The Intergalactic Information Super-Highway: Chapter One

Greetings reader,

This is Christopher Magnus and welcome to my first blog. Today I will keep it simple and post the first chapter of my first novel: The Intergalactic Information Super-Highway (available for purchase on Amazon https://a.co/d/3HrZcrV )

Please enjoy your time here and feel free to leave me a comment about your impressions.

Chapter One

The Big Bang

1

That electrostatic spark sound was in the air. That sound you hear deep in your eardrums that sends the small hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end and that makes your head shake in small, quick convulsions. He heard it coming from the instrument panel just underneath the flight stick. He knew right then that it would be the third to last sound he heard… The last two being his screams that mixed with the grand explosion of his ship.

It did not split into several pieces. No, it scattered into the star-studded backdrop like a supernova, leaving what appeared to be a newly birthed galaxy. This was one of Zantarth’s favorite visuals in the morning. Another was the look on his employer’s face after he finished a contract but took his job beyond what was deemed necessary. Zantarth would see the latter after his hyper link was connected. He activated the hyper link and saw the date illuminated on the view screen. The readout stated it was the year three thousand six hundred seventy-two by ancient Earth standards.

While he waited on his ship, The Dredd, for the connection to be established, he walked slow and confident over to his meal preparation station. There, on the counter, lay his first meal of the day. He usually enjoyed breaking his fast after a job was completed. As he reached for his steak, eggs, and dark coffee he noticed his reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall above the countertop. The years had been kinder to him than he had been to some of his clients. Although he had not been killed by the years that passed, sometimes it looked as though he had been close to death far too many times.

His skin was rough and darken by the exposure to far too many non-humanoid planets that he had visited while on contract. He was a tall and firmly built man that appeared to be in his late forties. With hair that was the color of wet sand and eyes that were a hazel green which changed with the color of clothes that he wore; he had an almost regal look to himself. A beard covered his jaw line that was short shaven on the sides and long on the chin. Most did not know what his actual age was. Those that did know him would know him to be over three hundred years old. With a face that was once softer in his youth that had turned sharper, a little wider, and much coarser over the years with travel, fighting, medical attention, and just surviving. He noticed some dried blood on his face from his most recent fight and did not bother to clean it. He felt that it would show his employer that he had in fact done what he was paid to do.

He ate his meal and finished putting on the old weather-beaten leather long coat that he had always worn. A once rich and shining coat with the deep reds of a midnight rose, had now been faded to a color similar to blood on a sandy beach during sunset. He still found a feeling of romance when he wore it and thought about the colors it had and the one that had gifted it to him.

Before the hyperlink was connected, Zantarth thought about this most recent job and how it had advanced him closer to his end goal. That of… revenge.

2

He had tracked his target to the outer rim of the Gelecs System. The electro disruptor he had placed on his target’s ship’s engines had worked wonders. Zantarth waited until his target had left the planet Durmet until he activated the disruptor. It was designed to siphon energy from the ship’s engines while powering itself. Once fully charged it could cripple the ship’s engines and sending it in a dead drift through space.

Zantarth knew his target was wanting a quiet escape, so he allowed him to believe that he had one. When he was safely away from the planet, he would activate his hyper drive and be lost to the stars. There was a bright glow at the rear of the ship as the engines primed for hyper flight, then a sudden blackness. The engines were dead, as his target would soon be.

As Zantarth flew closer to the ship, he aimed his ship’s blaster cannons at the target’s ship and fired three times. This further crippled it, leaving life support systems failing and any chance for repairs impossible in the short amount of time that Zantarth would require to board the ship and finish his contract. He glanced at the control console and remembered Sarah. What would she say about what you are doing, he thought to himself. “She wouldn’t say very much at this moment, would she?” he replied to no one in particular. You know what I mean. Don’t push me away. His thoughts were becoming more present in this moment, and it was a distraction, so he did exactly that, he pushed them away as he had done more so lately.

He flew next to the ship and docked with it. While he prepared his mind and his body for the coming confrontation, he activated his body enhancements by thought while holding his breath: enhanced strength, quicker reflexes, heightened sense of smell and sight. Each one of these was off set by a jolt of electricity that emanated from the miniature reactor, a device that was smaller than his fist, which sat next to his heart. To use his augmentations caused him momentary pain and an inability to focus. It was worth it to him. He had learned to associate the pain with the future success that would soon follow. He had learned to love that pain.

