Jim arrived at Felt at noon on Monday. Felt was a pretty world to look at. Not, however, a nice place to live, at least in Jim’s humble opinion. First, it was cold. It was frigid compared to Kanta. Jim once heard that in winter people had froze to death on the equator! It was probably a myth, or a joke that became an urban legend, but it wasn’t really unbelievable.
Strangely, Jim had been invited to the house of General Colonel F. Greglithf, rather than any imperial command station. He set his boat down on the carport outside Greglithf’s house and entered. The house wasn’t extravagant, but it certainly wasn’t sparse ether. The interior was covered in finished hardwood that didn’t look to be of Feltian origin. He followed the natural progression of rooms until he found what appeared to be study. There, in one of a pair of teal armchairs next to a large fireplace, sat the general in uniform. He was reading a book and appeared to have been smoking a pipe, which was very strange for a Feltian. Colonel looked up.
“Welcome Lt. Raynor,” he said. His tone was surprising because it wasn’t the strict “general tone” that he had always heard Greglithf use. It was more of an old-man tone. The kind of tone that someone else’s benevolent grandfather would use to greet a visitor when visitors had been sparse.
“Sir,” Jim acknowledged. He wasn’t sure what to make of Greglithf’s unusually jovial tone.
“Have a seat,” said the general. He pointed to a huge trophy mounted on his wall. It was some kind of enormous turquoise creature with humanoid features and massive horns. “You see this on my wall here?” he asked rhetorically.
“Sir, yes sir, very hard to miss, sir,” came Jim’s nervous reply.
“This here is a hathalou ghoct,” the general continued. “Shot’im back in 69’—I was a much younger man then, Mr. Raynor.”
Jim nodded, not wanting to agree or dispute in fear of arousing the infamous Greglthf temper.
“Alas, I am now much too old to go on the hunt. But strategy. Strategy is my calling now. And allowing terrorist cults to go unchecked is not sound strategy. Unfortunately, that is what is happening. Ever since the ToFu act, these crazy hate cults have gone unchecked and threaten to evaporate the fragile peace this galaxy finally enjoys”
The “ToFu” act the general had referred to in the speech he had obviously been rehearsing was the now-infamous Total Freedom of Religion Act of 2365. It basically made any and every cult legal within the Empire of Earth. Before, only monotheistic religions that the constitution had deemed “legitimate” had been allowed to practice in open public. Unfortunately, a small group of Parthonian activists had pushed for a new stance, and more unfortunately, it had won. The fruits of this mistake were reaped in 2470 when the same Parthonian groups ceased control of the government facility on Iif and used its defenses to level half a city in the name of their god of justice Salith. Apparently the Parthonians had some sort of taboo against eating cucumbers, which was the chief industry on Iif at the time. Jim’s opinion of the law hadn’t increased any when his brother Trav had been killed in an uprising of Vorth Monks.
“What are you talking about, sir?”
“I am talking about a new cult called the Eyes of Vengeance. They are mostly Smuell and Ki’lail. The have a furiously anti-Senarian rhetoric. They hate Senarians. And they are militant. Or so the evidence indicates.”
“Can one really blame them for hating Senarians?” Jim inquired, tongue in cheek.
“This is serious! No joking Raynor! Your orders are to infiltrate their enclave on the outskirts of Coil. Gather info and report back to me.” The aged-general handed Jim an equipper and bid him fairwell.
Jim reached the location of the cult’s enclave with in the next four hours. He used a second quipper to cloak himself in the most inconspicuous clothing one could use on a man of Jim’s size. He flowed though the endless stream of pedestrians, trying not to stand out among Coil’s 500 million inhabitants and visitors.
On the outskirts of the city, he ran into a suburban area in which the cult was known to operate. After a few minutes he came upon what appeared to be a parade. A parade made of mostly Smuell and Ki’lail. He heard their loud chant from several blocks away.
Boiin-Moiin-FanTan-Choin
Boiin-Moiin-FanTan-Choin Ba-Doin
Boin Moin Fantach oin Bad al-al oin.
To avoid the mind-reading glares of the paradeers’ third eyes, Jim ducked into a narrow side street. There he found it crowded but manageable. Then he saw a Smuell in a familiar robe, with the three-eye insignia. He had his back to Jim, and walked hurriedly, concealing something in this cloak. Jim knew then that the parade was only a diversion for some less legitimate business. He followed the Smuell as he droned on in the annoying singsong dialect of So’muish.
Boiin-Moiin-FanTan-Choin
Boiin-Moiin-FanTan-Choin Ba-Doin
Boin Moin Fantach oin Bad al-al oin.
Jim had been cautious not to be caught following his quarry. It was obvious that this guy was no genius. He was clearly a lackey and by extension lacked any real intelligence. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been chanting his religious mantra the whole way home.
After following him for about half a mile through the crowded streets of the capital, the careless cultists had found his way to an ancient and purportedly abandoned district of the city. There, predator and prey made their way to an ancient cathedral in honor of who knows what. Jim turned on his stealth field and followed the foolish Smuell in.
The Smuell cultist chanted his mantra again at the altar and it slid away, revealing a staircase that Jim followed him down cautiously. The basement corridor led to a huge open convocation center where hundreds of three-eyed creatures were gathered in front of stage with a large podium. And they were all chanting. All chanting…
Boiin-Moiin-FanTan-Choin
Boiin-Moiin-FanTan-Choin Ba-Doin
Boin Moin Fantach oin Bad al-al oin.
The curtain at the end of the stage pealed away and from behind it stepped a beautiful Ki’lail woman. Her hair was shoulder-length and a deep magenta, and her three eyes scanned the crowd of followers. From their now wild euphoria, Jim had no doubt she was the cult’s leader. She steeped forward to an audio-mic and began to speak in Ki’lian. Jim extended the reach of his stealth field, and brought out his pocket translator and read the speech she gave.
”…And, at last we will take our vengeance. The Senarians that so long ago drove us away from our homes and tore apart our empire will fall. And we will then be free to reclaim the control of the Galaxy that is rightfully ours!!!! I have now obtained the final key to our victory. The key that has so long eluded us is now in my possession. Shortly I will decipher the coordinates of the weapon. The weapon that was stolen from us so long ago! I go now to our home base on Somu’e to meet with my master, Tulva. He will then go with me to the Starless of old and we will destroy the hated enemy forever!”
Jim shuddered as he read off the text. If memory served him correctly, about 800 years before terrans had come to the Aldranea galaxy, Senarians had invaded the space of the ancient Xel Empire and torched Ki’lai and Somu’e from space. And then there was the legend of the starless weapon planet. It was said that the ancient Senarian General Pelenthou Kehkz captured it and had used it to win that war.
If it really existed…
Then the crowed started again, louder than ever. Boiin-Moiin…Jim looked down at his translator again and read the numbing chant that he had been hearing for hours but not comprehending.
“The Secret Within!