Oh Maja!

From our spilled blood your jungles grew dense. Our anguished cries only aroused the hunger of your denizens, but we survived, burning you back with fire and the force of will given to desperate beings.

We took the pillars. We built sanctuaries and flourished.

But when we at last began to tame you, you called the Lizards from beyond the stars.

There was only death and unimaginable horror to be found at their claws, but that was always your way.

Nothing weak long survives your embrace, but you have made us strong.

We survived.

We will thrive.

Lamentations of Maja

Historian Jubilee Taete, Illuminated

The central lift was full today. It brimmed with citizens as they traveled on the expansive platform that moved between the levels of the pillar city. Two Centurions of the legion were among them, black hooded robes pulled up and fastened tight over their armor, capable of concealing their identities from the casual passerby.

The level lift was so large that its sides disappeared from view in all directions and hundreds of thousands of beings could ride it at any given time, and today it looked like they were. It was kept dimly lit and very cold, verging on too cold, to prevent the passengers from becoming overheated by the constant mass of bodies.

A large hover sled piled with colorful produce fresh in from some distant settled estate in the jungle brought with it a ripe exotic scent as it moved alongside the Centurions, its owner an older male darkly tanned and shriveled from years spent in the sun, perched on the front seat of the sled, directing the laborer bionic that pulled the sled in the front with a small control he kept clutched in his weathered hand.

“Fancy a taste of my juicy fruit?” The farmer said, with a chuckle. “ Perfectly ripe heart melons, just in from Wiltenbad on the coast. You won’t find them fresher anywhere in the pillar. Ten ducats for two!” The Farmer directed the bionic to stop, angling its trajectory with his controller, so that his hoversled would block the Centurion’s path and force a closer inspection of his wares. He gripped the side of his seat, to steady himself when the bionic abruptly stopped, accustomed to often utilizing this method to accost travelers that he found on the lift. He quickly reached behind himself and took a fruit from the teeming pile and held it out right in the Centurions face for them to see the quality of the produce.

“Not today, citizen, now get out of our way and move along.” Centurion Moloch said sternly, looking up so that the Farmer might peer into his hood. The other hooded figure crossed his arms in annoyance.

The farmer's hairy gray eyebrows knit together and then rose in recognition, when he saw the helmeted gaze of a Centurion peering impassively at him from under the hood.

“By the Light.” He swore under his breath. “I’ll be on my way then, I apologize, noble sirs! I meant no disrespect to the Legion!” he said, quickly tucking the fruit away punching the button hard on his control so that the laborer bionic pulling the cart accelerated quickly forward, almost causing the pile of fruits to tumble from the back of the hover sled, as it swerved off into the crowd in search of another customer.

“I thought you said this contact was reliable.” The other hooded Centurion said.

“It will be. Let's wait a little while longer. The contact said that the Omanreks dealing the gene juice will make the exchange with the hybrids when the level lift reaches sixty one, a little ways back from the main door.”

“Well we are at level sixty, and one more level from now and we’ll know soon enough if you dragged me on another one of your wild groose chases.” Krasus said, as he adjusted his hood, and walked up to stand beside a clone peddler's wagon.

The clones inside the peddler's wagon were seated straight backed with hands resting on their knees in two neat rows facing each other. They were an assortment of sizes and genders with prices written in an oily black script on the top of their chests. Their only clothing was a pair of snug fitting elastic shorts. They turned to look at the Centurions, favoring them with vacant stares from large doe eyes. Their faces wore untroubled smiles.

The peddler had two scantily clad clones dancing with each other to a flat tune while a small crowd watched their acrobatics.

“Observe!” He said with practiced ease. “These clones have been grown using the best gestation tanks and the most sophisticated conditioning routines! Cleaning, cooking, butlering, whatever you could imagine! They can do! Great as a single purchase, best in a pair! Clones get lonely, you know, and they are comforted having another one of their kind around! Fodder is simple, you can just keep em on nutrient paste and water. Watch they love the stuff!”

To prove his point he pulled out a tube of nutrient paste labeled “sweet” that had the bottom rolled up to get every last bit out of the tube. He put a small dollop on the end of his finger and dramatically fed it to one of the clones on the end of the cart.

It greedily licked the paste off the end of his finger, like a newborn calf suckling on its mother’s teat.

“I’ll include two tubes of my special formula, with each purchase! If anyone else in the pillar can beat this deal, I’ll eat a whole tube myself!” He made as if to taste the paste but as he brought it up to his nose, and actually caught the scent, he tried to keep himself from gagging.