He tasted iron in the back of his mouth, and a tingle crawled up his spine. He knew he was ready. As he crossed the docking umbilical, he drew his heavy blaster pistol. A heavily weighted killing device, made of impenetrite, it was especially designed to fit and work in his hand only. It felt like part of him, as if it had grown out of his hand instead of having been placed in it. The power of his weapon was devastating. He thought that if his hand could shoot fire from a star, this was what it would feel like. The grip was cobalt blue, and the stalk was a deep silver. A long barrel used for distant targets was visible as he held it out in front of him. It would look bulky and awkward in anyone else’s hands, but in his hand, it was at home.

He looked forward at his target’s ship and saw that the service hatch entrance was sealed. The three cannon blasts he had sent earlier to cripple the life support systems had also fused the service hatch and blown the entry button to pieces. He had expected no less in this circumstance. “Figures,” he laughed to himself. “Take one advantage and loose another.” He held his breath to activate his environment adaptive skin. The miniature reactor sent a large jolt of electricity through his body, and he shuttered at the pain. His skin became hard as steel, yet his vision blurred, a common side effect of using too many of his augmentations. He readied himself for what would happen next.

With the remote on his wrist, he sealed his ship’s hatch, retracted the docking umbilical, and commanded his ship to draw back to a safe distance. There he was, floating in space. As he watched his ship fly away, he took a moment to observe how unique it still looked to him. The three-pointed horseshoe shape was not the only special part of his ship’s appearance. It had a mutated, organic look to it, as if it were a living being and not a ship manufactured by the Hah-Li Plex Corporation. Silvers and greys swam across the hull while hints of forest green shined when the light hit it from obscure angles. On the rear of his ship he saw the four engine thrusters, as well as the two sets of large blaster cannons, complete with their twin gunner’s chairs.

Zantarth turned his attention back to his objective. He would only have a minute to board his target’s ship before he would run out of oxygen and then he would be in a much more precarious situation. He aimed his heavy blaster at the service hatch door and fired.

The bolt that emitted from his heavy blaster pistol barrel was the same cobalt blue of the blaster’s grip. As it flew through space towards the service hatch door, arcs of electricity pulsed from and surrounded the bolt. Were it possible to hear sound in the vacuum of space, Zantarth would have listened to the all too familiar crackle-fwhip that his heavy blaster made when he fired it. When the bolt struck its target, the service hatch door began to superheat and fall apart into small sand-like pieces from the center and out towards the ends of the door. The effect of the bolt had made a smoldering perfect circle where the door once was. Zantarth activated his propulsion boots and headed into the ship of his target.

He looked inside of the service area of the ship and saw no one. Once inside of the ship, he sealed the bulkhead with the emergency door which shut with great force. He exhaled and began to breathe normally again. With his thoughts he had changed his skin back to its ordinary state and refocused his augmentations for advanced sight, reflex, and strength. For the coming confrontation he knew he would surely need it.

The contract he had was on one Kurt Valkyrie, a Synfucian from the planet Gurtan. Synfucians were known to be hyper intelligent beings. They were average height humanoid creatures that were very stout, had skin the color of emerald green and the density of granite. They were normally stronger than most humanoids and were adept at hand-to-hand combat as their culture revered courage in close quarter engagements. To Zantarth, the Synfucians reminded him of the Dwarves of long past he had seen on his historical videos from the ancient Earth stories, although the Synfucians were green and had stone for skin. Kurt Valkyrie was wanted dead by Zantarth’s current employer, a Mr. Odwed, for the theft of twenty-three billion credits. Zantarth did not care about the credits. What he did care about was getting the job done. Doing this would take more effort than his previous contracts as Kurt Valkyrie had used the credits he stole to augment his body. He was not only a very intelligent being, but he was also extremely strong. Zantarth had used his resources to gain an advantage in this encounter, but he wasn’t sure it would be enough to simply shut down life support and weaken Kurt Valkyrie.

