The Quest of Deimos Ep. 04

As the dance continued, above behind tinted glass, a figure watched. No music could be heard in the room the figure was in, only a slight vibration coming through buffered windows. The figure's eyes observed the swaying sea of bodies with detached rationality. 

Sarpedon was a Basiliskian, a fascinating and formidable race, a unique blend of reptilian grace, avian majesty, and primal strength. He stood on two powerful legs that betray their beastly heritage, these beings combine the sinuous agility of a serpent with the proud stature of a rooster. Jutting from his boot, there were two razor-sharp retractable dewclaws. His scales shimmered reflecting that beneath his calm stature was an intense passion. Feathers, white and iridescent, adorned his head and arms.

His face was strikingly like a raptor: eyes sharp and penetrating, gleaming with intelligence that belies their predatory gaze, and a beak-like structure that hints at his avian lineage. Basiliskians were said to be able to hypnotize with their eyes, to pin their victims to the floor with a stare before leaping in for the kill.

"Two of my goons were killed and their earnings taken. I need answers from you, lizard-man, and I need them quickly."

Sarpedon turned to look at the man who employed him. Plutark Greasegut lay in the gel bath, his body submerged in brain-slugged pleasure slaved, wrapped over his sagging flesh. The soft, gelatinous bed beneath the satyr jiggled with every movement, making it hard for him to move without sinking in. The brain-slugged pleasure slaves looked comatose except for their twitching and moaning, their bodies almost melting into his flesh, their minds burned away with pleasure. A biotic interface attached to Plutark's brain stem flickered with data.

Sarpedon watched Plutark's irises vibrate as data flowed through his brain. Sarpedon knew that Plutark's consciousness was trifurcated with one part conversing with Sarpedon, the other awash in pleasure, while the third part reviewed data crossing his consciousness like a stock ticker.

"I've doubled your security. This place could withstand a full assault. You are safe for now. But I should investigate where these men were killed. Perhaps someone missed something, a clue that might reveal your enemy.

"I have someone on that." Growled the Plutark. He pushed the giggling brain-fried slaves off his body and they slid into the gelatinous crevices beneath him and leaned up. 

"Your only job is to ensure my personal safety. You are going to be on my ass until I find out who thought that they go against me, then I will have another job for you, I want you to kill them messy, make it a spectacle, I want you to give the people of this city nightmares when they hear what you did to this fucker."

Sarpedon hissed. Then the door binged.

"It's Terrobraxis," said Sarpedon checking his scanner.

"Good, maybe that cowfucker will have some fucking answers for me!"

The armored doors opened with a pneumatic hiss

A hulking form eclipsed the doorway. Gears and pistons hissed when it marched into the room. Terrobraxis had once been a minotaurian, one of Plutark's muscle, but after years of surgical grafting, he was now a horrific amalgamation of chrome and steel. He stared down at Sarpedon with cold, black eyes examining his body as if it was a puzzle toy he could take apart.

"Terrobraxis, get the hell over here," growled Plutark. "You better have some fucking answers for me."

Terrobraxis's voice was a deep mechanical rumble.

"I found the dock attendant who says he saw a ship with a data scrambled ID code enter the port. Scanners picked up two bodies leaving the ship. One was an elv girl. Small. Physiography scanners marked her as genetic royalty and flagged her file. The species of the other could not be identified. He was big, about three meters, but the scanners were scuffed to tell anything else. This has to be our target. I bet they're a hit squad from off-planet."

"How do you know it wasn't one of Plutark's lieutenants making a move. A mystery hit squad from off the planet coming in to attempt a hit. It feels like a fairy tale to me," Sarpedon said.

"Nobody on this planet would fucking dare make a move against this organization. Everyone saw what we did with anyone who had ambitions. Nobody is going to forget that lesson. If you had come up with our gang, like the rest of us, you would fucking know that."

"Now, now Terrobraxis. Sarpedon has more than proved his value to me. No more professional jealousy. Give me the data core and leave my security alone.

Terrobraxis's metal claws handed over a bloody data chip. Plutark wiped it on the body of one of his cooing slaves and inserted it into his system. His mind processed the data from the device.

His body tensed. Slime spilled out from the gel bed, flowing over the edge, and splattering on the floor.

"It's him. The Gorgon from the fighting pits."

