7 - GRIEG

7

GRIEG

           A lone dark ship floated in the blackness, a planet of brown and orange suspended in spacetime before it.  On the ship's bridge sat two men, one dressed in a black tight fitting combat suit, the other in loose dark red every day clothes.  The one in the combat suit, Grieg, an Eid'kos of the Kynigos Protathlima, his clan of head hunters, sat smugly in his chair, his black featureless helmet upon his knee.  He surveyed the planet before him with cold dark eyes, his shoulder length blond hair slicked back on his head.  His hairless face lent to an illusion of youth but his malevolent smirk betrayed any potential façade of innocence.

          "Send word to D'Skalos that our mark is on Cadmus."

          "Tell him yourself, he's contacting us now."  The other, R'charios Jurai, pressed controls on his console as he spoke, allowing the video message to be displayed on the bridge's large, main monitor.  Upon it the face of D'Skalos appeared, a man without a name, only the most important title anyone could ever possess.  With it, he commanded legions of skilled warriors and hunters, including Grieg and Jurai, and had many times proven himself in combat as the one deserving of the title.  Upon his face he bore the marks of years of such a lifestyle, but his sharp grey eyes seemed ageless.  His mouth and lower jaw were hidden from view, as over them he wore the large jawbone of a primordial beast as a trophy.

          "Grand D'Skalos.  To what do I owe the pleasure?"  Grieg's tone was mixed with reverence and disdain.  He'd worshiped this man all his life, but recently he felt his time as D'Skalos was coming to a close.

          "Eid'kos Grieg, do you have a report on your current objective?"

          Grieg's eyes darted to his partner then back to the screen before he responded.  "I've tracked my prey to Cadmus, a heavily populated-"

          "Very good, but you've been reassigned."

          Grieg was shocked, and couldn't find the words to respond.  This was unheard of, especially for a high ranking Eid'kos such as himself.

           "Reassigned?" Jurai seemed just as perplexed as Grieg, as this was as much his mark as well.  Grieg shot Jurai a harsh look, an order of silence in its meaning.

          "Honorable D'Skalos, with all due respect I have a lot of time invested in this bounty.  A few hours at most is all I'll need to complete the contract."  Grieg remained stalwart in his composure, but knew it was fruitless to argue.  As D'Skalos, his leader had final word on such things no matter what, and, despite his own relatively high rank, Grieg could do or say nothing to sway his decisions.

          "That will not be necessary.  I've already dispatched another to finish your contract, someone who will find this meager mark a bit more of a challenge than you will."

          Grieg grimaced somewhat at D'Skalos' veiled insult.  What came across on the surface as a compliment and mild sarcasm stung just as bitterly as an open accusation of incompetence.  But Grieg knew he should have finished his target in deep space, and could have since it was merely a smuggler ship, barely held together with common adhesives and hope.  But he preferred looking his victims in the eyes, and aimed to finish off the ship's crew on Nostir.  He had to settle for some insignificant settler and his family, but it had to do for the time being.  However, his thirst for blood had yet to come close to being quenched.

          "I've been hunting my mark for quite some time and will see it through to the end."

          "You will do as your D'Skalos commands you, whelp!"  Whenever D'Skalos got angry it always instilled fear in those on the receiving end of his wrath, and, although he never would admit it, Grieg did as well.  He did not reply, allowing D'Skalos a chance to calm himself and continue.  "If you disagree with the commands of your master, then feel free to challenge me in combat as is our way.  Until then you will obey or be punished."

          Grieg remained silent in submission to his master.  He did fully intend to challenge him and take the mantle one day, but he was far from ready.  Being D'Skalos meant that the title's bearer was ever subject having one's authority tested by lesser warriors.  It was almost a fact that one's ability to rule the clan was determined by their combat prowess as much as their leadership capabilities.  Grieg had seen firsthand the skills his leader possessed, equal in efficiency and brutality, and knew he possessed not the abilities to be his equal.

          He gave thought to the instructor's commands for a moment before speaking.  "So which of my brothers gets to reap the bounty?"  Despite sounding earnest, he already knew D'Skalos' answer.

          "I have chosen Ana for this task.  Do you object?"