Zantarth approached the bridge door with extreme caution and opened it. Inside the bridge, the emergency lights illuminated the room in a dark purple light. The ultraviolet lighting had made the room appear deeper than it was. Zantarth scanned the room from left to right and in the corner of the room he found what appeared to be a pile of rocks. He aimed his heavy blaster with a lightning-fast hand and fired. Crackle-fwhip. The rocks did what the service hatch door had done and then fell into a small mound of hot ash. Smoke ascended from the ash pile and there was a soft grinding sound coming from the bridge.

He is surely dead, Zantarth thought.

Just then the grinding sound grew to a roaring avalanche of crashing boulders. As Zantarth turned and retreated one step backwards, he saw Kurt crashing down towards where he was standing only a fraction of a second before. Had he not moved he would be a mess of blood and bones on the floor. He lifted his heavy blaster and took aim as Kurt sprang from his landing with unnatural speed. Zantarth fired and hit a shield that Kurt was carrying. Indeed, he looks even more Dwarvish now than ever, Zantarth thought to himself as a smile creased his face.

Just then, as Zantarth prepared to fire a second time, Kurt had thrown a short plasma sword at him. Zantarth chose to save his shot, and his life, by rolling out of the way of this deadly projectile. Kurt was on Zantarth the moment his roll was finished. “You are faster than I had expected you to be,” Zantarth said as he struggled to free himself from the grip that held him. Kurt ran with all the speed he could muster and slammed Zantarth into the nearest wall. The impact had made an impression in the wall in the shape of Zantarth’s shoulders. The air left him for a moment as he dropped his heavy blaster and he had to regain his composure.

“I cannot let you live. You stand in the way of my conquest.” Kurt roared at Zantarth, revealing teeth that had been sharpened to fine points. “I shall have Mr. Odwed’s empire, and none shall defy me!”

It would seem that my information that I had on you was not thoroughly completed, Zantarth thought. Still, Synfucians all have the same vulnerable spot. He swung his fist and connected with a granite jaw. This only enraged Kurt.

“You think you can hurt me with your feeble strikes?!” Kurt said with disgust. “My people are trained their entire life’s to be masters of close combat!” Kurt drove an enormous knee into Zantarth’s stomach. Blood and spit flew from his mouth. Struggling to breathe, Zantarth knew he needed to distract Kurt, to gain a moment of advantage. Another knee flew as Kurt held Zantarth firmly against the wall. More blood this time. Two more strikes were felt as his vision blurred. He was feeling faint, unable to focus. Air seemed in short supply to his lungs. I must think fast or else it would all be over. All of my work, all of my loss, to die at the hands of this ugly man-thing. Kurt’s head slammed into Zantarth’s face and now he was seeing stars. Usually such a beautiful and welcomed sight, Zantarth felt now was not the time to be an astronomer.

Then a thought occurred to him: Insults, that usually works. “You know what, Kurt?” Zantarth said with a rugged whisper.

“Tell me fool. I wish to know your dying words so I can tell your boss before I kill him,” Kurt said as he smiled his sharp toothed smile, making him look more of a monster than anything else.

Zantarth looked Kurt into his eyes and spoke, “With all of those augmentations you have done to yourself, you are one ugly… mother… fu…” Just then Kurt took one massive fist from Zantarth’s arm and made to show him what strength he really had. Zantarth prepared himself for the coming blow and used his free hand to quickly grab his plasma dagger. A stiletto style weapon, with a polished white metal hilt, and a dark red glowing blade. It had inspired fear into all that had seen it in Zantarth’s hand, if they had ever lived long enough to see him wield it.

Kurt’s fist came down like a power hammer, ready to make a ruin of Zantarth’s face. Zantarth dodged the coming strike from Kurt as he brought his free arm up to Kurt’s ribcage. The stench of melting granite filled the bridge, along with the screams of Kurt. He threw Zantarth into the flight control panel and retreated towards the rear of the bridge. Zantarth thought he was trying to escape and then though better of it. He’s going for a weapon. Zantarth didn’t hesitate as he hurled his plasma dagger end over end at Kurt’s left leg. It made contact as it flew through his calve muscle and exited his knee cap. It stuck into the wall with the blade and halted at the cross-guard.

