Yeoman Of Far N'way
A Coola-Tech Story
Innsport was the planet's only spaceport, where the installer commerce shipped in and out goods for trade. On the planet Sunbӓr, they have a monopoly on Rincar Salt, a prized preservative that made food last, and retain its nutrients for century long voyages in the Dark Beyond.
Guild Merchants did verbal battle to secure their share of the yearly harvest, a rare and renewable resource that had forever changed galactic travel and settlement. Often time assassinations and subterfuge were used as well as political back dealings.
Innsport was a port city built into a pit in the ground, where the people of the nation of Rincar, mined, processed, and sold the invaluable spice to not only the planet, but the entire galaxy. Imperial guard of the Rincar royal court oversaw law and order of the industrial city, often with a heavy hand in favor of the stall merchants, and aristocrats. Though the labor guild was not to be trifled with, if any justice would shed blood of their union members, it would fall tenfold on the accusers.
This has made Rincar a lawful but unjust place to live for the common folk, the farmers and the disassociated merchants. Also for travelers who if not arriving by ship would have to cross the long, serpentine canyon road. Going from over the marsh laden highlands, to the blood beast infested lowlands, and finally in the outlaw infested canyon country.
Paying their brigand license fees, cutthroats raid those immigrating to the city and the valleys surrounding it, and those merchants too destitute to travel by ship. Usually in heavily armed caravans, the brigands need more cunning and firepower to raid most travelers, only managing to immobilize one vehicle to be torn apart for scrap, executing their occupants.
Rarely and getting rarer, there is one who travels that long road, without a caravan, and in the case of yeoman Roche Moissonneur, not only was he alone, but he was riding a camel. Hailing from N’Way, specially the outlining province of Far N’Way, Roche was an agent of nobility for his nation, bearing the crest of the yeoman as a badge, pinned to his ebony toga.
Dressed all in black as if he were the angel of death, he was an albino rat, with eyes a deep crimson, as fiery as the lava rivers of his homelands. Fur as thin and pallidly pale as a dead body bleaching in the sun, and on his arms what seemed to be leathery sleeves. Indeed he was a rodent of regal proportions and well defined looks, this made him look like easy prey to the brigands, despite his overall threatening traits.
Sliding down the slope to the flank of the traveler, the brigands started to fire their dart guns at the albino. Ducking to the other side of his camel, the thick haired beast, had darts tangled in his overgrowth of hair, that gave it a shaggy appearance. As soon as one of the snarled tooth rodent brigands got into range, the camel churned a crimson sludge in his mouth and spat it in his face.
The brigand recoiled in disgust, but soon let out a buzzing scream, as he tried to brush away the mucus from his face, and to the horror of him and his comrades his face peeled off his fleshless skull. Eyes bulging out, his face was strung between his skull and his paw, as he let out one final plea for help, before collapsing dead.
Another wad of phlegm from the N’way camel was spat out, and as the brigands retreated, the wad landed on one of their hindlegs. The spit scum boiled on the flesh, stripping away flesh and muscle till only the bone remained. Unable to stand, the rat fell over, and saw a long figure leap up, and charge at the retreating brigands. Feet had spurs of long, lizard-like claws that allowed him to climb up the slope faster than his assailant, the albino yeoman pulled free a black bladed katana, etched with crimson lettering.
With a deft slice he sliced open the back of the closet of his intended robbers, as the dying rat clutched at the air, it seemed his entire essence was torn out of his body before he went still.
After another one was decapitated without remorse or hesitation, the rest tried to hold ground, but the slope was too uneven, and some lost their footing as they took aim. Trying to shoot at the albino was difficult, his eyes seemed to blink from left to right, as if he had a second set of eyelids, as his eyes changed to that of a feral, green eyed demon.
With a snarling hiss, Roche leapt into the air, pouncing down hard on the closest attacker, splitting his skull in two, brains and blood erupted from his skull. Finally, as if forced out by contractions, the entire thinking organ squeezed open his cloven skull, and fell onto the ground with a heavy wet sound. Skidding down the slope, the crippled rat, whose skeletal leg was snapping off his body, watched as the brain slid down and stopped inches from his face.