"You must be mistaken," said Terrobraxis, "you sold that slave to Aganon Rankoris. The Orgren horde was destroyed in the Farther Spheres. The abomination is dead."

"Then explain why the scanners couldn't identify the species. Why does it keep classifying it as 'chimeric'. This is him. He's come back for vengeance. He's here to kill me!"

"Where did you find this creature, and why do you fear it," asked Sarpedon.

"We don't!" Growled Terrobraxis. "If the creature is here, I will kill it."

"Don't be a fool," whined Plutark, "He would take you apart. I watched him kill a hydra once. He kept taking its head over and over faster than it could grow back."

"You shouldn't share that with him. He hasn't earned the right to know." Growled Terrobraxis. 

"Forget about that," he snarled. "Our top priority is to locate this person and make him Gorgon bait. We would be better off if the gods themselves came down to smote our asses."

"If we had information on his motives and goals, it would be easier to track him down," the Basiliskian interjected, locking eyes with him in a calculating manner.

Terrobraxis growled his disapproval. 

Finally, the Plutark spoke. "Every couple of cycles, a Greylian gene wizard would show up. You know how rarely they make their business known. Of course, no one wished to trade with him because of their reputation for kidnapping and experimenting on you when you irritate them. And considering they are fucking inscrutable, it is easy enough to offend them. This one needed some special materials. Hard to find. And he was willing to trade truly unique merchandise. slaves, but slaves with special modifications. Some of the best-designed pleasure slaves you've ever seen. Bespoke models. One day, he has something new. A set of spliced chimeras. The based stock was some newly annexed sub-race that no one was going to question going missing. Completely unique race of intelligent monsters. Every part of its genome was hand-sculpted by this genius. It was a gold mine."

"And yet now you fear him. Why?"

"We found out how he did it. He was using the kind of spell-craft that you don't mess with. Turns out this Terran stock is easy to splice with all kinds of exotic materials. They were pure organic. They didn't have all of the genome safeguards of the Accordium races. Somehow this madman found a strand of the lykagenic malgene. From the fucking Lyken Wars. Of course, it wouldn't work on any of us because of the antigen vaccines we had all been exposed to, but it infected these Terrans really easily. So he beamed a few up right before the Infernali came in and took the place over and infected them, kept up his games until he made something new. The Kodanthropoid. A new form of Lyken. Bigger and scarier. And who knows if it would be able to procreate."

The Lykan wars were as much a plague as a war. The only thing in the history of the Spheres that threatened the power of the Accordium. From the planet Hyperborea, the Lykans came, discovered by an Accordium survey team that was absorbed into the pack.

The Lykans were a warlike race, cunning and savage. Worst, they were as much a virus as a soldier. Accordium troops wounded by the Lykans would become them, become loyal to the pack, and turn against the Accordium. The Accordium panicked. The Lykan were wiped from existence. The planet Hyperborea was glassed. A decade later, scientists developed an antibody to the Lykan malgene, and soon the entire galaxy was inoculated for fear of a strain of the virus had somehow still survived.

All this Sarpedon knew, so he said, "But the malgene was wiped from the cosmos. If the Accordium knew that a malgene existed, they would have no reason to ignore your operation. They would wipe out every living being on this planet just to erase you from existence."

"That's right. That's why I sold it. I couldn't leave it on the planet in case someone scanned the corpse. But Chief Aganon was beginning a war campaign in the far spheres, way outside Accordium influence and I was providing munitions secretly to the effort. So I sold him a new breed of super soldiers, the Kodanthropoids. Let them die in his fool crusade. Never thought I would see it again." 

"But it didn't forget about you and now it's back in the inner sphere and wants revenge. And even if we kill it, we'll still have a target on our backs if exposed. This creature is a cancer."

"Sharp as ever," growled Plutark. "That's why I won't be sleeping from now on."

"If he wants information from you, why is he killing your street rats? How does that benefit him?"

Plutark fell silent. It was a question he hadn't considered.

Sarpedon prodded him further.

"Forget what he stole. What do these lowlifes know that could harm you? That's how we'll find him."

Terrobraxis let out a snarl, "this isn't your problem."

"The accountant. They knew he knew where to find the accountant. We could be exposed," said Sarpedon.

Terrobraxis growled but Plutark nodded in agreement. "Take Terrobraxis and go check on the accountant. Make sure he's protected."