Kurt fell to the ground, looking similar to the pile of rocks he had laid as a trap not too long ago. Zantarth approached him with caution. Kurt may be down, but he is not out of the fight yet. Zantarth picked up his heavy blaster and aimed it at Kurt. He rolled over onto his back and spoke to Zantarth.

“You work for that creature Mr. Odwed so freely? You know what he has done, what he is!” Kurt accused him. “He is more of a monster than I could ever be!” Blood oozed from his mouth. “Have you any idea of what he will do to you? I know of his plans for you." A maniacal laugh escaped his lips as he breathed blood bubbles. A curdling sound, like magma overflowing from an active volcano, was heard in his breath.

Zantarth stared at Kurt with a grim look on his face. “I know what he and you are capable of.” His voice was full of malice. “If you know so much about his plans, then surely you know a little of mine?”

“All I know of his plans for you is that I wouldn’t expect to go on living much longer after you finish your job here.” Kurt’s eyes looked out of the bridge front window.

Zantarth held his heavy blaster on Kurt and walked to retrieve his plasma dagger. Kurt did not move, knowing all too well what a weapon such as that was capable of. Still, he thought he would have his moment to stop his attacker and find a way to survive this. Then Kurt saw something in his attacker’s eyes as he pulled his plasma dagger from the wall. He had recognized the look in his eyes and the weapon that Zantarth held. “That dagger,” Kurt said through a blood-filled mouth. “Where did you get that from?”

Zantarth looked down at Kurt, and spoke with dark intension, “I have always had this. It was made for me by someone special.” Kurt’s eyes were fixed on the plasma dagger. Fear crossed his face, as if he had seen a ghost. “It was given to me by someone special. And it was this special someone that you helped to murder,” Zantarth said coldly. Realization dawned on Kurt’s mind as a whirlwind of memories came flooding back to him. He knew all too well now who it was that had bested him this day in battle.

“…Zantarth?” Kurt asked.

“In the flesh,” Zantarth said as he pulled the trigger on his blaster. The sound of crackle-fwhip was heard twice. Kurt’s arms burned and melted into heated ash piles. His screams were blood filled and full of agony. Zantarth sheathed his plasma dagger and holstered his heavy blaster. As he left the flight deck, he placed a small metallic box next to the flight controls. “If I were you, I would call someone for help before you die. Perhaps there is someone out there that would do something to assist you.” Zantarth spoke with a smile, knowing that there was only one person that Kurt would contact, and this creature would do nothing for him now.

Back at the emergency door Zantarth called his ship back as he held his breath. His skin changed as the miniature reactor sent that surge of electricity through his body. He opened the emergency door and left the ship. When he returned to his ship he went straight to the bridge and flew to a safe distance and waited to enjoy the show.

3

Kurt Valkyrie lay on the bridge of his ship slowly dying. His arms still burned where they used to be. His one remaining leg was all that he had left of useful limbs. He could still feel his severed leg, which was on the ground next to him. If he wanted to, he swore that he could make his toes move. He felt the toes move on his ghost foot, but the ones on the leg that laid on the floor just stayed there, motionless.

From where he lay he attempted to activate the hyper link via voice command. His voice came out in a low gargle, “Computer… activate hyper link.” Blood spilled forth from his mouth. The computer did not recognize his command. He tried again. “… Computer… activate… hyper link…” His vision was blurred, and his chest was feeling heavy and weak. Attempting to speak louder was exerting too much of what life he had left. If he were to contact anyone, he would have to be closer to the flight control console.

With what little strength he had left he sat up and then fell forward onto his face. He pushed himself towards the flight control console using his one good leg and pulled himself with his chin. It was an agonizing ordeal, but he knew it must be done. He felt death coming closer but still he pressed forward. As he came within three feet of the flight control console he rolled over onto his back and activated the hyper link via voice command.

“Computer…” he struggled.

“Yes, Kurt,” the computer responded.

“Activate… hyper… link.” The voice he had left was soft and dying.

“Hyper link activated,” the computer replied. “Whom would you like to contact?”

“…” Kurt had passed out and was unresponsive.