None of the brigands escaped, as they were eviscerated by the blood slick katana, which seemed to relish and vibrate as it soaked in still warm lifeblood. Under the tense heat of the Sunbӓr sun, the corpses blood sizzled under the heat, and the scent of death was quick to thicken. Only one was left alive, his leg crippled, trying to crawl away, but his exposed nerves flared up violently as he tried to crawl.
“No…don’t…by the Lion, spare me!”
Roche looked down at the rat, expressing no pity, or indifference, he could only guess what was being said by his assailant.
“I can’t hear you.” Roche was deaf, unable to hear a pin drop, what sensation he felt became an indication of sound. Loud bass music from a club band, the rhythmic drums of war of some desert war party, or a bombastic shaking of the ground to indicate some explosive disturbance.
Unable to hear the pleas, he decided it was more merciful to end his life, as his leg would become infected, and he would certainly die if left on his own. Unwilling to sacrifice his mission for the sake of a cruel, murderous soul, he did a swift cut, that numbed all feeling, and allowed the rat to die painlessly.
Brushing aside the darts tangled in his camel's fur, he fed his trusted beast some raisins, and climbed on it once more, before continuing to the city of Rincar.
***
Fire broke out in the city above the pit, darts were fired at the rioters, as port union workers were clashing with the Miners Guild. Blood was spilled and was drawn to the pit, where it flowed down, staining one side of the metallic walls of the pit red.
Roche rode through the open way gate leading into the city by the road, and was unsurprised by the rampant chaos. News quickly spread about the decrease in that year's harvest of salt, due mostly to over mining beforehand; it destroyed too many reservoirs, thus making the following year's yield unable to meet demand.
Many say the Guilds did that on purpose to increase prices, but the Guilds claim it is the union workers skimming off the top for the black market. Either case, many merchants and representatives were going to gather in the stock exchange, in the higher levels of the pit, to place their bids for salt that year.
All of which would prove futile for them, as Roche carried an edict that would see him made a public enemy. Riding his camel past the steadily declining mayhem, he was harassed by the Imperial Guards, who with metallic batons beat the skulls of the two sides, brawling in the streets.
Sounds of cracking bones, and the waterfall of blood slowly faded as Roche went into the admittance building. Inside it was sterile, blue and white panels covered the walls and ceiling, and the floor was miserably cold. The air conditioning was cranked to full blast, which agitated Roche’s warm blood. His home was comfortable if not scathingly hot, and proved fatal to those who are more accustomed to cooler climates.
Dismounting his camel, he tied his beast harness to a nearby post.
“Hey, you can’t leave that here.” the mouse administrator pointed at the camel who was being soothed by his master’s strokes and hard candy, which it gummed at in its toothless mouth.
Roche presented his paperwork, which the mouse scowled at but took, and read earnestly. After his tiny eyes widened, the mouse went “tsk” and handed back the papers.
“If you’re not back by midday tomorrow, the beast will be quarantined.” Roche walked away, leaving the mouse to believe he didn’t heed the warning. “Arrogant blood eyes.” The mouse went back to his desk, but was distracted from his paperwork by the camel, who kept staring at him, its black eyes trained on the mouse.
A glob of drool dripped from the camel’s mouth as it savored its treat, which landed on the floor, where it started to burn a hole. Afraid that the camel would spit its acidic mucus at him, the mouse remained as still as possible, hoping the albino rat would return soon.
***
The exchange chamber was erupting in a roar of dissatisfied vendors and representatives throughout the galaxy. Lizards, rodents, and avians all argued amongst themselves and the Rincar Minister of Salt, who felt unsafe, even behind his personal guard.
“Please, we must have order. We only have seventy pounds of salt on offer this year.” Despite the small size, even a small grain of Rincar Salt can be used for food preservation, creating vats full of medicine, and other such scientific wonders.
“That’s because you let those greedy mice corner the market last year!” roared a lizard, who had had a long hatred for the mice and their monopolizing business syndicate.
“We were only trying to meet demand, we are digging more reservoirs and more salt will be available next year, but—”
“But you'd rather make a windfall this year, now salt has hit an all time high!” interrupted a mole rat, whose enormous stature had him tower over the rest in the crowd.
So much commotion, blaming, and shaming was hurled at the minister, that he didn’t notice a N’way rat enter the chamber, and make his way to the podium. Guards stopped him from reaching the minister, but he flashed a parchment with the royal N’way insignia on it, and he was reluctantly allowed a direct audience.
