Goddess of the Galacticide Episode 11 - Dead Meat

Episode 11

Linuka Omga had lost track of time and place.

Did she doze off on board the transport loop? Why did she pick this station to disembark? The chain of loop pods hushed away and left her in some strange suburban neighborhood of the galactic capital, Omech Krreng. Two fellow travelers who picked this place as their destination hurried away in different directions, leaving her at the—now deserted—loop stop.

The buildings seemed peculiar as none of them followed any of the typical architecture styles on this moon, helping strangers to pinpoint their location at least somewhat. Linuka hadn’t grabbed any gear when she fled her apartment, and she feared using her temple implant as it would make her easy to find by the forces hunting her. She surveyed her surroundings; only one thing was clear—she was far from the city center.

Why did the security agents not try intercepting her at any other loop stops? The armored guards chasing Linuka must have noticed her boarding the transport loop. Security could have easily intercepted her along the route.

What game did these Assembly puygok play? Shoo her away from the government district? Force her to flee from the apartment in the hope she’d leave something incriminating behind? Or did they just want to prod her into activity, keep her on edge, then observe what she did next? Who she’d contact?

Am I turning into my mother? Many sources described Sya Omga as mistrusting and claimed her paranoia had been a key driver behind some of her more infamous decisions, including a plot to overthrow the old Assembly. It had been frustrating how her father had dodged so many questions Linuka had about her mother, but whenever he told her anything he was always using terms of endearment, not descriptions of a power-hungry maniac.

The neighborhood got dimmer, increasing the sense of strangeness and tension. The gas giant snuffed out the last direct light of the smallest star in the system. Omech Chaa Sok would rule the sky for half the rotation one could consider ‘night’, but it never got dark on the Assembly world. The cycle of dim daylight provided by the high albedo gas planet and various stages of bathing in starlight so bright it seemed to rain down in shiny drops messed with anyone’s sleep cycle. Anyone not born here.

A conversation. More tension. Linuka turned around. No one. She inhaled, held her breath, waited for the realities to split. Nothing. Her Uurmi must have picked up the incomprehensible snippets of an argument, the sensation of rising dread. Sometimes, when the Uurmi ventured deep into her unconsciousness, multi-awareness became more difficult to achieve. Even after she declined its request, did her Uurmi keep trying to take over? When she felt safe on the transport loop, even if just for a few moments, letting her guard down, did it drill into her vulnerable mind, just like when she was little?

It wasn’t the architecture, or being lost, or the neighborhood that radiated tension. It was a building across a deserted plaza. A restaurant, according to the signage, specialized in ‘exotic meats’. She wasn’t hungry, but maybe her Uurmi was. Growing up, one of the few things father and Linuka could always bond over was their insatiable appetite for undercooked meat, near-raw, sparingly seared, skewered and spiced to drive tears into one’s eyes. The traditional Aloo Dashaad diet supported this peculiar side effect of Uurmi-infused immortality well.

Linuka crossed the plaza, entered the restaurant, expecting at least some patrons, but finding the small establishment just as empty as the outside. Does anyone live in this part of town? A young man, maybe one or two orbits older than Linuka, stared at her with wide-open eyes. Muffled sounds of struggle came from the back rooms. The man’s eyes shifted back and forth between a door, probably to the kitchen, and their lone customer. He didn’t even attempt to get rid of her with an improvised “we’re closed.”

Wherever you go, trouble is not far, had Commander Ksheep said. Clarity pierced through the veil of tension she had felt. The source of the commotion was a fellow Uurmi-carrier: a Traaz.

Linuka ignored the young man and walked straight into the adjacent room. Did her Uurmi intend to lead her here?

A silicate, atypical in his light-gray appearance, small for his heavy-set species, held a man in the powerful grip of an arm protrusion. The claw-like rock matrix formed a choke-hold. This was not a friendly conversation.

Annoyance radiated from the alien, directed at the unexpected visitor. What would her father, the mediator, the treaty broker, have done?

“Maybe I can help,” said Linuka. What a stupid thing to say. She said it in perfect Klikchaa, however, the telepathic set of thought vocabulary and rules, the native form of communication between Traaz. This gave the Traaz pause, and he released the man from his grip.

“You speak,” he said. He stepped closer, using a four-leg configuration for his lower body, like his coloration atypical for his kind. “You got an Uurmi. Who are you? What are you?”

“I am Linuka Omga, ward of Zihriik, offspring of Kel Chaada. Whatever trouble you have with these humans, I can help. I am in need of your services, and I can pay you well.”

Confusion briefly replaced annoyance. “You use mighty names, throw around big words—for a puny human. But you know nothing.”

If in doubt, Traaz would always resort to stubbornness.

“I am puny,” said Linuka “but I know many things. I know that you are a smuggler. Those dead animals on the counter behind you? These are Dzaamsaa. Their leg muscles are a delicacy on my home world Dziilaa Sok and many other human settlements. They are also considered a highly invasive species and they are illegal to be traded in all of Assembly space. Trying to sell them here, on the Assembly world itself, requires strong nerves. It also required nerves trying to sell them dead, as their tissue degrades immediately and the meat texture is ruined in less than a spin. You know this, and the human here knows this, too. He didn’t want to pay you for a stack of meat useless to his business. You got angry. You need the money. Your size shows you have split recently. Low body mass, you have a very young offspring to raise. I got money, and that’s what you need.”

The confusion returned like a tidal wave. The arm protrusion melted away and got absorbed into the Traaz body. Involuntary reconfiguration. This only happened when a Traaz was shaken to its symbiont Uurmi core. I got your attention, thought Linuka.

“What could you want from me?” asked the Traaz.

Maybe Linuka’s Uurmi brought her here in search of a feast. Maybe it was drawn to a fellow symbiont by instinct. Whichever the reason, she was glad it had guided her.

“I need your strong nerves to help me, and help 22 of my friends. We need your nerves, and your ship, to get us off this world.”

“You need transportation, avoiding spaceports and orbital patrols? For whom? Criminals?”

“Prisoners,” said Linuka. “Falsely accused.”

She could feel the contemplation, the Traaz hid his internal monologue well. The man rubbed his neck, glancing between the silicate and Linuka, unable to decipher their conversation beyond what must have looked like a staring match to him.

The Traaz had reached a decision.

“I shall transport you and these prisoners. Where do we pick them up?”

One step forward. One step back. A path away from the Assembly’s clutches had opened. The transic node she carried around her neck could cover whatever amount the Traaz would dream up as payment.

The location of Cha Dzeeny and his team, however, she did not know.

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