“Just kidding!” He said quickly, as he tucked the tube away in the pocket of his red felt showmans coat. “It's not fit for our consumption.” He laughed and the crowd laughed with him, as did the clones in the cart.

“See how good tempered they are!” The peddler said as he prowled back and forth searching for any signs of interest in the faces of the onlookers who had assembled to inspect his wares.

The clone pair whirled around in each other's arms, gracefully twirling and leaping together as they capered about. They were skilled at dancing to be sure, but the dance was lacking something, it was performed with a cold methodical precision, that came from repetition, and it was absent any of the passion flair that usually accompanied such steps.

“Could those be the Omanreks your contact mentioned?” Krasus said, discreetly indicating a group of six tall persons wearing round tasseled caps who had gathered with a dented bionic porter that had green tarnish at each of its joints. It carried a large pack on its back.

“I think it looks like my contact might be right after all.” Moloch said, smiling under his helmet.

“Don’t get cocky Moloch. There is a first time for everything. Besides, these could just be innocent Omanreks traveling on the lift.” Krasus said irritably as he held a gloved hand up to cover his nose. “By the void these clones stink. The very least this peddler could do is give them a hose down before he takes them out for sale. Look at how crude their conditioning is. Krasus said quietly as he pointed at a slender pale female clone with uncombed long black hair that was seated in front of him. It turned to look down at him, then she gave him a wide smile. All that peddler did was focus on their looks, but their heads are as empty as the abyss. I wouldn’t trust them to draw a bath and not drown in it.”

“Bath time!” The clone said in a very pleased voice, clapping both of her dainty hands together while beaming a perfect smile down at him, its skin unblemished and smooth despite being covered with layers of dirt and grime.

“Yes, Bath time. You sure could use it.” Krasus said exasperated, looking away from her and looking back towards the Omanreks.

A hulking humanoid figure in a faded green bodysuit complete with a full face mask approached the Omanreks, and began talking with them. The figure towered over them, speaking in a grunting low tone and indicating the pack that the bionic was carrying.

One of the Omanreks held up a hand, demanding something from the humanoid figure. It grunted its assent and pulled a long slender ducat chit from a deep front pocket holding it out for the leader of the Omanreks to inspect.

Satisfied, the Omanrek gave a brusk order to the bionic that carried the pack. The porter unslung its burden and held out the weathered satchel, its dry metal joints creaking as it stooped over to allow the large newcomer to inspect the pack’s contents.

“Then what do you make of that?” Moloch said looking over to Krasus, who was already using a small drone bionic, directing it with his intelor a short distance above the clone cart the film the exchange.

“I think we found ourselves a gene juice deal.” Krasus said. I’m just marking the targets now. As he said those words, other much smaller drones the size of honeybees detached themselves from its parent drone and buzzed away into the throng of citizens and merchants. “Nothing like a little insurance to make sure they can’t get away from us in the crowd .”

Moloch moved beside Krasus and rested his hand on the side of the cart. It drew far less attention to watch the exchange by peeping around the clone cart, than to be caught staring at the dealers in the crowd while they made the exchange.

“Gottem.” Krasus said, “all the parties are marked and in observation by the wasps.”

Moloch felt a hand touch his. It was one of the clones from the cart. A male clone with a thick shock of auburn hair and fair white skin, had reached down and taken his hand from where he had casually placed it on the cart.

It started to shout happily. Clones like these were conditioned to enjoy physical contact above all else. The shouting from his wares drew immediate attention from the peddler, who walked over to see what was going on. When he saw Moloch trying to extricate himself from the clone's grasp, he put both his hands together in a gesture of joyful acknowledgement, smiling broadly from under his thick brown mustache.

“See how gentle my creations are? Sir, this is a match made by the light itself! See how happy he is to just be close to you!”

“I am happy!” The red haired clone declared, the intonation in its voice all wrong.

The peddler walked around the side of the cart, peering closely at the pair of Centurions and bending to look under the hoods of Krasus and Moloch.

He smiled just like one of the clones sitting in his cart.

“Observe good people! My wares are of such fine orientation and disposition they have drawn attention from Centurions of the Legion itself! If that doesn't speak to their quality what does?”

The Omanreks and the humanoid in the midst of their gene juice deal lifted their heads at that statement, following the gazes of the crowd who had turned to fix their stares on the Centurions.

Moloch wrenched his hand away from the clone and stepped out from behind the cart, with Krasus beside him. They pulled back their hoods, and pointed at the group of Omanreks.

