It stands to be noted that if one sentient is unnerved and angered, there shall be another. This is the way of all things, and has been for ten thousand years. Before then? I cannot see back that far, not even “borrowing” the powers of the Masters.
‘Tis a demonic and desolate world in which we etch our living. Etching is all we can do, over and over, as the suns and the sands will allow no more. With time, that will change, but so do all things and I cannot rely on horizons.
I am Nikkcha. My mother was Human, her eyes like pale ice; her hair grayed with only hints of the red it once had. Brilliant red, Like the color of the third sun during first dawn. I share her physical traits, most of them, but no more. My mother was content with life as it was, idealistic, trusting in some supreme non-existent being. She was always outspoken, never the huntress. I resent having those things creep through my blood.
My father, however, was not Human. He –I never got a chance to know him, he was gone by the time I reached the age of self-awareness. - was Morbackian. Morbacks are vicious canine-like beasts, cunning and known everywhere for their fighting skills. No one with half a mind would dare cross paths with a Morback knowingly; they are as unpredictable as they are intelligent. Also, it seems they are mildly telepathic. I have inherited that, as well as our hunting skills, and a few others. Morbacks are also successful in almost everything they do. I wish I had inherited that.
They are also vampires. Blood-eaters, to put it politely.
I echo my words, this world is desolate. Three suns; one dying, one growing and one stable all struggle in an aerial ballet, sometimes scorching us, sometimes freezing us. It is almost as vicious as my father’s bloodlines. One sun steals its brother’s light as the third looks on.
It is a galactic soap opera. I shield my eyes and look away. Soap operas sicken me.
Our world is called Jollomina. Whoever named it, they’ve long since died or left for greener pastures. Civilization, or what’s close to it, is kept underground. This is all the easier for us to endure the suns’ wrath that way.
We are ruled by an entity called “Shico.” In the language of Jollomina, Noosh, shico is the word for pain. Pain he is, never allowing us the freedom to leave or even move up in the galaxy. I would dearly love to slip a shred-blade into his ribcage and give it a good twist. Many of the inhabitants of Jollomina feel the same.
No one dares speak aloud, for those who do have just warranted their own deaths. We converse in hushed tones in Noosh, hoping he has no spies who speak our tongue. We live in fear of him. Soon, that shall change.
The cloak draped across my back is faded intensely, but still services as it was meant, protecting me from harmful radiation and overwhelming heat. Sweat still pours off me, running along the tip of my nose and drying, making my skin itch badly, even more so than the sand against my knees and shins. The sweat coats my arms, dissolving some of the precious minerals I have gathered in my arms. I lick the residue from my fingers, loathing the taste. Here, I have no other choice then the minerals. It is either them or death.
Even raw, I can sense the slight rush of the minerals. I concentrate, trying to purge the joy-drug from my blood. I cannot smile, least my lips crack. If that where to happen, there would be blood, and with the predators found here, that is not a good idea.
I had to scratch five times once, though I think it came out more like fifteen. Food had grown scarce and people had been starving. I, not knowing what else to do, obeyed my Morback instincts and went out on the hunt. I cornered a large beast known as a padder. The beast had stilt-like legs and a small head, probably not very good eating anyway, but I was too hunger crazed to care. After wounding it Miichjah knows how many times it became aggressive and charged. I could have probably outsmarted it, if I where in top form. But, as I mentioned, I was closer to my animal ancestors then sentient and I simply fled. I had had to be saved by a scaled Yoomanisik guard. Fortunately, he had allowed me my share of the kill.
The door hisses open and I can feel the cool air of the Underground wash over my face. Smells mix through it, freeing my nose and allowing me to relax. It’s safe here, Miichjah protects us all. The guard on duty is a bald skinned tall reddish being called a Lonish. Lonish are intelligent, passive people with a vast medical history. They eat mostly vegetables, and I can tell this one has not had a decent meal in quite a while. His slit eyes carry the edge most mineral addicts have, I assume that is how he’s keeping alive. I have never liked Lonish; they are food to my mind. Whatever makes them believe that they can mingle with carnivores safely? I would kill him and eat him, but I am too tired and unarmed. Besides, he’s just let me inside. That wouldn’t be any way to thank him, that I know.
Don’t ask me how, but there are dozens of alien species on Jollomina. I believe that Shico may import them or hire them and trap them here, either way no one has ever looked into it. No one ever looks into Jollomina except to see how our mineral product exports are doing.
I shed my cloak as the Lonish closes the door behind me. It takes me a moment to adjust my eyes, but soon the familiar passageways come into focus. I tromp to the mineral deposit chute and dump my load. In return, six points shoot out of the small opening at the bottom. I sneer; six points might buy me a drink and a synthimeat dinner, if the place was cheap enough. That’s fine, as I don’t care to have synthimeat cooked anyway. I take the few points and trudge away, dragging my feet. Today’s mineral search had taken well over six hours and I was exhausted.
I flatten my ears a bit in amusement. I’m not all Morback, just a little.
