Ref: Book 1, Page 60. Greetings from your PASC Director *Note:
Check with the Department of Absenteeism to see that you do qualify for Freetime
Remember:
Infoports are updated at the Beginning of each Time Unit
Be happy in the knowledge we are watching you every moment
and always taking care of you and your every need
It was so easy for his heavy head to topple forward just one more time, and then again, and again. He dragged himself reluctantly out of a restless sleep back to this bizarre, all-encompassing reality. The dog had slid down the bank during the night and was lying at his feet.
Dawn, or something like it, was slowly spreading up from the horizon. This was not the way mornings should start. The whole sky was changing from purple to pink to satin yellow, and the ground, as far as he could see, was a yellow of a deeper kind. The trees and everything on the ground were covered thickly with this snowlike stuff so no leaf or branch could be discerned. It was like seeing long-passed wintry scenes in old picture books through yellow anti-glare eye protectors.
Nowhere was one part of the sky brighter than another to give some indication of where the sun might be rising - if there was still a sun, or a solar system?
Thorlainen lent forward and hesitantly patted the dog. It lifted its head and looked at him. In the daylight, Thorlainen could see the dog was blue, not black. He had never seen one that colour before. It was certainly a handsome beast.
Thorlainen felt in his pocket and brought out a piece of hard cheese.
"What about this, then?"
The dog courteously took it from his hand, but did not eat it. Thorlainen did not blame it.
He felt uneasy. He knew they were not safe, but there was nowhere that could be called safe for deserters from the Tellurian Empire. Any second, some fiendish machine could lock on to their position and hound them to death. Thorlainen could not imagine the types of deterrent that were in operation; these things were highly classified, but there were enough rumours to unsettle his mind.
He took his attention off the controls, for a moment, and chanced another look over his shoulder. The encouraging smile was still there. This young woman that had appeared so unexpectedly, when the last missiles where fired at them and they began their escape in earnest, had given him so much support just being there. He had a feeling she was the one Chitmaa called Sue Ling. He would surely know soon enough. He had never before experienced the nearness of someone with such an uplifting effect on him. He thought of Chitmaa and compared the two women. He did not know why his mind would suddenly do that just then. These young women had different kinds of individual energy unique to themselves. He was only too pleased this one was here: Chitmaa did not give him these kinds of feelings. This otherwise lonely vigil could continue until the end of time, while this woman stayed there, or more practically speaking, until his strength gave out, which was an imminent reality he could not ignore. He felt he could faint away at any instant with the constant pain and fatigue of this extraordinary watch he had taken upon himself.
It was good, though, to ignore his protesting limbs and feel her penetrating smile and her intense eyes watching, while he was making up his mind what to do.
It was well remarked by now, by all on the Stellar Nebula, that the glow from the crystals enhanced a smiling face and made the colours dance on the skin. However, it was not realized until that moment, it also emphasized and discerned the mean and evil, and gave their skin a pallor, similar to that of dead fish. These intruders all had the same dead fish look. The relatively smaller man standing at the back looked a little different to his companions: he had the long lifeless fishy look but he was rather more creepy.
The central figure, by his superior demeanour, was obviously the most senior, yet at the same time, it was difficult to take him seriously. He looked like a strange cartoon character of death, especially with crystal dust covering his entire front: it was pretty obviously he was the one, who had fallen in the tunnel. No one could be in any doubt about that, but, of course, neither would anyone think of making this frightening figure's predicament a point of conversation, just then.
A thick grey chequered burnoose, banded round his crown, was worn by certain military officers, who wished to infer they had some special association with the Pentazone. It loosely encompassed and shadowed his gaunt sickly grey-chartreuse features, and truly made him look like a shrouded corpse. His half-hidden fungal features could match the half-living skeletons that drifted around any city mustamart of an evening; and then his staring look, brought about by recent cutting and stretching to remove baggy skin around his eyes and other places on his face just added to his very inhuman, expressionless appearance.