The computer repeated, “Hyper link activated. Whom would you like to contact?”

Kurt regained consciousness. He found himself lying on his back, took a deep, painful breath and spoke, “Contact… Mr. Od…wed.”

The computer took a moment to analyze his request and then acknowledged it. “Contacting Mr. Odwed. Please wait for the connection.”

The passing thirty seconds seemed to Kurt to be the longest he had ever experienced in his entire life and were probably going to be his last. His continual struggle to remain conscious and alive was becoming increasingly arduous. He sat up and turned slowly to see the view screen of the hyper link. Finally, the connection was completed and someone answered.

“This is Mr. Odwed’s hyper link, Phondrake speaking,” said Phondrake, a Turkarian, in his usual professional manner. Phondrake was tall and thin, with turquoise fish scale skin. His eyes were grey, large and wide set on his head, which had long bright orange hair that radiated light, even though it always appeared to be wet. His fingers were extremely long, as were his arms and legs. His feet were webbed being that Turkarians were semi aquatic creatures. On his neck lay an elaborate golden necklace of intricate knot work that only slightly covered his gills.

“Phondrake…” Kurt struggled to speak as thick clotted blood spewed from his mouth. “I need to speak to Mr. Odwed.” This complete sentence had nearly finished him. He was fading into the blackness quickly now and was not sure how much longer he could last.

“I am sorry Mr. Valkyrie. Mr. Odwed is currently on holiday now and I was told not to disturb him.” Phondrake smiled his professional smile at the obviously injured and dying Kurt Valkyrie.

“It is…” Kurt coughed up a large chunk of blood this time. “…an emergency.”

“I am sorry Mr. Valkyrie. I was informed by Mr. Odwed of your falling out with him and he had commanded me to not let you disturb him.” Again, Phondrake smiled. “Please be assured that I am giving you a professional courtesy by answering your hyper link connection.” Phondrake now frowned. “What happened to you Mr. Valkyrie?” Phondrake asked.

“I… was… attacked…” Kurt answered.

Phondrake rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously.” The professional demeanor now gone, Phondrake spoke again. “I meant, why did you steal from Mr. Odwed? You knew he would find out and send someone to kill you for it.”

Before Kurt could answer, before he could send his warning to Mr. Odwed about Zantarth, Phondrake was interrupted.

“Pardon me sir. I am sorry to disturb you, but your lunch has arrived,” said the voice of a waiter from the side of Phondrake.

“Oh, how wonderful! I so do love lunch! Thanks, you!” Phondrake said to the waiter as he waved a limp wrist hand. “Well, I have to go, you know how I hate to eat a cold meal,” Phondrake said to Kurt. “Good luck with everything you have planned for your future,” he said in his professional tone again. “We look forward to hearing from you again.”

The hyper link was disconnected, and Kurt was left there on his ship dying. The end could not come soon enough for him. His pain was excruciating. Then he noticed something different on the flight control console. It was a small metallic box. He had not remembered seeing it there before. On the box was a small lens. Has he been watching me this whole time, Kurt asked himself. Then he looked down underneath the flight control console. There sat another metallic box, a little larger in size, with the writing: Dangerous, High Explosives, on the front of it. Beneath this writing there was a small label. This one read: Odwed Weapons Manufacturing.

He knew this device. He knew what it would do. He had used it before on countless victims and had seen the aftermath. Nothing would be left of him but cosmic dust.

An electrostatic spark sound was heard in the air, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end and his head moved in quick convulsions. More blood flew from his mouth and splattered the small metallic box that had the lens on it with his gore. He knew this sound would be the third to last sound he would hear.

Kurt screamed as the world that was left for him on his ship turned searing hot and illuminous. He was vaporized along with his ship in a scatter of light that was a beauty to behold.

4

While Zantarth’s thoughts came back to the now his hyper link was connected. What appeared before him on his view screen was Mr. Odwed, a large, bulky, bullish looking male. He was well over five hundred pounds of muscle and fat with a flat-topped head, large ears that were low set on his skull just at the jaw line, and a short, cropped hair style that reminded Zantarth of the jars that he kept his herbs in while on his travels. His skin was the color of tanned leather and very thick. He had resembled the Rhinates of Oatlath, except he did not have the horns on his face. Zantarth felt that perhaps he had them removed at one time, long ago, to appear more suitable for business affairs.

