SFFH: Article
Seeker-After-Treasures’ life took on a whole new dimension.
Literally.
A step into the transmission chamber. . .a splash of blackness.
. .a sense of being pulled. . .friction. . .a burst of brilliance. . .and here he stood.
But where was here? He scrutinized his surroundings, feeling fear and anger thrash
in the pits of his stomachs. The sky was dark, not the shimmering
green of Kalao’s sky. He saw no familiar Bazzuro trees or Alken
bushes. The Eyes of Moltin, the trio of moons that hung in Kalao’s
evergreen night sky, were nowhere to be found. Only a single,
baleful orb glared at him through a wispy layer of clouds.
White clouds, no less! The ground beneath his feet slept within a thin
film of chalklike dust. A tree with spines or quills prickling
its tough skin stood nearby. Dwarfish brush scattered throughout
the vicinity. The unnaturally flat landscape stretched from horizon
to far horizon, unimpeded by mountains. And the constellations
looked all wrong.
Seeker-After-Treasures dipped his long neck in a Turligian sign
of frustration.
Perhaps the stupid transmitter malfunctioned. Or some kapul turned the destination setting to the wrong frequency.
He didn’t really care. The only important thing was to get back
to the chamber, verbally flay the Coordinators, and resume his
mission.
He felt a sense of pride in his preparedness for mishaps, wearing
a full environmental suit equipped with a Shield Unit. He saw
no need in phase shifting himself out of synchronization with
this environment, though. Danger didn’t seem imminent.
Seeker knew the Coordinators would realize their mistake shortly.
He’d be back on Turlig soon enough.
Unfortunately, patience was not a Turligian virtue. His destination
awaited on Kalao, where he’d calculated a method of sneaking into
Deirkar Fortress to steal the Cerhilian Jewel.
Standing here on this abysmal plain of nothingness was not a good
start.
Coordinators! Those daughters of malformed Zalbenks, unfit even
to lick the scaled feet of We-Who-Go-Forth. What would the Council
of Financial Bliss think?
To soothe his fuming brain, he turned thoughts to the handsome
sum awaiting him at the Department of Valuable and Rare Antiquities,
upon completion of his mission.
Relaxing somewhat, Seeker decided to explore the immediate area.
He glided from tree to rock to bush with sinuous grace, three-meter-tall
body leaving well-defined imprints in the dust. Seeker and caution
were close friends, so he nudged his suit’s visibility modulator
ever so slightly to the left and melted from view. Wraith-prints
now tracked across the desert in haphazard fashion.
Seeker intersected a strange phenomenon in his aimless wandering.
A smooth, unyielding surface between two declivities sliced across
the ground, from one horizon to the next. Gray in color and uniform
in width, the enigma told Seeker a silent fragment of its story.
A piece of architecture, no doubt, but with what purpose in mind.
He marveled at the broken white lines in the construction’s center,
dashing into infinity with their meaningless repetition. He placed
a foot on either side of one line. His slitted eyes closed as
he sought understanding from this mystery.
A tiny vibration underfoot awakened him from his meditative state.
He looked down, but saw nothing unusual. Just lines.
Seeker’s elongated head rose on its flexible neck and turned left
and right–a full two hundred seventy degrees–searching for the
vibration’s source. Nothing out of the ordinary (for this place)
assailed his vision.
Yet the vibration grew. Unafraid but curious, he remained still
and waited. The rhythm became more distinct, shooting a tremor
of intrigue through his body. He turned completely around, eyes
roving to the long dip in the gray surface.
He watched the creature rise out of the night like a bad dream.
Its twin eyes shone upon him, drilling him immobile with their
fierce radiance. They glowed like miniature suns, disorienting
him. Long, gleaming teeth gritted between the eyes with relish.
Seeker-After-Treasures lowered his earless head and fumbled with
the Shield Unit’s complex dial. With almost no reaction time,
phase shifting was his only chance.
The dial clicked into the appropriate position.
Nothing happened.
Seeker spied a curl of smoke wafting up from the Shield Unit’s
generator.
Then the creature was upon him. Curse the Coordinators unto infinite
generations! May their tails rot with Geltar fungus! May–
Seeker-After-Treasures’ last words died with him as the creature
struck with a roar and a rending sound, bowling him over and running
him down in a split-second of pain and surprise.
The last sight his eyes beheld before oblivion’s open arms embraced
him was a strange pattern or design on the creature’s forehead.
Almost a rune.
MACK, the alien markings shaped.
Wesley Lambert lives and works in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains. His poetry or prose has appeared in many fine publications, such as Amazing Journeys, Paradox, Aoife's Kiss, Contemporary Rhyme, Flashshot, Scifaikuest, Dragons, Knights, and Angels, Dark Legacy, Gryphonwood, Astropoetica, Continuum, and Beyond Centauri, to name only a few. He welcomes comments at: Socialcons1@aol.com.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any informational storage or retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
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Contains language, graphic violent or sexual descriptions or other
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