If he were indeed sick, he would surely have had pekoons enough to get a cure, unlike the miserable infected wretches of the poor quarter, who hid their faces behind rags. They could do nothing but resign themselves to the fact that their skin was being forever turned into rough grey linen cloth by a strain of leaven with an unpronounceable name, and live with the companying sores and weeping ulcers it produced. But a more serious reason for the greyness in his face could be due to another factor. This greyness was common amongst those, who used excessive quantities of the various virtue-vendor albumen concoctions that was, said to be, derived from alligator eggs, and was purported to be able to regenerate T-cells.
Thorlainen, for one, recognized the danger of the slow death he might be carrying, and he shivered when he thought about it. What could he do if that man had any of them dragged forward and spat on them, or simply threatened to spit in their eyes?
For a second, Thorlainen glanced under one of the buffet tables and saw, with relief, Epistemo and the saplings, hiding silently behind a tablecloth that hung to the deck. Epistemo looked sad and was panting rapidly. He had been zapped in the initial foray, and Jessutte had his head in her lap, and Farley was nursing him with wet napkins pressed on his flank.
Thorlainen's attention quickly returned a second later to the strangers. The chief of the ogres stepped forward: his ornamental gladius dangling quixotically from his waist.
Straight away, he bellowed at them, "I am Harma-Than, appointed by the blesséd Nagiid, himself„ and, no one defies me."
The heel of his boot hit the deck squarely and resounded to his satisfaction. Thorlainen shivered, and he could imagine he was not the only one.
Harma-Than exhaled a scornful query full of well-practised interrogative malice, demanding every individual identify them self. His lips pulled back, revealed a row of front tooth pegs on white screws. Though his pride in personal appearance had gone many time units ago, this hideous display and his distinctly unpleasant tone had a spine-chilling reaction on everyone who was there, like a cold unwelcome North wind that tramples on the last days of late summer, cutting deep into the bone.
"I repeat; morons; your sector code?" he growled, hathos gleamed in his eyes. "Where's your resident location, you sadly dressed simpletons? Should I call on my decimators to loosen your tongues?" His gibe was accompanied by a thick-throated sneer. His two tall side supports did not flinch at the contumelious haranguing close to them: surely, they had heard it too many times before. Generally, Ka'zarthes were not decimators, as such, but no one was in any doubt they would be doing some gory terminating, if he carried out his threat and just said the word.
Like a phantom, Thorlainen saw out of the corner of his eye, the short statured of Vingkaly moving behind the crowd to the bulkhead. Quite unobserved, his fingers danced across the fingereers of the aft deck communication panel. A tiny green light glowed inconspicuously on the panel and then Vingkaly merged back into the crowd.
"He is keeping a cool head," Thorlainen whispered to no one in particular. "At least those below, who still don't know about this, will have some warning." Thorlainen had completely forgotten, and, perhaps it was the same with everyone else too, that the videos were running and there were viewing stations around the ship.
Apart from Vingkaly, no other perceptible movement from any of the passengers of the Aquatransporter occurred. Harma-Than's sadistic eyes transfixed everyone. They flittered to and fro from face to face. His saccadic glances threw burning embers of hate at the array of baffled expressions and open mouths.
The unpleasant tones of unyielding Tellurian superiority raised itself again in his voice. He repeated his demand, "Who are you; you scum that play dressing up games in silly clothes; what do you think you look like, you vermin from the lowest cesspits of Tellus?" He animated his eyes, emphasizing his theurgical abilities; the spiritual powers and forces he controlled, implying in his stare, they were totally subjugated to him in body, mind„ and soul.
All Tellurians were his inferiors, according to his madness, and outflanked in every realm and dimension of the universe, and submission was naturally assumed.
His fearful audience could literally smell the decaying stench from the rest of his other unseen teeth, and the rot from intoxicants in his seriously misused alimentary system. He pulled his thin lips back again and exhaled with a snort. "By all the demons of the eternal Parisian conflagrations, I'll make you grovel. You tried to run but I have got you at last. There never was, and there never is, or never will be any escape for you. I am Harma-Than, appointed by the blesséd Nagiid, himself," he said again, "And„" He sharply brought his right fist up loyally against his chest over his personally-awarded-by-the-Nagiid insignia, "No one defies me„ never„ I am indomitable, by the Niin."