“I assume you are calling to inform me that you have taken care of your assignment, Torrin?” said Mr. Odwed, his voice was thick, like bubbling tar. “You know that I don’t wish to be disturbed while I am on retreat,” he said with a reluctance that was not easily hidden. “Your face looks as if you had a difficult time with this recent contract.” Zantarth said nothing while he wiped the blood stains from his face.

Mr. Odwed had met Torrin fifty years ago when he had hired him to collect on a bounty. Since his first contract had been completed successfully and with a great deal of finesse, Mr. Odwed found that calling on Torrin to fulfill contracts was a wise choice. As time passed, he found more reasons to choose Torrin for doing what jobs his own hired hands were simply incapable of achieving. As of the last six months though, Mr. Odwed had begun to see Torrin’s behavior change. He was becoming less neat with his contracts and leaving far too much carnage in his wake. This fact had begun to weigh on Mr. Odwed’s thoughts more as of late. A creature of immense power with little to fear now had suspicion and caution becoming his daily traits.

“My contract has been fulfilled,” replied Zantarth with his gravelly voice. “You understand that I would have no other desire to contact you otherwise,” he said, as a small smirk crossed his mouth.

“To think that you resign little to no pleasure from this job is beyond my comprehension. I know that you had looked forward to using the new ‘toy’ with which had been provided to you.” Mr. Odwed sat, studying Torrin for any reaction about his comment, but to see what he was really thinking would have taken a detective to figure it out, or perhaps a psychologist, or both.

Zantarth waited patiently for his employer’s subtle frown to show, and it did. There it is, he thought to himself and felt just a little bit better about what he had done.

Mr. Odwed did not like a mess, nor did he like loose ends. This is why he had hired Torrin. He knew that Kurt Valkyrie needed to be killed. Kurt had betrayed Mr. Odwed and stolen billions of credits from his empire. This sort of behavior was not forgivable, no matter how long Kurt had been in the service of Mr. Odwed. When he had found out the Kurt was planning to overthrow him and seize the empire that he built, he decided to call on Torrin to solve this problem. Torrin had taken care of it, apparently. Yet, something was not right about the situation to him. Mr. Odwed was told by Phondrake that Kurt had attempted to contact him via hyper link some minutes before Torrin had contacted him directly. When asked why the traitor had tried to contact him, Phondrake said, “He said he was attacked. I know, Sir, that you did not wish to speak to him, and I told him so. He insisted it was an emergency. I said you had wished to not be disturbed. Knowing all too well that he had stolen from you, and that you sent that Torrin fellow to deal with him, I assumed that he was contacting you to let you know that he was dying. Why else would he had tried contacting you? Sir?”

Mr. Odwed thought to himself about Kurt and Torrin and the immediate timing of their two hyper link contacts to him. Why else? Why else would that traitorous son of a bitch want to speak to me? To tell me he was dying? No, not likely. To tell me who had killed him? I would already know that. To apologize? Not at all. He was too proud to do that. Then why would he attempt to contact me? Perhaps to make his death look real as he and Torrin join together to take me down against my knowledge? Mr. Odwed’s inner dialogue with himself grew at an alarming rate.

As these thoughts started to grow roots, he was distracted by a more troubling situation. On the beach where he lay, his drink cart had gone empty, and a shocking reality had settled in… His sobriety was coming back. A blinding headache was crossing over him and he could not think straight. Mr. Odwed had used many substances to mask the dealings he had made and the memories of the dark things he did to gain his wealth and power. He enjoyed the elation he felt is his altered state of mind and the ease with which he could justify his atrocious actions. He needed more drink and he needed it now.

“Another drink cart, immediately!” Mr. Odwed demanded.

“Right away, sir,” said the holiday retreat waiter, and hurried away. Mr. Odwed tipped well enough, but to delay what he demanded was never a good idea.

“I will be in touch Torrin. I have business to attend to,” slurred Mr. Odwed.

“I will keep my hyper link active for the next contract,” Zantarth said coolly and disconnected the transmission.