“Stop in the Name of the Emperor! Kneel down and put your hands on your head!” He commanded, pointing at the group.

The battered bionic lifted its mechanical hands up, and knelt down turning its head from side to side.

“I surrender!” It cried out.

The Omanreks and their buyer responded as many seasoned criminals do when greeted by law enforcement.

They hastily drew their emitters and opened fire on the Centurions and the crowd.

“Krasus get down!” Moloch shouted and ducked to one side, as a blazing emitter shot whistled past. The Centurions drew their own emitter pistols and shot two of the Omanreks. Moloch plugged one of them in the chest and Krasus drilled the other in the throat.

They clutched at the wounds and fell to their knees as large sections of their flesh began melting away. Emitter shots dissolved anything they hit unless it was specially armored and within moments of impact the area struck by the show would be turned into a cloud of dusty cinders.

The large humanoid in the body suit seized the pack from the bionic and began lumbering away, as fast as its bulky form would allow shoving anyone aside who got in his way. Moloch could hear the tiny wasp Krasus released, chitter something in vocablish and buzz away after it.

Pandemonium broke out as the citizens began fleeing the vicinity, trying to get as far away from the emitter fire as possible. The clone peddler leapt on the cart, making some inputs into the control console, and began slowly driving it away. The clones clapped and cheered joyously like children in a hayride, as shots rang out all around them. “Fun, Fun!” They cried.

The peddler called down to the dancers from the safety of the cart, commanding them to climb aboard. But the clone pair ignored him and kept dancing together unfazed by and if they had any idea what the fuss was all about, they gave no indication of it.

When it became obvious to the peddler that they were ignoring him, he cursed them and leaned down on the cart’s controls, moving it as far away from the conflict as he could.

Pfunkt! Moloch was struck directly in the chest by a shot from an Omanrek. The armor of his chest plate crinkled and weezed as it absorbed the shot. The fabric from his robe smoldered as a large hole dissolved out of it.

He spun and fired, missing the Omanrek. This one separated itself from the group and had taken cover beside a cart that held neat bolts of fabric spun carefully around large spools. The Omanrek was young barely an adult, with a thin tall frame and fuzzy mustache.

Moloch stomped towards him, holding his emitter at the ready.

The young Omanrek started to panic, looking around for anything that could give him an edge. He lunged forward and seized the citizen who owned the cart, pulling her to him, as she yelped with surprise.

He put his stubby emitter to the older female's silver haired head.

“Not another step, Centurion. Or this one dies.” The old lady stared up at the Omanrek who held her by the neck with hard angry eyes.

Moloch stopped and lowered his emitter.

“Alright let's just take it easy, okay? Lets not do anything stupid.” He said in his best soothing voice.

However the old merchant lady had other ideas.

“So You’d take me captive huh? So you’d muss up my wares huh? I had almost made a large sale when you and your rowdies started shooting at the good Centurion, now you’ve scared my customers away! I’m a forty-niner, you know! You don’t slight me and get away with it. We’re tough as krakon teeth and twice as sharp!”

She shouted at him acting for all the world like the Omanrek didn’t have an emitter pressed to her temple.

“Quiet you!” The Omanrek demanded his voice cracking, and going into a high warble. He tried to harshly shake the old lady into silence.

“I’ve had enough of you! Let me go!” She shouted into his ear. The young Omanrek cringed instinctively from the volume of her shout.

Loosening his grip was all the room she needed and she bit down on his hand, and stomped down hard on his toes with the pointed metal heel of her well worn boot.

The simultaneous inputs of pain into the Omanrek’s mind struck him witless with confusion. He snatched his hand away in surprise, like someone bitten by a wild animal and began hopping on one foot, the emitter in his opposite hand forgotten as he shouted obscenities down at the short old lady. She rushed forward and shoved him hard as he hopped about, sending him sprawling to the metal grating of the lift floor in a tangled mess of limbs as his emitter tumbled from his grasp and slid out of reach.

“Serves you right! You Omanreks think you're so good with your silly hat tassels, your hot festering level and whenever you come to the central lift you’re always pushing people around. Next time you’ll think twice about messing with a forty-niner!” She said with satisfaction, hooking a thumb to point at herself. “Omanreks Indeed!”

“But my mother made me this hat!” The Omanrek cried, as he ruefully rubbed at the back of his head where he had struck it on the grating.

Suddenly the Omanrek’s mind cleared and his eyes darted to his emitter just a short distance away. He scrambled to his feet and lunged for the weapon.

