Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (52 page)

Lieutenant Apausha

Lt.
Apausha

“The second shipment
is ready for inspection, Your Eminence.”  Lieutenant Apausha tucked his tail up
his right side in the Sata’anic equivalent of ‘attention.’ 

Apausha was pilot of a
cargo vessel in the Sata’an Merchant Marine.  A non-military trading vessel …
if such a thing existed in Shay’tan’s empire.  Drawing a non-military duty in
an empire whose entire society was built around war had been a fortuitous luck
of the draw on
his
part, or so he'd thought when he'd first been
inducted into the Royal Sata'anic Social Service as every young lizard-person
did as soon as he hit puberty.  Apausha didn't think it was so fortunate now. 
Merchant mariners were little more than black market smugglers for the elite
members of society who grew fat off the labors of lower-ranking males such as
himself.

“Thank you,
Lieutenant.”  Ba'al Zebub rubbed his sausage-thick paws together, causing the
fat rolls around his hands to jiggle as a hiss of pleasure escaped his maw. 
“Thirty females?  How were they procured?”

“General Hudhafah made
arrangements with some local agents,” Apausha said.  “He instructed them to
only take a few from each settlement in order to gain the greatest possible
genetic diversity.”

Ba'al Zebub inspected
the huddled females and snorted in disgust.  Apausha had kept them segregated
from his crew in order to maintain their modesty, and also to reduce fainting
every time one of his crewmen laughed or twitched.  This wasn’t the first time
he'd transported a living cargo of questionable legality, but that didn't mean
he had to mistreat them.  Bribery and skimming were time-honored methods of
greasing the wheels of progress in the upper echelons of Sata’anic society, and
this
was skimming or let Shay'tan turn him into an Angelic!  Skimming
was a practice lower-ranking males such as himself learned to accept and remain
silent about lest they find themselves cannon fodder in Shay’tan’s latest war.

“What form of payment
did our agents find acceptable?” Ba'al Zebub asked.  No doubt he wondered how
much this unauthorized little side-venture was going to cost him.

“Believe it or not,”
Apausha said.  “They wanted to be paid in gold.  Sergeant Dahaka said the
idiots danced like drunken serpents when he gave them a bag of gold for each
female.”

“Gold?  The stuff we
add to paint to make it sparkle?”  Ba'al Zebub gestured to the paint adorning
the walls of the cargo hold.  Gold was a mineral which was abundant in the
Hades cluster, so plentiful that it was cheaper to shield their spacecraft in
solid gold rather than a rarer metal such as iron.

“Yes … gold,” Apausha
replied.

“Thank you,
Lieutenant.” A feral glint came into Ba'al Zebub's  eyes.  “You and your crew
can go down to the nearest planet for a 24-hour shore leave.  When you get
back, I'm going to have you transport the cargo directly to the buyer.”

It was an 'honor'
Apausha didn't want!  His rotation home had been delayed once already.  All he
wanted to do was go home to his wife and seven hatchlings.  But when duty
called, lower-ranking males such as himself had no choice but to obey.  How
would Ba'al Zebub, the highest ranking male in the Empire after only Shay'tan
himself, understand his desire to go home to his
one
wife when the
Sata'anic high lord possessed thirty-six?  Tucking his tail against his side
even tighter, Apausha made the appropriate gesture of respect to the Sata'anic
Empire's highest-ranking civilian authority and thanked their god for the
privilege of performing this duty.

"Shay'tan be
praised."

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

Earth:  End-June, 3,390 BC

Village of Assur

Ninsianna

Ninsianna wiped the
tears streaming out of her eyes as she chopped onions.  Although Mama usually
decided what was to be eaten in their household, she'd long ago learned that
helping her mother prepare meals was in her own self-interest.  Although Mama
was a spectacular healer, her cooking skills left a lot to be desired.  Charred
meat, hard bread, soggy lentils, and overcooked vegetables were always on the
menu in Needa’s kitchen.

A laugh escaped her
throat.  When Ninsianna had been a little girl, she'd once joked about Mama’s
roast goat always being burnt enough to break her teeth.  Mama had run into her
bedroom, crying.  Papa had lectured her that, no matter how poorly cooked the
meal, Mama’s diligence about ensuring everyone was fed was an act of love.  As
a healer, Mama had more important things do than cook and clean up after them,
yet she always made time to cook their meals herself.  No matter how badly Mama
botched the meal, Papa ate it without complaint and thanked her afterwards for
a fine supper.  It was his way of telling her that he loved her. 

Ninsianna snorted,
chuckling as a random thought crossed her mind.

“What's so funny?”
Mama asked.

“Mikhail tried milking
the goat again this morning,” she said.  “It's the only thing I've ever seen
him try that he was terrible at doing.”

“Is this your way of
saying there will be no milk with supper again tonight?” Mama stifled a laugh.

“Oh, there is
some
left,”
she said.  “Just not all of it.  I swear … Mikhail and the goat are like two
old adversaries going to war.”

“Who is winning?”