Terrobraxis grumbled as he followed Sarpedon through the dimly lit corridors of their lair. The accountant's office was in the heart of the complex, as far away from the pleasure domes and the source of their untold riches as one could get.

The accountant was a small, unassuming creature, more comfortable with numbers and tables than with violence and danger.

When they arrived at its door, the metal had appeared to be ripped apart like tin. Blood streaks crisscrossed the entryway.

They found the security detail in the inner room. Terrobraxis smashed through each of the rooms looking for the account while Sarpedon messaged Plutark.

The Safehouse has been hit. Your men are dead. The accountant is gone.

"When I find this Deimos I'm going to crack his bones and eat his marrow," growled Terrobraxis.

"Now that he has the accountant, he will find us. Our fates are intertwined now."

"Stow that shit. We need to see the boss."

All the way back to the club, Terrobraxis was silent, but his nostrils flared. Sarpedon stared ahead. His body was still. Deimos would come to them now.

When they entered the Plutark's office, the pleasure slaves had been stored away in their cubicles. Plutark's body was inserted into his office exo-suit that held his obese frame erect.

"I need you to call all of our forces. I need everyone here. He's coming."

"Nah," Said Terrobraxis, "This place is too fortified. There's no way he could get to us."

Plutark stared at him like was a madman.

"The coordinates to the wizard. Did the accountant have them?"

"You have a whole lot of interest in things that have fuck all to do with you," growled Terrobraxis.

"No," Plutark said. "You're right. The accountant doesn't have that information."

His eyes darted to an empty.

"That is what he wants," Said Sarpedon. "You should make sure that it is secure. How secure is the information?"

"You're right," said Plutark. He clanked over to a wall scanner. His thumb pressed up against the scanner. A secret door hissed open, and behind it was a metallic safe, with a small screen that blinked a series of codes.

"I better check it. Just to be sure," whispered Plutark.

"Boss, what are you doing?" Said Terrobraxis.

There was a soft clank as the security locks released, and then the safe yawned open. Inside, data scrolls were stacked on top of each other. Plutark gingerly pulled one out. Then there was a soft snick and a clanking as metallic knees hit the floor. 

Plutark turned around, his mind operating in slow motion. On his knees, Terrobraxis' body tightened. A long slash had cut across his back, severing many of the pneumatic tubes that animated his metallic frame. The dagger itself was plunged deep into the minotaur's neck, and when it was pulled free, blood sprayed like a geyser across the room, drenching Plutark in wet crimson mist. 

Plutark, frozen in shock, barely registered the ashen-faced Sarpedon stepping forward and deftly snatching the data scroll from his limp hand. His eyes met Sarpedon's, wide with horror and betrayal, as the dagger plunged into his chest, pulsing with a brilliant light.

Sarpedon's hand tightened around the dagger's handle, and with a final, victorious snarl, he withdrew it, leaving the satyr's body crumpled on the floor.

"Why," Plutark gasped, blood bubbling from his lips as he struggled to speak. "the coordinates...are useless.. to you."

Sarpedon wiped the blood on Plutark's uniform. "Deimos sends his regards and thanks you for the plans. Zardoz is a hard being to find."

"You," gasped Plutark. Then he shrugged. His body lay still on the floor.

He walked downstairs. In the garish light of morning, the club was a disheveled wretch, much like Sephora. She lay in a leather booth, Sarpedon's cloak wrapped around her body. He shook her awake.

"It's time to go home," he whispered to the fiendish beauty. Even after a night of partying, she was still beautiful. Her messy bangs shaded her eyes, and she rose up.

"But master, where is home?"

"Wherever you want it to be," he said. She smiled and reached up to him.

Like cradling a babe, Sarpedon lifted her into his arms. She snuggled up against his draconic chest. "Then I'm already there," she murmured.

Later, their triskelion lifted from its launch pad. Sarpedon sat in the flight seat. Sephora lay in her slave bed beneath his feet, chained to the command chair. The ship tilted upward so that the horizon gave way to a view of phlogiston sea.

"Deimos, as you wished, I have obtained the coordinates you were seeking. I hope that with them you will find what you seek my friend. May the aether bring us together once again my friend."

He entered the coordinates and then fired off the data scroll. It flew into the Phlogiston sea until it became just another glittering star awash in the pavonian aether.