Moloch was already upon him, kicking the emitter away and shooting him in the knee. He howled in pain, as his joint began to dissolve into ash, the limb separating from itself, the flesh charring and curling up like a piece of leather thrown into a bonfire.

The Omanrek wailed in pain. “This is never going to heal right. Never! This is legion brutality!” He sobbed.

“Quit your whining scum. At least your toe doesn't hurt anymore.” Moloch said, looping an incapacitation hoop over his head. It automatically retracted to a snug fit around his neck. You’re under arrest. Don’t be stupid and try to run away. Don’t be stupid and try to remove the hoop. If you do, its going to pop you real hard. You can just lay there and blubber until the lift constables arrive to collect you.”

“At least give me something for the pain, curse you!” The young Omanrek cried out, tears pouring down his face.

“Yeah, fine, okay.” Moloch said, and set his emitter to stun. He shot the Omanrek, and watched as he quivered and laid still.

“Apologies madam, and thank you for the assistance.” Moloch said as he turned back to the old lady. She had already climbed aboard her hover-cart and was moving it off to another place on the lift, which was undisturbed with emitter fire and the cries of the wounded. She did favor Moloch with a farewell wave and smile.

Krasus had not stopped charging the rest of the Omanreks. He kept firing as he walked towards them. His aggressive tactic had begun to seriously unnerve them, causing them to miss the majority of their shots despite him moving closer and presenting a larger target.

As he confidently strode forward, he sent a relentless storm of emitter fire their way. The shots the Omanreks had managed to hit, struck his armor and were absorbed, his torso twisting with each impact his strong legion plate protecting him. For each shot his armor absorbed he returned with lethal retribution, putting down the Omanreks methodically one after the other with ruthless efficiency. The last Omanrek seeing his fellows fall, put his hands on his head, casting the emitter pistol away as it clattered to the metal grating of the lift.

“Okay, you win, Centurion. I surrender.” He said, pitifully.

Krasus kept walking, his emitter trained on his center mass.

“Don’t shoot, I surrender! See I’m unarmed!” He shouted his eyes growing wide with terror.

Still Krasus kept walking forward until he was within arms reach of the Omanrek. Then he cocked his arm back and brought the butt of his pistol right into the criminal's nose with a wet crunch. He cried out and fell to his knees, both hands going to his face to stop the torrent of blood that poured from his nose.

“Well you’re under arrest, Omanrek, if that wasn't obvious. Krasus said.”

“Where is the gene juice?” Krasus asked.

“That void cursed hybrid stole it. He ran off that way!”

The Omanrek removed a bloody hand from his nose and pointed to his right, his voice pitched high in a pleading tone.

“Put out your hands.” Krasus demanded.

The Omanrek did as he was instructed, head bowed with hands out. Krasus removed an incapacitation hoop from a compartment on his belt and looped it over his head.

“You know the drill. Move and the hoop will pop you senseless. Wait here on your knees for the lift constables to get you.”

The Omanrek’s bowed his head and his shoulders sagged. “Whatever you say man! I’m not going anywhere!”

Krasus pulled out his intelor and made some inputs on the device that would summon the lift constables to their location.

Then he checked the wasp’s feed and was pleased to see that it had followed the hybrid in the body suit and was watching him squat down nonchalantly in a corner by the lift door behind a crowd of other citizens.

“I’ll be with you in a moment.” Krasus said to him as he walked over to where Moloch was standing, also checking the video feed in his helmet to orient himself in his pursuit of the hybrid.

Krasus held up his intelor. “The creature ran this way. The wasp is still tracking him.”

“You handled yourself well, brother.”

“Don’t I always?” Krasus said with a grin, as the pair pulled up their hoods and walked slowly off into the crowd.

“Why don’t you just use a helmet like the rest of us. Then you won’t have to use an intelor for everything. Plus there is the added benefit of surviving a headshot.”

“If you and the rest of the Centurions want to wear buckets on your head, be my guest. But if I covered these good looks there would be outrage from level eighty one to surface city!” He said.

Moloch smiled under his helmet.

“I bet.”

Krasus’s statement was not just conceited boasting. He was a good looking male, with a tall slender aristocratic frame, lean muscles and strong features that served as helpful allies in his romantic pursuits. He was also wealthy and held a noble title from his family's settled estate, which didn’t hurt him either. If a noble family in the Republic wished to retain their titles of lordship that they would have to send a son to serve as a Centurion in the legion for ten cycles.

Krasus was their only son, and as such the obligation of service fell to him and he did not hesitate when frustrated or deep in his cups to remind others of how much he resented the duty.