“The goat,” Ninsianna
laughed.  “I don't know why he keeps trying!  I told
him I would do it.”

Mama measured out a
scoop of lentils and dumped them into a crock.  Ninsianna handed her the onions
and a pinch of herbs to add flavor.  Tightly fitting the ceramic cover, Mama
placed it into one side of the beehive-shaped oven to cook while Ninsianna
stuffed wood into the firebox.   Most houses in Assur had an outdoor oven and
eating porch so that the inhabitants could take advantage of the breeze.  Using
the oven inside the house this time of year was out of the question.  The
bricks soaked up the heat and radiated them back into the living quarters all
night long, making it unbearable to sleep.

“Mikhail is just
trying to help,” Mama said.

“It's not necessary!”
Ninsianna said.  “You would think it was a matter of honor!  He swooped in and
grabbed her out of the field like a hawk this morning.  And then he wonders why
she fights him horn and hoof whenever he tries to get her into the milking
shed?  He can’t even fit in there all the way!  He's too big!”

“Mikhail is still
finding his place here,” Mama said.  “Helping is his way of saying that he
appreciates what we've done for him.”

Ninsianna chopped the
greens she'd gathered earlier this afternoon from the garden. 
Chop-chop-chopping the vegetables with her obsidian blade, she considered
whether to ask her mother what was on her mind.

“If you chop those any
smaller,” Mama said.  “They will disappear.”

“I was just thinking…”

“Yes?”

“Do you think he will
leave?”  She scooped the greens into a wooden bowl and moved on to slice some
cucumber.  “When another sky canoe comes to find him?”

“Mikhail loves you,”
Mama said.  “Even if he
is
rescued and has to finish whatever mission he
was doing when he crashed here, he will come back for you.  He will
always
come back for you.”

“How can you be so
sure?”  Ninsianna asked.  “How can
–I-
be sure?  I mean … if we … and
then … well …. I just don't think…”

“Mikhail loves you.” 
Mama gave her a hug.  “He said that he would battle somebody named Shay’tan to
come back to you.”

“Who is Shay’tan?”

“I have no idea,” Mama
said, “but by the way he said it, I have no doubt in my mind he won't let
anything come between you two.”

Ninsianna mixed the
cucumber with salt and flaxseed oil as she digested her mother's words.  “It's
just … the vision….”

“What about the
vision?  You left things out, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Your father and I
suspected as much.  What else did She-who-is show you?”

“When the Evil One
comes,” Ninsianna said.  “Mikhail is not here to save me.  I think it is him,
but when I turn to embrace him, it's someone else!  The Evil One tried … he
tried to … Oh Mama!!!”

Mama hugged her while
she sobbed.  Finally, she forced Ninsianna to look her in the eye and asked,
“did the Evil One actually
succeed
in the vision?”

“I don't know,”
Ninsianna said.  “Papa came in to tell me how to get out, and then I followed
Mikhail’s voice back into the waking realm.”

“So there is your
answer,” Mama said with a knowing nod.  “The goddess gave you this vision so
that you can be prepared when the Evil One comes for you.  You
know
he
feels he has a mission to complete.  If Mikhail can't be here to save you, then
you must be prepared to save yourself.  The gods help those who help
themselves.”

“But the Evil One is
so powerful,” Ninsianna said.  “In my vision, on the outside he is even more
beautiful than Mikhail, but he couldn't hide the darkness in his soul.  I think
… I think he wanted to hurt Mikhail by hurting me and our… our … our …  I think
he wanted to get even by hurting the people Mikhail cared about.”

“You said this Evil
One is another winged creature like Mikhail, right?” Mama asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you must ask
Mikhail to teach you how to defeat someone as powerful as
him
in case
he's not here to do it for us,” Mama said.  “All of us.  Everyone in the
village.”

“Mama … how did you
get to be so smart?”  Ninsianna gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek.

“Oh, no!!!” Mama
exclaimed.  “The fish!!!  Ninsianna … it's burning!!!”

Laughing, Ninsianna
ran to the oven and pulled out the fish.  One side was charred and black, worse
than anything her mother had ever tried to feed them.  She just hoped Papa and
Mikhail would forgive her when they got back from their meeting with the
Chief.  Maybe that’s why Mama was such a lousy cook … she always had more
important things on her mind.

“I love you, Mama!”
She gave her another hug.

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

June – 3,390 BC

Earth:  Village of Assur

Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili

Mikhail

Mikhail walked in
silence, rehearsing what he wished to ask within his own mind.  The other
villagers gave them curious glances as they left the Chief's house and moved
through the central square, but they no longer gawked the way they had when
he'd first come here.  A potter sat beneath a canopy made of woven reeds,
spinning a pot on a wheel while a gaggle of children watched.  Just beyond him,
merchants hawked their wares, woven mats, cloth made of linen, pots, beads, and
a few who had bought goods from the last trading caravan and now sold them at a
substantial markup.  Farmers trailed in from the fields and stopped at the
communal well on their way home for supper.  Immanu was perceptive enough to
give him time to gather his thoughts.