No one budged. No one fell, grovelling on the deck, as he expected. No one prostrated themselves, pleading for mercy to continue their miserable lives under the Tellurian system.
Thorlainen suddenly began to remember the earlier red pulsating glow, and the faint sound of explosions that had been reported, by Karole for one, and was now regretting very much that he had ignored what she said, and what it should have implied to him, which was simply this: Auroch's crew had blasted their way to the surface and freed themselves from the crystal. He believed others too, must be coming to the same conclusion right then.
Of course, any one of them aboard the Stellar Nebula should have realized the simple logic of it, and said something along those lines. That those on the Biorhiza Pallida hydrofoil would have also tried to free themselves - and unfortunately, they had.
How many were there? Thorlainen felt bad with this on his mind. Why didn't he think of the obvious? The opening of the tunnel, just a short while ago was such a surprise: yet who would have considered they could have been so quick to find the entrance? He gritted his teeth and faced the unwelcome invasion of Tellurian authority. Without a miracle, it was the end for everyone on the Stellar Nebula he was sure. How many more Ka'zarthes were up there, standing in reserve, waiting in the tunnel? The thought kept going through his mind.
Veins on Harma-Than's forehead stood out like Harry's memorable description of pot-bound roots and the crystal illumination highlighted them unflatteringly. His eyes skimmed the room, shooting searing demonic glances of pure malevolence at the paling faces. The girls clutched the edges of their open dresses together, to restrict the view of his leering eyes. He was not used to such passive and unsubmissive behaviour. His indomitability was being shaken more than a little, and it was time to claim a body and squeeze the soul out of it.
For reasons probably only known to him and perhaps a few textile industrials, he s houted, "Don't give them a single pull of thread to be sure they won't take a damned ell - impose servitude with an iron fist- this is the creed of Harma-Than." His side supports looked baffled. First, they were not sure if he was addressing them, and secondly, like everyone else, they had no clue what he was shouting about. However, here, in front of him, the passengers of the Stellar Nebula knew this was it: the prelude to conjuring up another life time of torment and misery for them„ if they lived.
"Who is your superior, larnyup?" He thundered. His eyes fell on Melody's terrified face, like searing irons heated in the fire of hell. How did he recognize her old ilo trade so easily? Thorlainen wondered.
Melody turned a shade whiter, if that were possible, and buckled instantly under his stare. A second later, she stood up straight again and took a step forward and stretched her lips back, showing two rows of perfectly level white teeth. She breathed in and drew up her ample breasts until they were about to pop out of her low cut dress. Then she blew a fine mist out of her mouth.
"She has a pheromone tooth." Someone remarked audibly, with surprise.
"What a strange time to use it." Another added.
Pheromone sprays were not uncommon, but where hardly aposematic. Ilos and regular partygoers had them fixed somehow on, behind or in their teeth, which they used to try and attract the potentially more desirable customers or partners that they were talking to or who were in their vicinity, but these Ka'zarthes had not taken the evening off to come down here to party or look for ilos, larnyups, lupas, or in any way have a good time. Or, perhaps, they had; if a good time for them meant hurting people and enjoying being very nasty to everyone. Melody must surely have seen that.
"She might have just done it accidentally," The first someone replied and continued to mumble other possibilities.
"Some accident!" The other half of the isolated dialogue replied emphatically; rather more boldly than was prudent, like an overconfident disruptive at the back of an instruction room. "She is just doing what she always does."
"We're all scared," another voice spoke up. "Perhaps, it was the way she saved herself earlier, when the Ka'zarthes were having a roundup in the mustamart."
Their speculating was abruptly stopped by a loud shout from Melody.
"There!" She screeched. Harma-Than was squeezing her wrist mercilessly, with his metalled gauntlet.
Though unpainted, the bitter smile of an ilo still effectively transformed her features into the depth of ugliness just then, as though Harma-Than's evil had transferred itself directly into her old lupas soul.