Moloch was from the Legion, now a Centurion like his father before him. He couldn’t imagine a life outside of his service. He was a little taller than Krasus, broad shouldered and well muscled from many cycles of hard training. He had come up through the ranks, hacking and shooting his way through hordes of the Republic’s enemies as they amassed and charged his way to find death at the point of his voidblade or the end of his emitter barrel. Despite all the carnage he had seen he still had an easy smile and kind disposition towards the citizens of the republic and his Legion brothers.

Centurions, were a combat role in the Legion where they were charged with leading a Centuri of Legionnaires into battle, or conducting small operations such as the one he was currently on. Moloch liked being a Centurion and he harbored no desire for advancement, only a genuine honest need for service to the Legion. Krasus, he knew, desperately wanted to advance to the rank of Praetor and receive the Emperor’s gift, which would unlock his mind so that he could be trained to wield the forces of the light as an awakened, as well as gain a host of other supernatural abilities.

As they shouldered their way through the crowd. They could hear the lift was about to stop and open its doors at the next level. The crowd began to press forward as travelers prepared to disembark.

Merchants bellowed loudly from atop their carts saying anything they could to tempt or persuade the departing potential customers into exchanging their ducats for their wares.

“He’s over there. Just by the door.” Krasus said, holding up his intelor and showing the video feed from the wasp that indicated the being in the green bodysuit. Now it towered over the other citizens, as it pressed its way to the front of the crowd, to be one of the first to disembark the lift when the doors opened.

“We better grab him before he escapes with the gene juice.” Moloch said.

“Agreed. Follow my lead.” Krasus said and boldly strode through the crowd, elbowing citizens aside without so much as a backwards glance.

Hard experience had taught Moloch that when someone else wanted to take point, he would be only too happy to oblige them.

The hybrid cocked its head to the side for a moment, and then it crouched down.

Krasus crept forward until he was almost directly behind the large hybrid. He pulled his emitter.

Then in a blur of motion, the hybrid spun to face them and in one fluid move it discharged a large scattergun directly into Krasus’ chest.

The force of the blast took him off his feet and sent him flying into a group of onlookers, bowling several of them over.

“Legion scum!” The hybrid roared as he pushed to stand as close as he could to the door as it began its opening sequence. In less than a minute he would escape the central lift and disappear into the cityscape of the level beyond.

Moloch took a step back as he considered what to do next. He bumped into a cart. He turned to look and saw that it was the fruit merchant selling the heart melons.

He crossed his wiry arms, and smacked the lips of his underbite together.

“Who is blocking whose way now?” He said with satisfaction.

“I’d like to buy your melons!” Moloch said.

“Well, its two for ten ducats. Not that it is my place or anything, but now is not really the time to buy fruit, when one of your own just bit the dust.”

He cocked his head in the direction where Krasus laid face down, his robes and armor steaming. He wasn't moving.

“I’m thinking I’m going to need more than two.”

Moloch reached over and picked the small old timer off his cart, taking the control from his withered hand.

“I’ll take them all.” He said as he climbed aboard, and held down the control, causing the bionic to surge forward.

“I hope this cart can accelerate fast enough.” Moloch thought to himself, as the bionic and the cart full of fruit surged forward, the mechanical humanoid made a high pitched whooping sound in vocablish as it screeched its protest against the orders that Moloch input into the controls. The Hybrid turned as he heard the rattling of their approach.

The large humanoid took quick aim and shot its scattergun at Moloch on the cart. They were just too far away for the spray of the emitter pellets to do any real damage. Moloch’s helmet robe and armor were raked with the pellets as the rinds of the heart melons sizzled and spit. The hybrid racked the weapon to cycle another shot but the cheap crystal in the weapon clicked and spun up to discharge the heat of the primary fractionator.

It threw its weapon down and lowered its head with a mighty bellow and stepped forward to meet Moloch’s charge.

Moloch leapt off the cart the moment right before impact and sailed through the air over the hybrid and landing as gracefully as he could, limbs splayed like a falling cat as he hit the door. The hybrid lowered its head and charged directly into the melon cart. The cart and the bionic crashed into the hybrid with a screech of twisting metal and a hundred wet splatters of melons impacting all around them.

Moloch slid down the door and got to his feet, pulling an incapacitation hoop from his belt, expanding it in a moment that he might slip it over the head of the hybrid.