          Of course he did.  Ana always seemed to be nipping at Grieg's heels, always vying for opportunities to win favor with D'Skalos.  Females of rank in the clan were rare but not unheard of.  She had only been active for a relatively short time whereas Grieg had spent several years clawing his way upward.  She was skilled, yes, but it seemed D'Skalos favored her too much, and that her skill alone wasn't solely responsible for her success.  He shot another look at Jurai, his junior, then looked back again at D'Skalos, smirking.

          "Your favorite little pet.  You keep coddling her like this and she may end up dead."

          "Again, if you have a problem with the way I run the Protathlima, come challenge me.  Yes, I do favor her, but I also favor you as well, Eid'kos.  If I didn't, I would not tolerate this insubordination and disrespect."

          "Apparently not very much, otherwise you'd have her do this fecal assignment."

          "As a matter of fact, you're the only Eid'kos who can carry this fecal assignment out.  It requires the most precise of targeting, and you're my best shot."

          Grieg took a moment to ponder the words his D'Skalos just uttered.  There weren't many situations that required his sharpshooting skills, for usually he made his kills relatively up close.  One of his few stipulations for accepting a contract was that he wasn't restricted by proximity.  But D'Skalos was right, nobody else in the clan could land a shot at ranges above a kilometer as accurately and precise as he could.  It was a gift he didn't particularly care for, but it was one he was proud to have.  He believed a warrior's victim should know the one responsible for their end.  His tone went from being rebellious to one of genuine curiosity.

          "What's the assignment?"

         

* * * * *

          A chilling silence filled the unlit room, its sole living occupant watching, waiting.  The sound of a large crowd nearby could be heard, despite the doors and windows inside the room were all tightly sealed.  Grieg saw everything, though, even through the closed window, with his helmet.  He could cycle through the various wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum with it, and nobody could hide.  In the middle of the day like this on Adara, the building he was in was mostly empty, save for a few.  A little over thirty meters to his right a young couple was making love.  Below him an artist painted.  Above him a mother coddled her child.  Yet all were oblivious to what had happened in this room, and nobody could fathom what was about to.

          Grieg sat in one corner of the room, inspecting every inch of his rifle for defects.  Every angle, every curve was looked over painstakingly, no detail left unobserved.  

          His earpiece vibrated.

          "Status."  It was his junior, R'charios Jurai.

          "Vantage point located."  Grieg's response was low and toneless, his featureless helmet sightly digitizing his voice.  He looked to the pile of bodies he'd stacked in a corner of the room.  "Area secure."

          "Copy."  Silence came across the communications channel and Grieg continued to scrutinize his weapon.  Once he was finished he fancied smoking a cotine stick.  It wasn't like the former occupants were in any position to complain.

          He removed his helmet and immediately the smell of blood, like stale iron, filled his senses.  It was a wonderful smell, the smell of victory, and power.  His victims this time were hardly a challenge, and reminded him of the family he'd eliminated back on Nostir the day prior.  They were both weak, pathetic, undeserving of an existence in a galaxy that favored strength and skill.

          Grieg ran his hand over his hair as he placed his helmet on his knee.  His cold dark eyes dilated as they adjusted to the dimness of the room, which had been highly illuminated through his helmet's display. 

          He removed a stick from one of his many pouches adorning his tight fitting combat suit and ran it under his nose.  There weren't many people in the Coalition that could get their hands on Coranthi spiced leaf, and Grieg had never betrayed his sources to anyone.  Pulling a light from the same pouch he set it aflame, he savored the spicy sweet blend of the cotine leaf as its smoke entered his lungs.

          "Should have asked you to leave me one of those."

          "No smoking on the Black Hand."

          "Well when it's my ship I just might change the smoking rules."

          Grieg made his response after taking a deep drag from his cotine stick.  "You mean if it's your ship."

          Jurai didn't respond right away.  They'd had similar conversations before, and he was never very successful.  But Grieg always appreciated his ambition, a quality no man of the Kynigos Protathlima should be without.  But Jurai, despite being R'charios, still had a long way to go before he was piloting his own ship, much less Grieg's.

          "I don't know about you but I'll take this over looking for some smuggler nobody."

          "Political assassinations were never of much interest to me.  I'll take a good hunt over sitting in this stuffy room waiting for some bureaucrat snob to show his face and feed his people lies."

          "Well that smuggler will probably be more of a challenge for Ana than it would be for you."

