.
"Mintra'el, boost the signal – try a different frequency – try every frequency – just get me through to the Admiral." he ordered the A.I.
"I will do my best, S – Deuel." Mintra'el replied, neither frightened nor motivated by the prince's glowering. "But I will tell you now that the precautions your brother has set in place are advanced. Even with your extensive knowledge of the planetary communications network it may not be possible to break through."
"Just do it." Desslok narrowed his eyes threateningly at the device.
"As you wish." she sighed and commenced her attempts to hack through the safeguards Deun had had placed so that no communications could travel anywhere on Gamilon, or to Iscandar – at least, none from "unauthorized" sources. Desslok had no doubt that Deun had rigged it so that he, and perhaps a select, trusted few others, could communicate though the conventional means. The prince could only imagine the princess Starsha's panic and dismay when she had discovered that her only way of sending a plea for help to a trusted friend had been brutally cut off.
After five fruitless minutes Mintra'el said, "I am unable to break through, Deuel."
"Why?!" he exclaimed, exploding into anger at the thought that his brother had outwitted him, even just this once.
"Raising your blood pressure will only increase your risk of inducing such harmful health conditions as a myocardial infarction. I respectfully suggest that you calm down." the A.I.'s witful candor always seemed to come at exactly the right moment.
Deciding she was right, the prince took a breath, held it for a moment as he considered what options were left to him, then let it out slowly and grudgingly nodded to the A.I.. "One day, Mintra'el..." he began, then stopped as he heard the last sound he wanted to hear. The clanking of metal met his ears.
In a flash he shoved both devices back into their hiding places and ducked out of sight, listening carefully for the sound to come again.
He was soon rewarded when the clanging returned. It sounded vaguely like tools being used on metal plating. But what was metal plating doing out here in the middle of nowhere?
Then he smirked. After all, what were a lieutenant, a cargo attendant, her daughter, and a prince doing out here either?
Then another surprise came – this one more curious than the first. The call of a bird carried to him from far above and he looked up to see an ayah* drifting on the air currents, her gleaming feathers neatly preened. But her good grooming was not what interested the prince. Attached to her left leg was a sleeve just large enough to carry a small, recordable message capsule without getting in the creature's way as she flew.
Desslok watched the ayah as she fluttered down into the trees a couple of miles away. He was glad now that Mintra'el had calmed him when she had. He might have brought unwanted attention his way had she not intervened.
Desslok took a moment to take in his surroundings, listening, watching.
Finally, confident that he was not risking exposure by discretely coming out of his hiding place, he melted into the landscape, sneaking quietly towards where the sounds were emanating and where the ayah had taken roost.
It was a slow two miles and he was constantly alert for both familiar and unfamiliar sounds, sights, and faces. He saw no one for most of his stealthy journey until he came to within several hundred feet of the sounds and presumably the bird.
He was close enough now to hear the murmur of conversations going back and forth among groups of men – and a few women.
Suddenly a voice rang out above the conversation, "The Colonel wants everyone ready to move out in twenty minutes! Ya hear that? Twenty minutes and not a second more! Now get movin'!"
A chorus of "Yes, sir"s and "Right away, sir"s echoed around what the prince could tell from listening was a decently sized group of people.
When he had gotten a bit closer, a break in the foliage surrounding the area gave him a glimpse of what he was hearing. An entire battalion of troops had camped here for a midday rest. They had ships, drones, speeders, and, most importantly, a flock of ayahot perched obediently on a set of staggered, horizontal bars that had been set up towards the outer edges of the camp, a hundred yards away.
The prince watched as a trooper – presumably the designated bird-handler – approached the ayah that had just alighted back onto her perch. The man removed a message capsule from the sleeve around the ayah's leg. He stroked the bird's feathers, gave her something to eat and set out with the message, bearing it to the intended recipient. The man was soon lost from sight in the hubbub of repacking.
His mind racing through his options, he finally settled on one that he thought had a reasonable chance of success. The timing would be crucial. If he missed his window of opportunity... he would not get another chance.
Desslok watched carefully as the troops cleared out of the area closest to his hiding place. Knowing he would need to move quickly if his newly-hatched plan had any chance of working, he waited as long as he could before making his first move.
He skirted around the outside of the camp and sneaked up on the ayahot's perches. He perused through the ayahot, looking for one with a capsule still in her sleeve. Spotting a healthy-looking candidate, he slipped in as close to her perch as he could without being in plain sight. As carefully as he could, he undid the ayah's leash – which all the inactive birds had tied around their unsleeved legs and secured to their perches – and coaxed the curious bird onto his arm, grimacing slightly as her talons dug into the unprotected skin, his shirt sleeve useless in protecting him from the bird's sharp grip.
Ignoring his initial discomfort, he stole away from the scene as quickly as he could, gripping the leash tightly and examining the ayah's message sleeve as well as he could as he left. As soon as he could safely do so, he stopped and immediately dug out the message capsule, starting the recording almost as soon as he had the thing out of the sleeve.
"Admiral Talan," the prince began, "Deun has done the unthinkable. You have to intervene. He has loosed a plague on Iscandar that will kill all those who are planet-bound." he started to tell the Admiral how he knew this, but then decided not to and continued, "I cannot tell you how I have come to discover this information, but I will tell you that it comes from a reputable source. As soon as you have reviewed this message to your satisfaction, destroy it. I have programmed this capsule to self-destruct if it is tampered with by anyone other than you, or your wife. I trust you both with my life – and I owe you much. Send the Iscandarians your aid; find out what Deun has done and find the cure for it.
"I trust you, Admiral Talan above all but... your son," he nearly choked on the words, "and I know you will not fail me."
Desslok ended the message and did as he had said, rigging the capsule so that it could be accessed safely only by Raymond or Naomi Talan – otherwise it would not be accessed at all and this attempt would be in vain. But though there was a high risk, the prince accepted the bad odds, knowing that bad odds were better than no odds at all.
The prince dialed in the directions for the palace – specifically the window of the Talan residence – and sent the ayah on her vital journey, hoping against hope that his brother had not seen fit to move the Talans elsewhere in the few short weeks that the prince had been gone from the palace.
The bird now safely away, Desslok ran back to the enemy camp and arrived just a couple of minutes before the battalion was to head out. This last part of his plan would require a but more finesse than the last. But that only meant that it would be that much more entertaining.
Constance's head jerked up as she heard the engines of a small ship approaching. She looked all around, but saw nothing. Suddenly frightened, she exclaimed, "Amah!"as both Garen and Dara instantly jumped into action, standing protectively in front of Constance to shield her from whatever was coming their way.
No time to hide – only time to stand their ground and try to fend off whatever was coming their way.
The vehicle – or rather, its shadow – appeared.
It did not open fire.
The pilot set the ship down on the grassy ground, flattening the foliage beneath it. The ship's cloak dropped and Dara and Garen saw a dark green scout ship big enough to contain seating for up to five people.
"What in all the shamayim* is that doing here?" Dara exclaimed, drawing both her weapons and training them on the cockpit hatch she knew would open at any moment now. Garen did the same, aiming for the cockpit seal, waiting for it to open and reveal this new intruder.
"Where is Deuel when you need him?" Garen thought as the two adults waited for their fate.
The darkened hatch popped open.
* Ayah/Ayahot – hawk/hawks
* Shamayim – heavens