The body suit he was wearing had torn from its head and torso, and it turned to look at him. It had the bone plated head of a bull with two small twisting horns. Its body was covered with a thick brown hairy hide, and two pulsating mounds of flesh quivered as they perched high on the back of each of its shoulders. Its two black glittering eyes were set very close together and its neck was as thick as Moloch’s waist.

It roared with outrage and defiance, extricating itself from the twisted remains of the fruit peddlers wagon. The bionic that had faithfully pulled the cart directly into the bull’s horns was crushed from the waist down. It flailed its two arms around, wailing in vocablish and leaking a dark green-black fluid from its mangled casing.

Moloch and the bull-beast circled each other. The Centurion cast aside the incapacitation hoop and drew his void gladius and sparking it up. The blade extended from the hilt in a flash clicking into place with mechanical precision as the edge was lit with a fiery plasma that burned with the heat of the sun.

The bull-beast took a step back and shuddered and strained with effort, wrinkling up its snout as it pushed out two long hooked fangs from each of its shoulders. They dripped with a caustic acid, as tiny droplets dribbled into the bull beasts matted fur and they began burning away the hair and sizzling into his flesh. He also drew a long flat metal bar with a handle that was wrapped in leather.

The hybrid squirted the acid at Moloch, who pivoted to dodge most of the fluid but some splashed on his shoulders and robe. It quickly melted through the shoulder armor, and the fabric of his robe. The acid that hit his skin burned horribly, as he could feel the flesh of his skin sizzle from the corrosive fluid.

He spun and cut the hybrid deeply across the thigh with his void gladius. The hybrid bellowed in pain and lashed out with the metal bar. Moloch took the hit from the creature directly on his helmet. The force of the blow made his mind ring as stars and black whorls danced together across his field of vision.

While his helmet kept the beast’s blow from splattering his brains across the floor of the lift like all the broken and dripping melons, the force of the strike dazed him momentarily and caused him to stagger. This saved his life, as the hybrid's fangs spurted two more streams of acid right where he would have been. Moloch shook his head to clear it and desperately brought up his void blade to block another hard downward blow from the metal bar. Even though he parried the blow, the voidblade neatly seared through the end of the metal shaft, and the rest of it came crashing down on his shoulder. He could feel the muscles of his right shoulder strain under the impact, as the bar shattered the rest of his shoulder armor that had been damaged by the acid.

Moloch flicked the blade out and slashed the hybrid across the chest. It lept back and the two began to circle each other once more.

The hybrid seized the opportunity to bludgeon him once again, hard this time directly in the chest plate with the metal bar, sending him flying back off his feet to land on the lift’s coarse grating which scraped against his armor.

The lift door began to open. The hybrid turned, grabbing up the pack that contained the gene juice from the tattered remains of his body suit, and began hobbling up to the widening aperture formed by the opening lift doors.

With a yowl, it squeezed itself through, and began hobbling down the departure ramp of the level lift. The citizens who were waiting in several neat queues to walk aboard the lift quickly parted to allow the bull-beast a wide berth as it moved towards the high dark spires and towers, and clustered high walled buildings of level sixty one.

Moloch got up and saw the incapacitation hoop at his feet. He picked it up and ran to the ever widening doors of the level lift.

The bull-beast was halfway down the ramp, running in a shambling pained gait. The wound it had taken from Moloch’s void blade, was tearing wider and leaking blood with each step. Moloch carefully aimed; said a prayer to the light and cast the incapacitation loop.

It flew true, gliding in a long spinning graceful arc, falling neatly over the hybrid's head. It snapped around its neck and drew shut in an instant. The hybrid ignored the hoop and did not stop running. The hoop chirped a loud warning alarm, once, twice. The hybrid bleated its rage but kept running and plowing through the crowd of panicked citizens that hastily tried to get out of its way. The incapacitation hoop chirped once more in a shrill warning tone.

Pop! The incapacitation loop electrified the hybrid with a hard surge of current that overloaded its brain and sent the great beast crashing face first to the cobbled street of level sixty-one.

Moloch deactivated his void blade, and clipped the handle to his belt. He ran quickly over to check on Krasus, who had sat upright and shook his head from side to side.

“By the void, that hurt.” He groaned, and slowly got to his feet. Moloch steadied him, holding his arm as he swayed from side to side. His chest plate had absorbed the entire scattergun blast, saving his life, but it had been ruined as a result with a huge smoldering twisted hole burned directly in the center, showing through to Krasus’ bare burned flesh. It was likely that the wound would leave a scar.

Moloch turned to see the farmer, who held his hat in both hands, surveying the wreckage of his fruitcart.

