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DMA - B2 - Chapter 52 – Sand sleds, negotiators, and impressing criminals
🕑 Added 2024-12-14 14:00:04 +0000 UTCGreg was unenthusiastic to say the least. It was incredibly hot out, to the point that he had already drained his full canteen when they reached the sand shark ranch. The sight was odd, to say the least. A large, white-stone building much like the other ones they had seen, and next to it was an enormous, waist-high wall of the same white stone. But behind, he saw dark-brown fins.
Some creatures were traveling under the enormous giant piles of sand, but he saw a few that were at feeding stations being served meat into their large troughs. They had two front legs that they dragged themselves on, and in any other respect they looked like a great-white shark. The exception, Greg noticed, was that the top-fin appeared to have some type of blowhole or tube. Must be how they breathe while submerged in the sand, he thought.
And the mouths. They had jaws, but instead of the interior of a shark’s mouth that one would expect, instead it was a circular series of saw-like serrations that swirled in a circle.
An Oslia was standing next to the younger ranch-hands, instructing them on how to feed the creatures without losing their hands. He turned as he saw the approach of the three Aspirants. “Ah, customers. Looking to rent a sand shark? Take a trip on the dunes? We have some lovely day packages.”
“Actually,” Priam said as he grinned widely, walked up to the fence line, and without missing a beat scratched a passing sand-shark. The rancher had reached out to warn him, and the ranch-hands were staring with open mouths – but the sand shark stopped its motion. Emerging from the sand, it…purred? It made a weird, growling, purring noise as Priam scratched behind its eyes. “We are here to rent for a longer trip.”
The rancher chuckled, then let out a hearty, gut-based laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s true what they say about you priestly types. Never seen one want to ride a sand shark before. You’ll be wanting the traveler’s package then. Come on to my office.”
Greg leaned over and whispered to Dee, “Do you feel like this is just weird?”
“In what regard?” she whispered back. “The fact that Priam just got to touch a cute, giant shark, and I didn’t? Or that it didn’t bite him despite him being the perfect snack size for that beast?”
“Well, how…adapted Priam is here. He’s never been to this world before, and yet he’s taking to it like a duck to water.”
“What’s a duck?”
“Oh. A bird.”
Dee giggled, “Why would a bird swim? What idiots!”
Greg sighed internally and followed Priam who was in a conversation with the rancher. From what Greg overheard it seemed that the package the bunny-boy was now negotiating for was a one month rental. I knew it was a long distance away, but a whole month?
Within an hour Greg was sitting on a sled with rails on the bottom that elongated into flat planes that would cut through the desert sands while keeping them up top. The sand sharks were trained, and would be tethered to the vehicle. They were like camels, insofar that they did not need sustenance often. Three months before they would next need to feed.
And water. After Priam had told the rancher of their destination, he sent a few of his ranch hands to the water well in town, and they brought back barrels of the vital fluid. So now, Greg was sitting on a blanket, on a sled, being pulled by sand sharks. What a crazy timeline I’m in, he thought.
Priam was at the helm, snapping the reins gently like he was mushing a dogsled team. Dee was leaning over the side of the sled, dragging her chitinous hand along the sand and kicking up a shimmering, golden geyser that fishtailed behind them.
Thank God they have the shade, Greg thought as he laid back and shut his eyes. The sparse covering above giving him respite from the desert sands. I fucking hate deserts.
>>>---<<<
“Please! I can still help you!”
God-king Wricen the Indomitable smiled his characteristic, cruel smile. “Please, what need do I have for a goddess of wisdom when there is an all-powerful Ascendant on the throne?”
“You still need guidance, your majesty!” the Oslia woman with golden fur and dark, purple stripes marking out a pattern of fractals was face-down, prostrated before his golden throne.
Wricen leaned forward and tented his hands, resting his elbows on the armrests that were styled in the shape of the desert dunes. His glaring, amber eyes were filled with a malice and rage that only grew more pronounced as the years went on. “You dare believe that I need your counsel anymore? Or that there will be a successor to my rule?”
