#surshen

Surshen’s story yielded confusing bounty.  The Starprey was different than any other, so different in fact that it was decided, after much deliberation within the tribe, to not be Starprey at all.  Prey was what you hunted, not what you found struggling to live.

No sport could be had with such an intruder, and like a child taking in a wounded flame serpent so did the tribe decide that, at least in this case, the wounded would be cared for.

***

The sun was setting, and the stars were just becoming visible in this region of Mandrake.  The Phantom Matador finished balancing the logs and twigs in front of the cave he had chosen for the evening.  Carefully, he maneuvered the handle of his energy blade and activated it so that the searing sword would be in contact with the pile without destroying it.  In moments it began to smoke and, with a few quick breaths, it caught fire.  Satisfied, the Matador pulled the mask back in front of his face and deactivated the blade.

“Lots of secrecy for someone just trying to make do in a jungle.”

The Phantom Matador looked over his shoulder and saw Zack Gamma.  He placed the deactivated pommel of the sword into its mostly-decorative charging sheathe, and turned to face the detective.

“There are those on this planet who would profit by my identity, Gamma.  The price on my head may not be as high as yours, but it remains.  How did you locate me so quickly?”

“I spoke to Chala… the lady you stole the Fact from.”

“She had no idea where I had gone.”

“No, but I also spoke to Nectra, and she had some amazing insights into finding you.”

“I see… so, Nectra has decided to work with you instead of killing you.  Pity.  She needs you dead to get the support she needs for her case to be reopened, you know.”

“That’s a bridge to cross later.”

“Yes.  It still doesn’t explain how you found me.  She’s hidden with me a few times, but never when I’ve been hiding on my own.”

“I couldn’t have found you without Nectra’s help, though.  Or Chala’s.  Or yours, really.”

“Excuse me.”

“Hate to say it, Mat… can I call you Mat?…”

“Mat?”

“Short for Matador.  Hate to say it, Mat, but the Fact wasn’t the only thing that Chala had in her forge.”

“Yes.  She stockpiled Virellium, though it was unpurified.  A suitable treasure, but not one that interests me more than my own survival.”

“Yeah… about that.  It’s everywhere in there, buddy.”

“I fail to see the relevance.”

Zack reached into his coat and pulled out a device, a box with a screen and an antenna that the Matador had seen in operation before.

“The tracker,” he said.  “The device that Nectra used to find you.”

“The Gamma Tracker’s an astounding piece of technology, I’ll give ya that.  It led me right to you.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t track me specifically.  It tracks Virellium and people who’ve been exposed to it.  So right now… right this second… there’s only three humans on the planet that it can find.  One of them’s me, and I’m not interested in tracking Chala.  But buddy, you spent more than enough time in that forge to qualify.”

“Incredible,” he said.  “The device works wonders, then.  It’s hard to believe that Nectra couldn’t prove it worked.”

“There aren’t that many people who’ve encountered Virellium,” said Zack.  “It’s not common, she couldn’t do any tests.  Heck, if Chala hadn’t been stockpiling it, I’d probably be the only person on the planet that it came after.  Scientifically speakin’, that wouldn’t even be a good test, it’d just mean that it could track me for some reason.  Tracking two wanted fugitives who only have this single thing in common, though?  That’s scientifically noteworthy.  Might even help to get Nectra’s case reopened.  Plus, now it doesn’t matter that you’re so good at slipping away.  This thing will find you anywhere.  No matter where you go or how fast you run, Nectra’s tracker can follow you.  And with her notes, more can be made.  We’ll figure out who you are before you know we’re looking.  Turn yourself in now, Matty, and maybe I’ll get you off this planet and into police custody on Veskid instead of seeing whatever passes for justice among the Sthenites.  I’ve got a feeling they’re tough but fair, which is great news for folks like me but just awful for murderers like you.”

The Matador turned and walked a few paces from Zack, holding his chin.  He looked up at the sky, and saw the pale green fading to a beautiful black.

“So… you say you want to figure out who I am?”

“Of course I do.”

“Does this mean, then… does this mean that you were mistaken about who you thought I was?  Or are you no longer so sure?”

“What’re you talking about?” said Zack.

“When we were up in the sky… in that big, black, beautiful dance of stars and planets and asteroids before we fell into this unforgiving world… you said that you’d figured out who I was.  And you said some things… some things that made me wonder if you had.”

Zack thought back to the asteroid.  Something about the Phantom Matador’s words rang true.  He didn’t recall the event, but there was definitely something there.

“I… don’t think you can blame a guy for wanting to double check.”

“Tell me who I am, detective,” said the Phantom Matador.  “I challenge you.  Tell me who you thought I was, at least.  Earn your parlor scene.  Or am I to remain ‘Mat’ to you, then?  A harmless nickname to mask your own failure?”

“This ain’t about me,” said Zack.  “You comin’ quietly or not?”

The matador looked back at Zack Gamma, just as a breeze caught his cape and lifted it behind him.  He reached down to the hilt of his energy sword, drew it, and activated the shimmering blade of light just as a shooting star fell through the night sky behind him.