“My cart, my melons, my gentle bionic! My whole livelihood!” The fruit merchant cried, waving his hand at the wreckage before them.

Moloch approached him. The old farmer crossed his arms, and looked away. Doing his best to bite his tongue and hold back the choice words that he desperately wanted to unleash on the Centurion. He showed incredible restraint to avoid offending a member of the Legion.

He looked at Moloch with a hard embittered gaze.

“Let me guess, you had to seize my cart in the course of your duty. You are very sorry. You don’t have to budget to make recompense.” He said thinly turning his head away, and refusing to look at the Centurion.

“Just go, Centurion and be on your way. I’ve heard it all before when Constables from other levels have damaged my wares. I know the spiel all too well.”

“Hold out your hand.” Moloch said with authority.

The merchant raised a single eyebrow, and slowly turned his head so that he could see Moloch out of the corner of his eye. Then he unfolded his arms and extended his hand, palm up.

“I don’t think a handshake will make amends for everything I lost today.” He said evenly.

Moloch took out his intelor and scanned a small round golden chit with it. The chit pulsed and now it shimmered with a soft light of its own. Then Moloch placed a small round golden chit emblazoned with the insignia of the legion in his palm.

“This is a chit of reparation and citizen merit. Take it to any legion office on any level and you will be more than compensated for all your losses as well as a bonus for your contributions today. I am sorry that your wares were damaged, but thanks to you our mission today was a success.”

The old merchant closed his hand slowly around the golden chit. Turning to face Moloch with a broad smile.

“So what you are saying is that I am a hero to the legion?”

“You are. We are not some yokel constabulary from some cheap level here in the pillar city. We are the Legion. We are here to serve you, not ruin your property and impoverish you.” Moloch said with pride.

The farmer took the chit from Moloch’s hand and then shook it warmly.

“It was my pleasure to help you both. I am sorry for my poor temper.”

“It is understandable. I wish you happiness and good health, citizen.”

With that Moloch walked over to stand by Krasus. The other Centurion was now walking gingerly to the edge of the level lift, and observed where the hybrid had fallen. Its limbs started to twitch erratically as it began to recover its senses. To their credit the citizens of Talaar, paid him little mind as they walked in a neat line around him as they quickly boarded the Central level lift.

Two Talaarian constables walked out of the lift house and gathered around the hybrid. One whistled in a low tone.

“Oowee! That's a big one. I didn’t know they grew that big.” The first constable said.

“He’s but a baby by hybrid standards. You should have seen the ones when I was younger. Much bigger. Mind his nasty fangs Mulburt, I don’t think you want to get stuck with those.”

The second constable said, rubbing his small potbelly over the line of buttons that ran up the center of his dark blue uniform. He turned to see the Centurions approaching and smiled at them from under a thick red drooping mustache, turning his head so that they could see his impressive sideburns that grew out from the side of his head like wide winged flanges.

Krasus and Moloch walked over to join them.

“Is this one yours?” Mulburt asked politely, tipping his round constables hat to the Centurions in deference.

“Aye, it is.” Moloch said. “We caught him buying gene juice from some Omanreks on the central lift.”

“Was he trying to take it here?” The two constables exchanged concerned glances. “The last thing we need is a den of hybrids taking root here.”

“To be honest, we’ve no idea where the creature was taking the stuff, we were forced to chase him and I think he was looking for a place to make a quick escape from the lift with the juice. Not that it really matters now.” Moloch said, pointing to the shattered jar of gene juice that was crushed when the hulking weight of the hybrid fell on it.

“I heard they need the juice to make more of themselves, as well as spinal fluid from a living host.” Mulburt said gravely. “Nasty business that.”

“I think it works like some kind of genetic template where they add genes of other animals to it and then dose themselves to transform. But I’m no gene smith so I couldn’t tell you for sure.” Moloch replied.

The beast grunted fitfully and instantly the fangs withdrew back into the quivering mounds of flesh that grew out of his shoulders.

“Disgusting!” Pendleton said.

“You feel rather passionately about hybrids. In the higher levels the wealthy seem to have more nuanced opinions on the subject. Is it moral or is it immoral? Is it wrong to prevent another from changing their body however they like?” Krasus said, walking over to join them.

“That's the problem with all those rich, overeducated types, they think themselves in circles until their minds become dizzy from it. They think hard on insane matters and not clearly on them. I know I’m just a lifthouse constable, but the matter seems pretty straightforward to me. I’m happy the Senate outlawed it. They twist their forms through the murder of another living being. That is all I need to know on the subject to revile it completely.” Mulburt said.