A guard led the way for the albino, till both of them stood before the minister, who was too engulfed with fighting off verbal attacks to notice them, till the whole chamber went quiet. Turning to look at the guard, the minister had a look of confusion on his face, till the rat’s brown fur seemed to turn gray at the sight of the familiar looking edict clutched in Roche’s paw.
“Not this year.” He couldn't speak properly, his words sounded like whispers. Roche held out the edict, but the minister shook his head violently. “We can’t do it… not this year.” he looked at the crowd and knew he’d be killed, either by assassination or by the angry mob if he obeyed the edict.
However if he refused N’way would have his life, and those of his royal superiors forfeit, for he was responsible for fulfilling a pact, made even before the discovery of Rincar Salt. A debt that was owed, and must be repaid through the generations, to refuse would lead to the utter decimation of the Rincar Royal Family.
Not by arms or subterfuge, but by the complete destruction of the salt that although refined and harvested in the pit, has its origins in the volcanic lands of N’way. Minerals carried by the lava flow, as eventually fed into rivers of sulfur, then hot water, then finally pools into the underground lakes, where the salt is harvested.
The edict calls for a tribute, every decade to be paid by the minister on behalf of the Rincar Royal Family, in their most valuable asset. Salt, before it was diamonds, before that gold, but now it was salt, and at a critical time, the loss of the tribute amounting to fifty pounds would leave the minister personally in debt.
For it is the Minister Of Salt’s responsibility to pay off this debt, even out of his personal finances. Crestfallen, the minister was at a loss for words, he couldn’t believe he was left with selling off twenty pounds of salt. After he paid off the Guilds, unions, and given the Royal Family their profit, he’d have to take out a line of credit from the Mouse Banking Syndicate to pay off the rest.
Years of profit spent on paying off a problem those blasted mice created. If he denied the albino his salt, he’d be marked for death, and they’d likely destroy the salt making process on their end, thus throwing Rincar, Sunbӓr, and the entire galaxy in turmoil.
“What does that blood eye want?!” a member of the crowd shouted. A mob can sense apprehension, as a shark could taste blood in the water, it was a natural killing instinct driven into overdrive off the cliff of civility.
The Minister left the chamber, leading Roche and a guard with him, leaving the mob to be dumbfounded, then enraged as they rushed the podium. Entering the back offices, the Minister had the doors sealed shut, as he went to the vault containing the bags of salt. Ten pounds per sealed, air tight bag, that needed a special blade to open.
“Here, take it and leave you damned rat!” The Minister was anxiety prone and was hyperventilating so much, he reached for his opium inhaler to calm his nerves. “I’ll speak to the crowd by telecom, I suggest you take your salt, and leave before they realize you took the majority of the—” as the minister turned around the albino was gone, and he was only left with twenty pounds of salt. “—Lion’s mercy.” he whined as he inhaled more opium vapor to calm his stricken nerves.
***
Roche saw the mouse at the front desk was relieved when he returned to fetch his camel, who had long finished his treat, and was bored. As soon as he saw his master, the camel stood up, and started to let out a long, yawning cry.
Petting his beast, Roche carried on his shoulders bags of the prized salt, and heaped it over his mount’s hump. The mouse’s eyes widened as he saw the royal insignia on the bags of salt, to his estimation the albino was taking with him nearly the entire year’s salt harvest, valued in the quad-trillions.
He watched the albino mount his camel, and ride him out of the offices, leaving the little mouse to scheme. Looking around for any eavesdroppers he reached for a phone, and dialed up his brother at the Salt Exchange.
“Hi, Liamski, it’s me…your brother…yes that one…shut up and listen, I just saw an albino rat leave with a fortune of salt…yes Rincar Salt, he is leaving on camel so he isn’t going by ship…on the road you dolt…listen do you want to corner the market or not.”
***
Wrüin the Toadmaster of the swamps of Vegars IX, was infuriated, after intense bidding, and back door negotiations, not to mention paying for the best assassins, he only walked away with one measly pound of salt. Everyone got far less, some would see it as a triumph, but he was incensed when he realized the N’way rat invoked his people’s edict, and was leaving to his barbaric country with a planet’s worth of salt.
“Damn his eyes!” the toad roared, as he slammed his webbed hands on the console of his ship. “I must get that salt.” Greed flared in the toad's eyes, as he set coordinates to follow the road, preparing his ship’s weapons to precisely dispatch the pale rat, while leaving the salt undamaged.