“I beg-”
Wricen raised his palm, “Incendiary Nova (Rank 75),” he uttered with a resolved, neutral tone. But inside, he was quite giddy. I’ve been waiting to get rid of this pest for years, he thought. I wish I could have done this sooner!
The goddess shrieked for all of a fraction of a second before being burned away to nothing save the black, seed-like shape of her Godheart. It clattered to the ground, and Wricen snapped his fingers. One of his golems – artificial, magic constructs – retrieved the Godheart and brought it up to the throne. Taking it in his hand, he willed it to disintegrate and be infused into his own being.
The Cosmic System message came up in the corner of his vision, notifying him of a new Skill acquired based upon the Godheart. Oh, very interesting indeed.
There was a tapping on the enormous palace doors. I’m not expecting any guests or visitors. Wricen snapped his fingers, and one of the golems stationed in the room walked to the door and opened it wide. Supernova Shield (Rank 15), he thought as the protective bubble of raw, solar energy appeared around him.
A woman walked into the room. She was stunning, and familiar. Her body seemed to constantly shift ever-so-slightly, and her features were always indistinct. “To what do I owe The Negotiator visiting my little slice of the System?” Wricen asked.
The woman approached the dais and dipped her head. Her voice sounded like thousands layered on top of each other. “I am here for your contribution to the Planetary Independence Pact.”
Wricen chuckled, “Has it already been a year? Ah, well. Stardust dues, of course.” He got off his throne and walked down the steps, tapping The Negotiator on the palm as he transferred the raw power of creation. “And that is that.”
The Negotiator dipped her head, and the swirling colors of her long hair flicked about before settling once more. “I also bring some news. X and the Dark Between Stars are on the move.”
“Oh? In what capacity?”
“They come for you, Wricen.”
“What?!” Wricen shouted as he felt heat surge up in his chest. “I have done nothing to destabilize the System!”
“It is…regrettable, indeed. Your killing and consuming of gods has not gone unnoticed, and whilst you are not breaking The Cosmic System…one of X’s Signers has an axe to grind with you.”
Wricen let out a grunt of disgust, “Some pissant I harmed, I assume.”
The normally expressionless face of The Negotiator showed an emotion for a brief instant – disappointment. “You slew hundreds upon hundreds of priests-”
“To gods that are no longer needed! What good are priests whose deities are dead and part of me?”
The Negotiator sighed, “Well, the one who seeks your demise is one of a lineage you believed slain. The Westerfold clan.” She sent him a message, and information popped up in the corner of his vision. “Priam Westerfold, whose father you assassinated in The Eternal City.”
Wricen frowned, “Yes, I remember. I thought I crushed that dissident sect.” He walked back up the stairs to his throne and sat down once more. “I am the singular Ascendant who rules this world. World Control.” A phantasmal series of dials, knobs, and panels appeared in front of him. “Thank you for the warning.”
“Of course. That is why you pay tribute, after all. However, as you-”
“Yes, yes. I know that the other Planetary Independence Pact members are not obligated to come to my defense in the event of an incursion save for Conclave activities. Do you have anything else?”
The Negotiator nodded and her voice lightened in tone. “There is some good news in this. The Signer who has been the most problematic for other factions – this ‘Flicker’ as he is called – is not with Priam Westerfold.”
Perfect. The less allies he has, the easier he will be to kill. Then his whole blasted lineage will be gone and buried.
>>>---<<<
The room Jace entered was dark and filled with smoke. It billowed in clouds that hung in the center of the room, right at chest level. He stifled a cough as he pushed his way through the smog-like fog. The room was filled with large vessels that appeared like the vases he’d seen once before when he delivered a package to a rich corpo’s apartment.
But these had tubes sticking out of them, with metal tips, and cat-people of all different colors and shades were taking turns puffing on the pipes. Their eyes were slightly unfocused; but as soon as he passed in front of them, they immediately locked onto him like predators until he had passed their immediate presence. Booths lined the walls, and Jace could hear the soft sound of conversation, punctuated by occasional laughs or curses.