          Jurai was right, but it didn't change the fact that Grieg had somewhat of a low opinion of the young warrioress who had taken his assignment from him.  There truly was no need, as soon as he was done here, he could have been back on Cadmus within hours, free to resume his hunt.  Plus an Eid'kos like himself to get reassigned in the middle of a mission was unheard of, and he bore much resentment to his leader for it.  Especially when his task was handed on a silver platter to a lower ranking M'peiros like Ana.  This was just one more instance to add to the list of reasons why he believed she was using more than just her skill to succeed.  Grieg would be nothing if it weren't for his strength and skill, and didn't believe that she deserved even to be a rank under him.

          "You know I like to see jobs through to the end, no matter the challenge.  Besides, D'Skalos coddles her too much.  He'll get her killed one day.  Either she'll take a job too far above her or make an enemy in the wrong person."  If she wasn't careful, Grieg could be that wrong person.  After all, there were only a limited number of Eid'kos in the Protathlima at any given time, and he could very well be the one she chose to challenge when the time came.  He would make short work of her.

          "You never did like her."

          "Well you and her were both E'diseis at the same time, and now look.  She's M'peiros and you're still just R'charios."  Pausing to take another drag, Grieg knew his words would sting Jurai but he felt the occasional condescension helped to increase motivation.  "D'Skalos favors her too much."

          "He favors you too, he hand picked you for this assignment."  Jurai spoke the truth, D'Skalos had chosen him for his superior marksmanship, of which nobody else in the clan could compete with.

          "True.  But if I were you and saw my equal rise in rank so quickly I'd be furious.  Could you best her in combat?"

          "It would be an interesting fight, to be sure, but even if I had to guess I couldn't say.  But if I challenged her and lost, yet survived, I couldn't live with the shame."

           "Neither could I.  But I don't fear her, and she knows that she'd fail.  That's probably why she has yet to challenge me."

          "I pity whoever does."

          Grieg grinned slightly.  He would never admit, but his words were somewhat hypocritical.  He'd risen to the rank of Eid'kos remarkably quickly.  Many of equal rank in the Protathlima were ten years his senior, but they never much troubled him.  The Eid'kos from whom he'd taken the title was a fool, and had made a mess of one too many assignments, where D'Skalos never trusted him with any that required any sort of skill.  It had been all to easy to best him in combat, and Grieg often wondered to himself how the man had become Eid'kos at all.

          But that was long ago, and there was only one direction to go for Grieg: upward.  One day he would challenge D'Skalos and beat him, or die.  In the case of the former, he'd take up the title of D'Skalos, his one true goal.  But until then he would satisfy himself with his current rank for now, focusing on honing his talents and passing down his knowledge, technique, and skills to the whelps entrusted under his care, such as young Jurai.

          "How much longer?"  Grieg took another drag from his cotine stick, his tone that of annoyance.

          "Not too much longer, thirty minutes at most.  They've still got some preliminary speakers before Sumari makes his appearance."

          "How much do you think our anonymous benefactor is paying for this job?"  Grieg, finished with his cotine stick, flung it to the corner where he'd stashed the former occupants' corpses, a faint sizzle sounding as the blood extinguished it.  He wished to know who had hired the Protathlima for this task, but only D'Skalos knew that secret.  Grieg knew from experience that nothing short of killing the man and demanding the information as he bled out on the ground would get him to relinquish such information.  Of what he could guess, there were two likely possibilities.  Perhaps it was either Federation loyalists that believed the Coalition should be annexed, or Coalition radicals that wanted to instill conflict between the two powers and weaken the Federation enough for a hostile takeover.  He could only guess that a hefty sum had been paid to eliminate the leader of the administration that allowed the Protathlima's continued operation without reprieve or interference.

          "Well, based on your cut, I'd fathom several hundred thousand merits.  I don't suppose I'll see any of it."

          "I haven't decided.  Did you find out anything about the Masara bombings?"

          "Nothing new.  No official statements have been released, but the Federation media's been covering it constantly.  Dozens of people have been imprisoned, some even rounded up in the streets and executed by Judicators.  No names released.  I didn't think you cared."

          "I don't, really, just somewhat curious."  As unlikely as it was, there was a third possibility for whoever wanted this man killed publicly.  Someone out there knew, or at least heavily believed, that he was responsible for these bombings, and wanted justice, or revenge.