Coordinates set, he flew off down the path, turning on his ship's cloaking, in order to get a surprise attack on the rat.
***
Heat from the twilight had eased to a chilling night, Roche, had a long way to travel home, and his camel was growing weary. He needed a place to rest for the night, aware that many eyes saw him leave with the prized salt. Diverging from the main road, he went into the hills, trying his best to climb the rocky slopes, avoiding sand as it would leave a clear trail for him to be followed.
A threatening sensation filled the air, he was certain that even if he couldn’t smell or see the enemy, they were coming, if not already there, hidden by some amorphic science. Climbing the slope took longer than expected, the camel was more weary than expected, and would stagger as it reached the top of the hills. The way down led to large dunes, littered with steep ridges, and fissures leading deep into the world.
That gave Roche an idea, as he led the camel down the slope he felt something whoosh past his head. It was a dart, and it scraped the side of his exposed scalp, as he had done his hair up into a mohawk. Looking back he saw assassins wearing camouflage, ninja uniforms, scaling the hillside, armed with the most deadly longer range dart rifles on the market.
Pulling his camel along, Roche urged the camel to make a dash down the rocky slope, as he hopped ahead, keeping pace with his rushing beast. Reaching the bottom of the slope, he took the salt and provisions front he camel, removing the reins, he spanked the beast, to indicate its freedom.
Letting out a bemoaning cry, the camel charged out into the desert landscape, to find its way back in N’way, whether its master would find his own way back was yet to be told. Before the ninjas could reach the slope, Roche found a black crevice, and after drawing his katana and checking it for scorpions. Dodging at the last moment, a large black stinger stuck out and tried to stick him, but he was fast, he saw the slow approach of the lethal appendage, and dodged. Before the scorpion could climb out he dashed up a rise, leaping with fifty extra pounds of salt, between hills and ridges to outpace the gigantic, lethal predator.
Snapping its claws, the scorpion had the body of the typical insectoid but the torso of a long extinct humanoid ape, of beauty of a voluptuous goddess (by the dead races standards). Black pearl eyes where the womanly torso met the head of the scorpion, searched for the rodent that tried to invade its den, but saw prey appear over the rise just ahead.
Rushing towards the ninja stalkers, at first the platoon of rodent mercenaries weren’t sure what was coming at them, in the deepening night, not till one turned on his tactical light. The scorpion’s black claws reached out for them, as it swiftly approached, and in panic they fired at the creature’s dense hide. Darts bounced off it, but it wasn’t enough to save two of them from being eviscerated by the black claws that crushed their rib cages, before rupturing their organs into mush.
Bringing the dead creatures to the humanoid torsos mouth, the woman’s maw elongated as if it were a snake, and the limb bodies were inserted into the mouth and vanished into its acidic digestive system. Satisfied with the meal, the monstrous scorpion impaled a fleeing assailant with its stinger, and carried it off to eat later in its den.
Waiting a short period of time, the ninjas came out of hiding, and climbed the rise again, using their long distance binoculars, night vision, and goggles, they managed to see the albino’s paw prints in the sand. Although after they followed it for several miles, they realized the tracks turned around on themselves, and impossibly seemed to split off in multiple directions at the bottom of a dune slope.
That was when they realized that they had walked into the opening of nearly a dozen scorpion dens, which were concealed by the now still sands. The massive black forms shifted away the sands, and exposed maws of rock, where the scorpions crawled out of, snapping their claws, and descending in a tight circle on a group of prey.
Sounds of dart guns echoed in the air, followed by gruesome cries, and then silence.
***
Days passed and Roche on foot had only managed to reach halfway to his homeland. Already he could see the desert fade away in marshland, as he was nearing the sulfuric air of his domain. Hair bristling in the static electricity thick in the air, it seemed as if a dangerous storm was coming, but something else. Although he felt little change in the wind, he could swear something was dogging his trail.
It wasn’t the ninjas, he misdirected them to certain death, no this was a far more formidable stalker, one that was nearing his position. In the radiance of the sun he couldn’t see it approach the horizon, but as he scanned the distant landscape he saw the silhouette of something moving on the barren rock.