There was a bar along the far wall, and a set of stairs heading up to the higher floors. Taking a seat on the cushioned barstool, he glanced down at a pair of Yittka who were eyeing him with curiosity. Ollie whispered in his ear, “They are female, and from the look of their eyes quite intoxicated.”
“How can you tell?” Jace asked as he just saw cat-people.
“They’re Civilians – I can read their information at a glance.”
The barkeep walked over. An enormous, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested mammoth of a man. His fur was deep cream with black spots, and he leaned on the bar as he cleared his throat. His gruff, gravely voice evidenced his use of these smokeables. “What’re ya having?”
“What do you have?” Jace asked.
The cat-man reached under the bar and produced a small slip of paper that felt more coarse than the handful he’d felt in Priam’s study. Glancing down at it, the words translated in his mind. Oh, it’s a drink menu. Cocktails, food…hmm. Looking up at him, he grinned and handed the menu back. “Just the strongest drink you have.” Jace made sure to adjust himself as he sat up a bit more on the barstool, making very sure that the slight jangling of the thieves’ tools hanging off of his belt were just visible to the barkeep. Come on. Take the bait.
The barkeep nodded, walked down the bar a short distance, and then returned with a large, cold mug full of a sizzling, popping beverage. Jace picked it up, took a sniff and felt his nose wrinkle back. The barkeep chuckled, “You sure you can handle it?”
Jace slammed the drink back in one fell swoop. It burned something horrible going down, but he knew he had to show toughness. To his pleasant surprise, it settled nicely in his stomach, and he felt his cheeks flush.
For all of about two seconds as the NICIF went to work and detoxified his system. Jace put the mug down – upside down – and leaned forward. “That’s all you have?”
The barkeep let out a barking laugh, and Jace glanced at the two Yittka who had been giving him looks. One of them fluttered her eyes slightly, but the other stared at him like prey. The one who was more serious of the two waved the barkeep over, whispered to him, and then continued to stare at Jace.
The barkeep walked up and placed a new mug on the countertop, “From the lady at the end of the bar.”
Jace picked up the mug, raised it in a slight cheer as he made eye contact with the woman, and down the beverage. This one was equally as potent, but had a sweet aftertaste. The NICIF instantly filtered it – as if it was reacting to something more hostile.
“Oh, she tried to drug you. Interesting,” Ollie’s voice whispered in his ear.
Jace stood up, walked over to the woman, and frowned. “A test?” he asked as he set the empty stein upside-down on the counter.
The woman smirked, but her eyes never left Jace’s. “You’re new here, aren’t you.”
Jace nodded as he crossed his arms and leaned on the bar, “What gives it away?” he asked with a slight smile.
“No one I’ve seen has that symbol of Cosmic Power on their hand.”
Jace held it up as if he was marveling at it, “Ah…yeah. I’m special, for sure.” He sighed as he sat next to the woman. Her friend on the opposite side leaned in a bit to hear the conversation. Jace continued, “I find myself a bit short on Stardust these days,” he said wistfully as he very gently gestured towards the lockpicks on his belt. To his satisfaction, he saw her eyes dart down for the briefest of moments before returning to his eyes. “Shame that so few worlds with this level of technology exist.”
The woman cracked a slight, wry smile. “This is a Nebula Alliance controlled world, for better or for worse.”
She’s probing me for information, Jace thought. I have to make a call, then. Do these thieves’ guilds like the Nebula Alliance present, or dislike them? From what I know, the Nebula Alliance is all about trade and making money. Having products stolen seems like a bad thing. He sighed in an overexaggerated manner. “Damn. They got this world, too? I just dealt with them.”
Her ears seemed to twitch ever-so-slightly, and that wry smile became a little bit broader. “Well, someone of your talents, and with that unique Cosmic Power should have no problem finding work here.” As she said ‘here’, she slid her mug over to him. He slid it over the bar towards him and removed the small paper he’d seen the corner of – intentionally left out just enough to be seen. “Care for another round?”
Jace nodded, “Sure. I can have another few drinks. But I warn you – alcohol doesn’t really affect me.”
She grinned, “Ah, but it affects me. And after a day like today? I need to get wasted.”
Comments
Bryan Flynn
TFTC!