The ears are fairly long, but the same colours as my hair and can be hidden when I pull them back. I don’t like doing that, though. It hides who I am. But then again, my ears signal without a doubt that I am a half-blood and half-bloods are generally treated with scorn and contempt. Also, it is equally evident that I have Morbackian blood when they are loose, and that frightens people. This is only natural, predators are meant to scare their prey, and even if I do not feed on them, my Father’s bloodlines show and unnerve others.
I only follow Morback ways when food is scarce, like the time I took it into my head to hunt down a padder. Though I lack the strength and claws my Father had which aided him in the hunt, having a mouth full of sharp teeth does assist me. I tend to hide my teeth for the same reason I hide my ears. They frighten people. I only show them when I intend to make a blunt point.
Mechanically, I flip on a light. I wait, annoyed, as my eyes adjust again to the change.
There isn’t much water here, so bathing is a fairly annoying ordeal. Being out in the suns and radiation all day I am caked with sweat and grit, and a shower seems to welcome me. I am obliged to take one at first, but that would mean waiting for three hours while the water request went through. I decide against it, for now. Freeing myself from the cumbersome work robe I had worn out doors I slip into a white tee shirt and gray, baggy pants. The tee somehow makes my hair look redder, if that is at all possible.
The pants I had found at a sale, apparently they’d belonged to a spacer who’d decided to risk it all and run contraband straight into Galactic Presidency’s lap. They’d caught her, and her possessions where shipped to “worlds in need.”
A smile breaks across my face, stretching my lips and cracking them. Blood spills across them and I press my lips together until the blood is absorbed in a grim parody of lipstick. Worlds in need, that was certainly us. Our good old uncivilized, fringe-of-society, backwater Jollomina.
I tie my hair and ears back again regretfully and lace up my boots the Boots are shin-high and perhaps once meant for one of Shico’s guards. How they found their way into my paws is beyond me. Stepping into the corridors I wait again while my eyes shift for the darkness.
The Row is a series of shops and dwellings where Jollomina’s inhabitants must purchase the necessities of life. There are tariffs and restrictions on almost everything and so the more brisk businesses are the back alleyway ones. Towards the edge of the Row is a small café where traveling spacers can pause after dropping off their cargo and try to get another job. Jollomina’s inhabitants also mingle throughout the café, chattering away in Noosh while the spacers look on and wonder what kind of drugs the man who thought up that language was doing. For the most part, the two practices keep to their own, as spacers tend to be Humans and Jollomina’s alien population unravels them. I am able to sweep from side to side because of my near-Human looks, though I tend to remain with the locals, as I am far better at speaking Noosh then Basic.
I enter the café and a tall, attractive Human approaches me. He notices my haggard expression and must presume I am a wide-eyed Jollomina hick. Naturally, he next assumes he can take from me what is not going to be given to anyone any time soon. I can tell this is his first time in port, and I decide it is time to correct his idea of Jollomina’s population.
“Rough day?” he asks, flanking me and blocking my path.
I decide that talking is out of the question, as Human males tend to look slightly lower on the anatomy then your face. I will have to correct that. Pulling my hair free again my ears stick up for a moment before facing forward. I grin and bar my teeth at him, his eyes growing wider then any Jollomina dweller’s would ever be. “Oh,” I say politely, making my ears press against my head, “one might say that.”
The spacer pales, takes a step backwards and returns to his friends, muttering something about Xeno-freaks. I quickly re-restrain my ears to keep from causing a calamity. Grinning, I walk to the local end of the café. Humans where such naïve bigots. I am glad I am not one of them.
I spent the rest of second noon speaking with locals and a few veteran spacers in Noosh, an incredibly obscure dialect we use mostly for discussing political and personal problems. Shico’s men are brought in from far off Jollomina and think of Noosh as so many drunken nonsense words. This is useful, as now we plot against them and they are fully unaware.
Many of the café patrons, including an old Riiounij spacer, agree that Shico has far too much power. By the end of second noon, we have recruited three hundred beings to our cause. The Riiounijian had managed to get about ten spacers on our side as well, which was going to be useful later on for importing weapons, foodstuffs and other nessecites. It was now obvious what I had helped start. Jollomina had a full-blown communist rebellion on its paws.
The first of the three Masters is naturally a soothsayer for Shico. The other two read palms and tell fortunes for two points on the Row. As a rule, Masters are generally female, as females of any species tend to be more in tune with the Universe. In the old times before Earth had been abandoned, the Masters where called phykics and doubted at every turn. I personally believe that Master is a more suitable title.
Ropoto and Girra are the two Masters who work on the Row. Girra is rather short tempered with short hair and a pointy nose, but that is typical of her species, the Vyion. Ropoto is more kindly, I like her a great deal. He is a dear friend of mine, and if I call upon my Morbackian ancestry, I can borrow his abilities. I have very mild control over it, but no more. I can see backwards in time, but that is a minor ability that even the weakest Master has. But, the power is not mine, for as soon as Ropoto is out of sight, I loose the power. None the less, she says I may someday make a powerful Master. Perhaps it is that Ropoto is Morbackian like my father. I’ve often wondered if we’re related, but her fur is black and eyes are green and my hair is red and eyes blue, meaning that not only are our bloodlines far from related but also my father’s clan was not even the same as hers.