The Grey Ship

Deimos laid against the bulkhead. Cassandra's entire body, curled like a kitten, fit on his chest. He breathed in and she cuddled closer.

The trireme trickled at ten percent capacity through the phlogiston seas. The seas were uncharted, cloaked in a nebula. Asteroids rose out and sunk into the neon mist. His hand was on the rudder making slight changes. The ship would turn to port or starboard passing the asteroids at a span length.

The ship heaters were turned off. Deimos' body was a furnace that Cassandra clung to. She hugged his body tightly with the warm heat enveloping her and putting her in a dreamlike fugue.

Images like shadows cast themselves across her eyelids. A beautiful human woman. A young man. Sephora and Cloeia travel by ship to a blue and green planet.

His muscles flexed and she awoke from her state. His body was rigid in alertness.

"There it is," Deimos growled. It was difficult for Cassandra to remember behind the savage timber of his voice that he was cleverer than he looked.

She squeaked as he dropped her to her feet on the cold bulkhead.

"You forget I'm a princess you lummox," she said and slapped his chest. It was like slapping a marble statue wrapped in a bear rug.

"My princess," he smiled a toothy smile, "and my slave."

She shivered. It was cold out on the bulkhead floor naked except for a slim gold band around her neck. She was his slave. Now, of course, willingly. He had fought for her and earned the right to call her that.

There was nothing, no home to go back to, no future except as his pet. And as his pet she was spoiled, but that wasn't why she would never try to escape. She felt bonded to him in a way that was like a prophecy in itself.

She picked up a shawl and wrapped it around herself. Deimos had all hands on controls. Guiding the Trireme silently towards the silvery disk that dwarfed the asteroids it hid within.

She looked up at the giant silver disk. It was a greylian ship. A silvery gunmetal gray discus. The greylians were a reclusive race of mages who kept outside of the powers of the Accordium. Little was known of them, except that they like to approach non-annexed worlds and capture native specimens to experiment on.

"The Greylian in that ship made you what you are." She asked.

"Yes," he growled. "It wasn't pleasant. There were others in there with me. Sometimes I could hear them, most times I couldn't tell their screams apart from my own. Most of the others didn't survive the process."

"I don't know what he did, but I know a part of it. Every elf girl who has paid attention in the Academy would know. He infected you with a lykagenic virus. I don't know how he did it. Elves went through great efforts to eradicate the virus from the cosmos. But the virus was probably what helped you survive."

Deimos nodded. "I expected as much. Especially after our fight with the Dark Star agent. He used to cut me open while I was awake. He'd peel back my skin and I could see my heart beating and my lungs rising and falling. I would try and scream but he had done something to my vocal chords. I just shook. Helpless. He would take organs out, put new ones in, then drop me back down in my cage, until he decided to do it again. My body would heal in the dark. All I would think about was that I was in hell.

Cassandra thought back to the dark elf. One of the Accordium's secret assassins. Now she was a witch's mindless horny puppy and Deimos was likely safe for now. What the Greylian had done to Deimos would make him one of the most wanted beings in the spheres. The mutagen that had modified him was remnants of a weapon that almost wiped out the Accordium. He shouldn't have existed, but here he was a Terran being from a conquered planet, and now her captor and master.

"Grab a hold of something," Deimos said, " His sensors have likely picked us up."

Cassandra had just enough time to kneel beneath Deimos and grab the support bars before he opened the furnace engines and made a tight corner turn whose inertia threw them both violently to the port side. In the transparent glass, green rays of fire extended outward, for a few seconds illuminating the sides of the trireme whose hull reacted by sizzling and burning before the ship veered out of the line of sight.

Even seconds after the ship had pulled out of the ray's position, Deimos had inversed the thrust to send the trireme on a zig-zagging course.

The green ray struggled to keep up. Each time its lines crossed the trireme, the hull would burn further away. Smoke billowed off the hull, with the ship's armor rapidly deteriorating.

Cassandra could hear the ship rattling and felt like it was on the verge of falling apart, casting their bodies into the Phlogiston sea. She looked up, wide-eyed, at Deimos. He grimly focused on the massive ship in front of him. His clawed hands gripped the controls tightly, as he barely out-maneuvered each green death ray.

The trireme pulled closer to the hull. The gunmetal hull enveloped all of the viewport. They were so close, Cassandra realized, that the guns were having a hard time targeting them.