Melody was sometimes extremely unpleasant to Thorlainen but her hostile reaction still took Thorlainen quite by surprise. Melody had quite transformed into the old Violet Green, and she had turned, and was pointing straight at him with her arm fully extended, still shrieking with her rough strangled voice, "Him! Damn him! It's him!" Her wild eyes were suddenly full of hate.
Harma-Than had thrown his headgear back, and the hair of this senior authoritive creature was very noticeable by its very contrast. In a way, it was the same as everyone else's aboard the Aquatransporter, except for his men with mottled hair that flanked him; but his hair was really quite different. It was white but, unlike those on the Stellar Nebula, it was dry looking and dead - it looked synthetic? It had a powdery lacklustre appearance. He had, it appeared, spent his time having his hair curled, or perhaps it was a wig. There were horizontally coiled rows of hair around his head. Who could know what people it was supposed to impress? It gave Thorlainen a sinking feeling when he looked at him. This man seemed to be the image of madness and pride. It was quite something to wonder at.
The two tall men, resembling common Ka'zarthes in everything but special combat plates, had until now flanked Harma-Than motionlessly. The forth, the creepy looking inhand-type man, stood a little shakily behind them, with an 'I-don't-want-to-get-involved-in-this-slaughter' look on his frightened face, he looked like he desperately wished he were somewhere else.
Thorlainen's nature did not oppose authority, but his newly found spirit of freedom was disinclined to submit to these terrible creatures and what they stood for. Earlier, a direct theurgic stare would have drained his bowels, but now it did not penetrate his mind at all. It was as if he stood behind a mirror and everything that came at him was reflected back. For a moment, he remembered his Grandpa, who mentioned once something like this; he called it Abraham's blessing, but why, Thorlainen had no idea.
"Insolent scum. You are an NCB." Harma-Than looked at Thorlainen, following the line of Violet Green's arm pointing directly at Thorlainen. He lifted his wrist and shook it, indicating that he had seen Thorlainen's manacle. "Don't you think I can't recognize who you are?" Harma-Than tipped his head back and spat at him.
Thorlainen prudently jumped a fraction back and to the side.
He obviously could not run, even if he wanted to, and being addressed, however, impolitely, he stepped forward again unafraid.
"Who are you?" Thorlainen retaliated, giving his voice an over-riding inflection. He, too, had carried a weapon when he was young from twelve years to eighteen, and done his share of giving commands, yet he never showed this training in his everyday life.
"Paska," Harma-Than said and continued ignoring Thorlainen's words, "don't think I am going to forget this. You are going to regret this forever, or for however long your miserable life lasts from this point on."
Thorlainen made a mental note to get rid of his manacle, if ever he could find a way to do it, but then a contrary idea immediately followed it up: Why Bother; a flash of perfect peace went though his mind. He knew he did not have it in the F-Dimension, he remembered looking at the faint scars that the manacle had left on his wrist, when he was speaking to Harkwhistle. And with that, he glanced again, at Epistemo's hiding place.
Harma-Than had affectively put all his superiority into his voice. It should have had them cringing on the deck, but everyone just stood and continued to look at him. They were amazed, beyond belief; to see these phantoms from the other world of Tellus again and to try and accommodate the rottenness of them in their minds again. It was difficult to find a place for them, and their ways, in this post-snow world, with its new freedom they had experienced and started to learn about.
"Suddenly having this qualtagh appear can make anyone confused," somewhere a quaking voice ceded with bitter irony.
"He's the ultimate wet blanket, too," another fearful voice spoke up. "It was such a good party and going so well."
No one was deceived by these whispers of bravado or the understatements that hid the true meaning of their desperate situation.