Mr. Odwed’s face disappeared from the view screen when the link was disconnected. “I cannot wait to be rid of that waste of air breathing life,” Zantarth said quietly to himself. He hadn’t been very fond of Mr. Odwed since he first met him. As a matter of fact, he had loathed him the moment he set eyes on that creature.

Their first meeting was not a pleasant one. Most of those that met Zantarth without his prior consent were either a mark or were looking to do him harm. On the night that Zantarth met Mr. Odwed, he intended to do much more than harm Zantarth. He had planned on taking his world away. He wanted to destroy everything that he found happiness in, and then, after he had made Zantarth a broken shell of a man, he would kill him.

Zantarth leaned back in his captain’s chair and relaxed himself as best as he could. While he closed his eyes, thoughts of his last night with Louisa came back to him slowly. The images were spotty to him at first, like a lite spring rain falling down to a grass meadow that was carried on a gentle breeze coming down from a high mountain top. Brought along with it were familiar sounds and scents from his past.

I swear that I can smell sandalwood…

5

The air was cool where Zantarth lay on the soft pillow top mattress and the scent of sandalwood drifted towards him from the bathroom. Steam rose out of the doorway towards the ceiling as Louisa was drying off after her bath with a thick cotton towel, an old luxury that she had always enjoyed from her past. It was a common practice of hers for when she and Zantarth had finished making love. Not that she felt dirty afterwards. No, she felt alive and feeling so alive she enjoyed the sensation of cleaning herself that much more. The oils and soaps that she used were as treasures to her skin. A sweet reward after such a sweet release with the one that she loved.

“I’ll be out in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, darling,” she said.

“Take your time, sweet cheeks,” Zantarth said, out of the corner of his mouth, making his voice sound as if he were an actor from one of those nineteen thirties Earth movies. “And don’t forget to put the kettle on when you come out,” he laughed to himself. He did enjoy that ancient culture, and to watch some of the old video histories again and again. He enjoyed the simplicity of them and found most of it humorous.

“Put the WHAT on?!” Louisa asked, half hearing him as she toweled her hair.

“Never-you-mind pretty Lady. I will be here waiting patiently for ya.” Zantarth had a love for Louisa that he had never felt for anyone. He felt drawn to her, connected to her. Life was worth living, worth exploring, worth tasting. When he was with her, it felt as if everything were alive, and he could see the vibrations of life. He felt fire all over his body when he looked into her big, beautiful eyes. He felt hunger when he heard her laugh, a hunger for life itself.

They had known each other for nine years now, and now was the beginning of the ninth year, to the day. It was their anniversary of the first time they met, the first time they kissed, the first time they fell in love.

They had met when Zantarth was on a contract and she had caught his attention. Nothing had ever distracted him from his objective, until he saw her. A man of extreme precision and sure death, he was the best at what he did. He had been hired to do the best job that a mercenary could do and when someone wanted someone else dead, he would give them exactly what they hired him for. That all changed the day Zantarth met Louisa.

It was fortunate for them that they had met then, unfortunate for them as well. Zantarth thought he had fulfilled that particular contract. When he failed to do so, he had made an enemy. He had never failed to complete a contract before that one.

While waiting for room service in the Old Earth themed Hotel room that they enjoyed staying in, Zantarth turn on some music to set the mood for their anniversary. What played on the speakers was the same song that played the night they met. “Ahhh, it is love that I’m feeling, you Wizards of White Snakes,” Zantarth said as he laid back onto the bed, lit a herbal smoke, and closed his eyes. His thoughts drifted back to that wondrous night he first talked to and held Louisa. He felt joy as a smile spread across his face and he sank deeper into the bed. The sound of the music was just loud enough to drown out the noise of the waiter being strangled outside in the hallway.

Zantarth heard a knock at the door.

“Room service, Mr. Zantarth,” a voice was heard saying.

“What was that?” Louisa asked.

“It is Jeremy, the room service attendant,” answered Zantarth.

“Oh, he must be here with our food and champagne,” Louisa said with delight. She had hung her towel to dry and slipped on her evening clothes, a pair of black leather pants and a tan, brown leather vest. “Tell him I said thank you. And Zantarth?”