Ropoto’s greatest lesson she taught me is that I can be great at anything, if only I believe in myself.
We took up our arms that night and stormed Shico’s palace, screaming our maxim in Noosh. “Miikklozhna lokk ummash!” Working Sentients Unite! By that time there was surpriseing amount of us, numbering well in the thousands. We overtook the guards and those who didn’t surrender where executed in the name of Justice. As we fanned out through the palace to search for Shico, Ropoto took me aside. “Nikkcha, this night you will meet your father and mother, Girra too. Please, when you see my daughter Tibwli, tell her her mother loves her.”
I only nodded; assuming the aging Master was beginning to breach insanity over the loss of her child. Had I known what was coming, I might have paid more careful attention to her words.
I thunder down the corridors like a padder after a rockswift, my ears free and swiveling for sounds, my father’s blood whipping through my veins like fire with the thrill of the hunt. I can smell Shico’s body behind the door before me and without a second thought leap into the air and landed a flying kick against it. The door splinters as I fly through; I am oblivious to the splinters and shards tearing into my skin. There, clad in a Governmental robe and looking astonished that I made it into this chamber, is Shico.
He is not Human, as I expected.
He is Morbackian.
Shico is not even frightened by my entrance. His red fur glistens and shimmers well kept and groomed. His muzzle parts, his blue eyes squint and his ears flatten as he looks at me. He is laughing at me!
“Nikkcha! Ho-ho! How like your mother you look. I thought perhaps in ridding you of her you would no longer be a bother to me.”
My heart is roaring now, the blood screaming in my ears worse then the fiercest desert wind. I reach over and pull loose my communication band. “Found him,” I snarl into it, keeping one eye and my shred-blade trained on him. “Third floor, in the Master’s chambers. He’s slain the Master.” I glance for a moment at the bloodied remains that must have been the soothsayer. It looks as if he received his punishment for not predicting this raid.
“On our way, Nik!” chirps a high-pitched voice.
“You have our father’s passion for the Hunt, I see.” Shico is steadily advancing on me. The full grown Morback towers a full meter over me.
I shift my shred blade to it is ready to slip into his ribs. “I am going to kill you now,” I say in accented and broken Basic. My mind is clouded with confusion and rage; I’m trying to ignore what he’s saying.
“Father was weak,” he went on, “seeking out that Human Kr’nshi.”
My eyes flash. Kr’nshi was loosely translated in the Morbackian tongue as “she who sleeps in many dens.” He had just called my mother a whore! She may have been a pitiful Human, but that was going too far! I roar and lunge at him, but he catches me in mid-air, slams me against the wall and twists my arm. I cry out in pain as a nerve is tweaked, and the next thing I know my shred blade is in his claws and facing me.
He jumps forward and I try to backpedal, but it is too late. The wall touches my back, then he comes at me with the blade, right through my stomach it goes, pinning me to the wall.
I can feel the blade vibrating and turning, earning its name inside me. It shifts, dicing my insides. I clutch blindly at it, pulling it free. Foolish, now the wound is twice as wide and bleeding more then ever. I fall to my knees, Shico floating in my vision.
“Good riddance to you,” he snarls, turning his back and sweeping his robe behind him.
I see my chance, my only chance. His back is so broad, if I struck between his shoulder blades; I might be able to do him in. I can feel the blade humming in my dying fingers; there is very little time to make that chance a reality.
I try to climb to one knee, but nausea sweeps over me and I fall back to the floor. I prop myself up on one elbow and clutch the blade as a knife artist does at the carnival. I have watched them many times, even been amongst them, but I am far from a knife artist.
From deep in my mind, Girra calls to me. Nikkcha, this is the only chance our people have. If he doesn't die now, his empire never will!
I cringe and whimper at her voice. “Mulllo yosh…” I whisper. Too weak.
Have you listened to Ropoto all that time or have you just stared back in time like a fool at a holo display? Believe in yourself, Nikkcha!
I swallow, forcing the nausea to lay down and obey. Slowly, I raise the blade and hold my arm back. Blackness edges in my vision and I feel faint, but I hold the blade ready. It hums excitedly in my hand, ready to act. “Uthno,” I whisper, “quisho mansao” Freedom shall prevail.
Using all the strength I can summon, I let the blade fly forward, seeking it’s place in Shico. It imbeds directly between his shoulder blades and his scream tears through the chamber. He claws at his back, but the knife is in too deep, slicing bloodlines and the spinal cord. Shico turns and looks at me, gurgling.
“To think,” he murmurs, “that I was brought down by a half-blood bearing my own name.” The Morback’s feet and knees drop out from underneath him and he lands, his head facing mine. I am too weak to move now, my blood staining the stones this room was built upon. My sight flickers, and Shico’s muzzle parts in one last sentence, soft and mournful. “Farewell, sister.”
My mouth forms the question of “sister?” Darkness is already filling my eyes, blinding me. Curse those Human eyes, so slow. I will just have to wait for them to adjust again. Adjust….
Father? Mother? Girra? Curse these foolish Human eyes….
They’re not adjusting…