“Never,” said the impossibly cinematic phantom before fading from view.

Surshen slithered out of his tree at the changing of the guard, nodding to Maurlias as she arrived to begin her time watching.

“Are there any concerns to watch for?” she asked, preparing to climb into the tree.

“I saw three Torgan heading south instead of west,” he said.  “I will inform the hunters.”

“Wonderful.”

“I also heard a distant report, like thunder but compressed, or like the human makes at her forge to the northwest.  This was followed by smoke near the swamp.  It reminded me of the fires in the sky that herald the arrival of the aliens.”

“I will keep watch for more changes like that,” she said.  “Who will you inform of this, though?”

“It is the same issue,” he said.  “I will inform the hunters.”

***

Carmen stepped out of the airlock and almost crashed into the wall.  She rolled her eyes.

“Lousy space ships,” she said.  “Never enough room to move around on these things…”

“I apologize for the accommodations,” said the voice of The Soul Survivor.  “And it will only become more cramped as we usher your two friends in here as well.”

“Look, why’re you even interested in us?”

“It’s nothing personal,” he said.  “No ulterior motive beyond the most obvious one.  I’m rebuilding right now and while I have vast resources hidden away elsewhere, much of it is inaccessible.  Kidnapping the three greatest racers from The Corona Cup will allow for a quick influx of funds once I leave this system.”

“Wait, that’s it?” said Carmen.  “This is just about money?”

“Yes, I apologize.  I do enjoy the reputation for high crimes that I have garnered across the galaxy, but to finance every robot army, death ray, and mass hypnosis I must, alas, sully my hands with the work of the common gangster.  Napoleon’s greatest weakness and tactical failing was a belief that his supplies were limitless, and I refuse to fall for such a self-imposed ruse.”

“You think the Racing Federation will just roll over and pay you?  I hate to say it, but a lot of those suits have backgrounds as people like me.  They might’ve sold out, but they’re not pushovers.”

“Oh, I know,” said The Soul Survivor.  “I have done this many times, and I’ve learned that those who run sporting events can afford great amounts of money, but they shouldn’t be treated greedily.  You have the hotheads who’ll try to ‘handle things themselves’, the villains who write off their employed celebrities as acceptable losses, even the pragmatists who’ll contact law enforcement agencies or mercenaries.  The trick… especially with people like you, Miss Shift… is to demand payment, but a small enough amount that the risk of jeopardizing you in some way is laughable from a financial standpoint.  It really is a business, you see.  I fully expect that I’ll be able to release you and your friends shortly.  Or, at least, shortly after I leave this system.  While the Dyson Empire hasn’t disrupted my own capabilities, they have deafened the ears of anyone who might hear what I have to say from here.  If you would, please follow the hall to the left.  The galley will be a more comfortable place for you than this hallway.”

Carmen turned and walked.  The ship was designed with only a single occupant in mind, and as such the walk was a brief one.  A door slid open as she neared the end of the hall, revealing a tiny room with food and beverage dispensers, a small table, and dim lighting.  A man in a pilot’s uniform stood as Carmen entered.

“Hello!” he said.  “It’s good to mee-”

“You!” said the voice of the Soul Survivor.  Instead of hearing the voice from all around as she had been, the voice now came from a device that Carmen had assumed to be a water cooler, but when she looked at it closely she saw that it was, in fact, a partially reconstructed version of the robotic body that The Soul Survivor was known for inhabiting.  The trademark dome, filled with bubbling water, was recognizable as soon as she focused on it thanks to the countless news reports that had featured him over the years.

“Me?” said Carmen.  “Yeah, me.  Your kidnapping victim.  Who else would I be?”

“I-”

A silence filled the room.  Carmen looked at the man at the table.

“Is he always this surprised by people?”

“No,” said the man, looking worried.  “Never.  I don’t know what’s-”

“Silence,” said The Soul Survivor.  “I’m sorry.  Miss Shift, seeing things through remote cameras does not always convey the same emotional resonance as they might when seen through my active sensors.”

“What emotional resonance?” said Carmen.  “I thought this kidnapping was just business.”

“It is.  Business to which I must return, in fact.  Xorn’Tal needs to be picked up and his fronds will make this more of a challenge.  This is Tan, the captain and pilot of this vessel according to The Dyson Empire.  He’s playing the role of my Renfield for today.”

“Would you mind not calling me that?” said Tan.

“Very well,” said The Soul Survivor.  “You can’t help but see a comparison though.”

“Even so.”

“Carmen, Tan will show you how the machinery works if you require sustenance.  Much of it requires his empirical code to activate, a hard-coded mechanism that I haven’t had the time or need to modify.”

The bubbling in the jar lowered after that.  Carmen looked at Tan and nodded.

“So.  You work for Emperor Dyson and The Soul Survivor at the same time?”

“I don’t work for The Soul Survivor per se,” he said.  “But we’re friends!  I’m putting my job on the line here, but he’s in a pinch and could use some assistance.  So… yeah.  I guess you could say I’m in both of those camps right now.”