“Yes babe?” Zantarth asked.

“Don’t forget to tip him.” Louisa laughed as she brushed her hair.

“I haven’t forgotten to tip him in nine years.” Zantarth laughed in return as he walked towards the door. “With everything I have tipped him, I am surprised that he still works here and has not chosen to become the owner and buy this place.”

Zantarth had been in this hotel with Louisa twenty different times over the span of their nine years together. Nine years to the day. Zantarth approached the door, and as he turned the handle to open it, a large and very powerful shape slammed against it on the other side. The door hit Zantarth across the face and he saw purples, blacks, and stars as he reeled back and hit his head on the floor. Louisa, who just finished brushing her hair and was leaving the bathroom, had only just seen Zantarth fall to the floor before she saw what appeared to be a large hairless green gorilla wearing a waiter’s uniform.

Panic had covered her body much like the cotton towel had when she left the bathtub. For an instant she could not move, could not breathe. This moment had passed quickly in time, but to her, time had stood still for far too long and she felt as if she was suffocating. As she stood there, drowning in frozen time, lungs burning, the imagined horrors she had long ago came back to her, like the childhood toy you had only thought you lost but had forgotten that you left it behind your dresser drawers. All the while, these nightmares were waiting patiently, and now they were ready to strike.

“Gather them up and bring them to the ship!” the stern voice of the ‘Gorilla’ commanded. Zantarth was still in a star-studded haze when he felt vice grips take him by the neck and balls. A flash of red pain crossed his eyes, the stars disappeared and were replaced with the vision of Louisa punching a tall and very thin weaselly looking creature.

As Zantarth began to struggle with his captor, he recalled where he left his heavy blaster. It was in the desk drawer across the room, but as an old habit he had always carried his plasma dagger on his belt. A useful tool for any occasion, and this was an occasion that it would be needed more than to cut the cake that was planned as a dessert for after dinner tonight.

With what little consciousness he had left, Zantarth drew his blade from the sheath he had behind his belt on the back of his pants and slashed across the vice grip that held him by the balls.

A sudden relief was felt, and the vice grip disappeared, only to be replaced by the lack of oxygen he had when the one around his neck became tighter.

“I didn’t know you were awake yet!” grunted the ‘Gorilla’. “If I did, I would have given this to you earlier!” A rush of fresh oxygen entered Zantarth’s lungs as the vice grip around his neck was let loose. Suddenly a large and stone-like fist came crashing down on his face.

A new constellation of stars bloomed in front of Zantarth, and it seemed as though the night sky had opened up in the hotel room. Sound was fading in and out as if he were submerging in and out of a body of water in rapid succession.

Blood had been cauterized, but that did not mean the ‘Gorilla’s’ wound did not hurt. He felt a burning sensation where the ghost hand once was. It was now on the floor in front of him, looking like a spider on its back, long dead for three summers. Anger flashed of the ‘Gorilla’s’ face, but he held onto his professional demeanor. It was only a job to bring Zantarth in. A new hand could be surgically attached, or even the old one. He thought about this because this was not the first time an augmentation would need to be done to himself, nor would it be the last.

“Come on Kurt, do ya have ‘im or not?!” the weaselly looking creature shouted. “This one is givin' me more trouble than we were told she would.”

“Then hit her already and be done with it!” Kurt replied, his voice short with patience. “We were told to bring them in alive. Nothing was said about what we needed to do to make that happen though.”

There was a loud smashing sound of glass on a solid object and Zantarth heard what sounded like a limp body hitting the floor. He tried to yell for Louisa but there was no air escaping his throat as the vice grip had returned around his neck and held firm.

As the new starlight faded to blackness, Zantarth would think of only two things: The first was if Louisa was safe, which he knew for certain that she was not. The second was “Why the fuck didn’t I just check the peep hole on the door first?” Blackness took hold and Zantarth sunk deeper into it. As comforting to him now as a warm blanket to a newborn baby in its mother’s arms. He would not be so comfortable when he awoke.

*******

Thank you reader for taking your time to read the first chapter of The Intergalactic Information Super-Highway. Stay tuned for Chapter Two: Caught Up.

Kind Regards,

Christopher Magnus