It was the same with Thorlainen. He was surprised how relaxed he believed he felt in this mentally mortifying situation. His ideas became flippant. He casually speculated on different things. The pupils of the Ka'zarthe's eyes, for instance, gave the impression that what synaptic gaps they did have were too wide and that cognitive combos actually needed something to work with. And, as for Harma-Than, besides the giveaway of his revolting smell, the pupils of his eyes looked a little too wild and too wide, like a man with a head full of individually tailored intoxicant combos. Thorlainen regarded the odious expression of the man, and it was obvious that he was in the category of those who would delight in supervising the Tellurian chambers of torture.
Nothing substantial came to Thorlainen's mind, and the aimless imbricated layers of speculation rolled on. Possibilities were examined and dismissed one at a time. Jokes were forming in his mind, like, his sort must have their helixia twisted and stretched too much when they were created.
Thorlainen realized these ideas were not at all funny, and he wondered what his mind was doing, and then it dawned on him - perhaps, deep down, he was simply afraid, just like everyone else and was hiding the fact in distractions and fantasies. For a moment, he wished for that real peace of mind to come back that for some reason he just lost after the initial parry with Harma-Than. The little grey shadow in the back of his mind whispered peace and fear are not compatible. Boot out fear. That was true but just then Thorlainen couldn't get that upper hand in this matter.
Before these pointless speculations finished, which had taken just nanoseconds to run their course, the reality of the situation and the foundation of his fear struck him like a lightning bolt. Whatever the reason was for these ogres of death being here, it was not good yoicks for any of them. They were beyond any doubt cornered like mindless cattle. There was no getting away from these evil creatures, with only one tunnel exit, and if they could actually escape, there was nowhere to run.
Harma-Than looked like he was about to fling some more words at Thorlainen, when the mottle-haired man from the back grabbed Sue Ling. She was standing with the others still dressed in her long loose-fitting translucent silky dress that had earlier so delighted Thorlainen.
"It's that missing man, Sam," Sue Ling cried, looking at Thorlainen and then nodding towards the fourth Ka'zarthe, who had suddenly gripped hold of her: his long dirty fingernail digging into her unprotected flesh. One of Harma-Than's side supports jumped forward and gripped hold of Sue Ling's shoulder with bone crushing fingers, pulling her hand away from the first man's grasp. Sue Ling screamed and sagged with pain.
A large carving knife flashed through the air, followed by a cry of exertion from Eugene. Then a second followed, with an accompanying shout from Lovisa Degerby. The first deflected off the Ka'zarthe's helmet, knocking the helmet back. The second buried itself just above Ka'zarthe's eye below the exposed forehead. Blaspheming and spitting, the Ka'zarthe let out a roar of pain and threw Sue Ling to the floor and grabbed his face with both his hands, with the blood gushing down his cheek and beard on to his leather throat-protection bib.
Quickly Thorlainen refocused his mind and instinctively moved forward to intervene and help Sue Ling.
Harma-Than's second side support nearest to Thorlainen extended his forearm with precision and speed. Too late, Thorlainen saw the enlarged bulky cuff of the Ka'zarthe's tunic, just as he turned his face towards the Ka'zarthe's fist.
A dull knurled metallic hammer head was just visible behind the back of the wrist of his gauntlet; hidden like a moray eel in a submerged rocky crevice, waiting for the moment to spring out and kill its prey. The weapon was strapped to the Ka'zarthe's forearm. He aimed it towards Thorlainen's head. Thorlainen tried to dodge and duck away.
Thorlainen was not quick enough to escape completely and the pneumatic lightning-fast piston-punch smashed a glancing blow across Thorlainen's face. It came with such speed; it was impossible to completely avoid.
Instantly, Thorlainen heard Sue Ling scream out when the Ka'zarthe had swung at Thorlainen. A direct blow with a piston-punch would have shattered his skull, with less effort than tapping the top of a boiled egg with a teaspoon.
The impending blow predictably caught his face, and the afterdeck went a fuzzy black and white. The force lifted Thorlainen off his feet and the canopy whizzed by, and through the air he flew, arms outspread, like a tilted quintain. A moment later, he heard a thud. A body, though he felt nothing, could have been no other than his own, landed heavily on the deck, hors de combat. Instantly, he was weightlessly drifting down into the depths of the darkness of a bottomless world.