Seemingly it appeared to be a gigantic bird of prey, but no, it was stiff as it moved, it was a spacecraft, one that was equipped with cloaking technology. Closing the distance with its prey, the dark silhouette sped across the ground, then hovered where Roche stood. After some time a red light appeared to hover thirty feet in the air.
A supersonic sound vibrated in the atmosphere, scanning the environment the sensor couldn’t detect any life on the surrounding surface. Though there was a margin for error, especially if the target was aware it was being hunted, and took precautions to hide from the sensor sweep.
Wrüin inside his cockpit couldn’t believe he was spotted, but then again he was dealing with an agent of N’way, who are known to expert survivalists and warriors. Despite failing to detect his whereabouts, the scanner did indicate that something was traveling below. Scans indicate paw prints left indentations in the mud, which suddenly vanished, the computer calculated several places the target might hide.
Long jumping, the albino could be hiding under concave rocks, into caves, or a dense brush of spare swamp forestry. Blasting him out of hiding would more likely than not damage the salt, losing precious value to the product he wants to appropriate to his possession. Landing the ship and searching on foot would prove too hazardous, thinking it best to wait it out, the ship hovered in the air, keeping the scanners alert to any movement.
Several minutes past and only minimal movement was detected, none that would indicate the rat was on the move, the Toadmaster felt his patience wearing out, till his console started to make a shrill beeping sound. The target was one the move, following it, he saw it on the console, the blinking dot representing the albino rat, on a green grid running north by northeast, into the swamp.
Moving swiftly from tree to tree and bush to bush, the rat was anticipating a shooting, which indeed happened, after leaving the protection of the tree, Roche burden with bags of salt ran to the next place for cover. Plasma darts, expensive laser rounds fired and missed only by a matter of inches.
Adjusting his aiming, he waited for the albino to move to the next tree, and once again he moved out in a hurried dash, but was grazed in the hindleg by one shot. A scalding wound burned through his fur, and he was forced to madly limp to the next tree, a towering, spiraling tree with heavy brush.
That tree was where Roche stayed put, he didn’t move, and instead hid deep under the twisted knots of roots sticking out of the ground. Again Wrüin’s patience was tested, and this time he decided to risk damaging the salt. Firing a large, concentrated shot at the tree branches, he was delighted to see its moist foliage get set ablaze.
Purple and crimson fire swirled, but something else moved in the flames, a swarm, a deadly swarm of Sunbӓr Wasps, the deadliest in the galaxy. Large purplish carapaces, with long spindly legs, and razor sharp wings, they were the size of mice, and were evacuating their now burned up hive to seek revenge.
Immediately their insect eyes could see through the ship's cloaking, and in a buzzing fury soared up, and began tearing at the ship’s shielding. Panels were ripped, the viewing screens were punctured by long stingers, and the Toadmaster tried to fly away, but his thrusters were damaged.
Eventually Wrüin was spared a prolonged, tortuous death by being slowly devoured by the vindictive wasps, as he was incarcerated when his ship exploded, after the wasps ruptured his fuel tanks. After the destroyer of their hive crashed to the ground below, and was quickly enveloped in fire, the wasps flew off to look for a new place to rebuild their nest, ignoring Roche who continued his journey.
***
All pursuits ended when Roche crossed the first lava stream, which started the boundary of the N’way kingdom. Crossing the scalding hot, rock bridge, the heat didn’t bother his thick skinned soles on his paws. Once he made it across the fire fields of a comforting, scalding hot realm, he made it to the high cliff overlooking the lake of fire. A large body of magma where an underground volcano overflows its immensely hot life blood to the surface.
There he was met by the Grand Fathers, the leaders of the Faith Of Fire, the religion of N’way, where they awaited him, dressed in their ceremony robes of crimson and white colors. Standing at the top of the cliff overlooking the imminent doom to all who fall into the crimson lake.
No words were said, out of the gravity of the rite, but also Roche couldn’t hear, carrying the salt up to the awaiting religious figureheads, five of them grabbed a sack of the prized salt. Without a word, each of the N’way rats threw their bag into the fire, forever destroying it, as was their custom for all payments collected by Rincar.
All to pay for a debt that could never be fully repaid, so all that is given to them by edict is thrown into the fire, to sate the fiery rage of a jihad that had been long forestalled by the arrangement. Once the salt was fully disintegrated by the fire, the priestly rats, and the deaf albino returned to their homes, to meditate on the peace that offering has brought.