          "Just let me know if any major information gets released."

          "Sure thing."

          Grieg paused for a moment before asking a question that had been at the back of his mind since he received the order from his leader.

          "Did D'Skalos say we were to return to Ost'Fengar after this?"

          "He wasn't all that clear.  Did you have something in mind?"  Grieg had a feeling that Jurai already knew the answer to that particular question.

          "Just entertaining a thought."

          "I don't have to remind you, Eid'kos, that interfering in another hunter's mission is forbidden."  With that statement, Grieg's suspicion had been proven true.

          "You don't have to remind me, R'Charios, but that wasn't at all what I was thinking."

          "Not at all?  Then what were you thinking?"

           Grieg paused again while he thought of the right words to say. "Well, maybe you were half right.  But maybe after she takes out that smuggler and his crew we take her out."

          "D'Skalos wouldn't like that."

           Grieg knew that.  The hunters of the Protathlima had their ways, and backhanded deception had no place among them.  He wasn't truly serious about the proposition, but it was an interesting idea.  "He doesn't have to know."

          "He prefers we kill each other in the arena.  There's too many variables out in the field"

          "Maybe the smuggler was too much for her and I had to finish the job after her unfortunate death?"

          "Just wait for her to challenge you if you want to kill her so much."

          "Honestly I don't really care, she just annoys me."  Grieg wondered if Jurai knew that he was jesting, and not serious about their conversation.

          "So, just kill anyone that annoys you?"

          "Possibly."  Grieg grinned, knowing that Jurai would grow nervous.

          "I'll keep that in mind."

          "Be sure you do."

          "Do I annoy you?"

          "Not at the moment, our conversation is helping the time go by."  Grieg's grin widened as the words left his mouth.

          "Trust me, I want to get this over with just as much as you."

          "I think this assignment excites you much more than it does me.  Whether or not anyone outside the Protathlima knows it, we'll change the course of history today."

          Silence contaminated the communications channel as Jurai dwelled on Grieg's words.

          "What do you mean?  What happens after this?"

          "We'll just have to see."

          "Right."  A few moments passed as the channel again fell to quiet.  "Eyes up, Sumari is about to make his appearance."

          Grieg didn't respond, but got up, withdrawing from his combat suit a long blade, and placing his helmet and rifle on the seat.  With the press of a button, the vibromotor within the blade came to life, humming quietly.  He moved over to one of the corpses in the opposite corner of the room and grasped one of their limbs.  With barely an effort, he managed to cut it free, careful not to allow too much blood to pour from the amputation.  Over where the bodies had been piled he used the severed limb to write upon the wall.  The message was simple, yet he knew it would be fairly easy to comprehend its meaning.

          Finished, Grieg moved back to his seat and scooped up his helmet and rifle.  His helmet slid snugly over his head, having been made to fit only him.  He could see everything again, and was able to confirm Jurai's words.  An older man, dressed in ceremonial attire, walked across the stage before a packed courtyard.  Cheers rang out as he appeared, and he waved to the crowd, smiling.  Grieg didn't care about politics, and never followed current events on such things, but it was common knowledge that Derrin Sumari was rather well liked among the Coalition.  It was rumored that even some people of importance in the Federation openly respected him.  What Grieg was about to do was sure to upset a great many people, of that he was certain.  Whoever wanted this man dead, be it someone from the Coalition or the Federation, probably knew what the repercussions would be.  No matter the who or why, either way, he had a feeling that with this assignment even the stars would shine red with the ensuing bloodbath.  With this assignment, he could very well be the spark that ignited the flames of war.

          He smiled as he raised his rifle and took aim, breathing slowly and taking note of his heartbeat.  Part of him hoped things got entertaining, as he was somewhat curious about what he could do during a period of open war.  There was only one way to find out.

          His sights focused on his target's heart, Grieg exhumed one last breath, and, inbetween heartbeats, pulled the trigger.  His high caliber round flew through the window of the room, through the windows of the next building, over the courtyard, and finally hit its mark.  Blood sprayed over those who stood behind him as it exited and hit the person directly at his back.  Grieg smiled again as he oversaw his work, confident the heart of the man now fallen to the ground had been completely rended by his round.

          "Remember the hundred and nine."