“So there is nothing more to be said on the subject?” Krasus asked once more as he tightened his belt and brushed off the broken pieces of his armor.

“Unless important truths are being withheld to intentionally lead me astray in my thinking, then I would say No sir!”

“It seems like we are in good company, brother Krasus.” Moloch said in a pleased voice.

“Well I’m Mulburt and this is Pendleton.” Mulburt said, indicating his fellow. As constables of Talaaria, we are happy to assist you in anyway we can.” They said good naturedly.

Moloch made their introductions.

“It is rare that we receive a visit from two Centurions, do you need us to take you to talk with anyone who is a higher rank than us? Pendleton asked. We don’t have positions of any import, we are just two old constables who work in the lifthouse.”

“Thank you for your warm welcome, all I would ask is for a containment cage for this hybrid, until we receive further instruction from our Legate.” Moloch said.

“Would you also like something to wet your whistle and a bite to eat? Pendleton makes a mean cup of stimroot tea and he's just put the kettle on.”

Moloch watched as the level lift doors closed with a resounding boom. The central lift visited each level once per hour, and they would going to be here for at least another hour.

“Once we secure the beast I think a cup of tea would be gratefully received friends.”

Pendleton activated a large hover cage and walked it over to where the hybrid was.

“This ones too big for our standard cage, '' He said, indicating the sprawled out bull-hybrid, so I got out the paddywagon.” He pressed a button and the bars of the wagon opened length wise. Then all four males rolled the hybrid inside, , and Pendleton locked it shut, handing the remote to Krasus.

“Here you are sir. I’m going to go see to the tea, I can hear the kettle whistlin.’

Moloch looked around Talarria. It was a modestly beautiful level. Clean without any of the ostentation found in the higher levels, but everything was functional and all the spaces he could see seemed to serve a purpose. Whether they were well manicured parks filled with families who were enjoying the greenspaces, with their neatly trimmed trees with blooming shrubberies, or the orderly lanes of traffic with their colorful hover cars that raced down clean streets. Tall towers filled the city scape as far as the eye could see and these towers in turn were connected by wide expansive foot bridges that pedestrians walked leisurely across.

A bell in a massive clock tower in the center of their quarter began to chime, in time with the three other clock towers centered in other quarters around Talarria. From the sound of the booming chime, the hybrid began to stir.

“They say that our clock towers are loud enough to wake the dead.” Mulburt said, “So it makes sense that your great big beastie would be stirred up by their song.”

Before Moloch responded he waited for the chime to end.

“That is quite the chime.” Moloch said, now feeling the pain from the blow he received to the head from the bull-hybrid. He rubbed at his temple but forgot that he was still wearing his helmet.

The hybrid stirred and sat upright. Even in the large paddywagon there was barely enough room for him to move around. He snorted several deep breaths, his wide nostrils flaring. He put his thick fingers on the resisteel bars of the cage.

Moloch hoped that the cage would be strong enough to hold him.

“Sleeping beauty finally stirs!” Mulburt said. “Those legion incapacitation hoops don’t feel so hot do they sonny boy?”

The bull-hybrid narrowed his small eyes at them.

“What is your name, citizen?” Moloch asked.

“Gorgutt.” The beast said simply, wrapping his thick calloused hands around the bars of the cage and giving them an experimental push, trying to subtly test their strength against his.

“What is your actual name, citizen? What level do you originally hail from?”

“Gorgutt.” The beast growled, fixing Moloch with a baleful stare and wrenching at the bars a second time. The bars flexed slightly but this cage had been well built and it was obvious that it would securely hold a creature even as strong as he was.

Krasus walked over. “Well Gorgutt, we apprehended you trafficking over two liters of gene juice. That is a serious offense. Then there is an assault on two legionnaires of the republic. The public mayhem. You also look as if you are about four doses deep. So that is four innocent civilians killed for each of your doses? I don’t know how things could be looking worse for you right now.”

Gorgutt barked a short harsh laugh.

“You know nothing, Legion scum.”

“We know you’re a murderer, a trafficker of forbidden articles, and a menace to the safety and security of the Republic. Did I leave anything out?” Krasus said, as he interrogated Gorgutt. The hybrid seemed to grow more agitated with each word that he heard Krasus say.

“I shall not speak!” Gorgutt roared with rage.

He began to heave himself back and forth in the cage, and it began to rock from side to side.

Mulburt stepped up and tried to press a button on the side of the cage, moving his hands in time with the rock and sway of the paddywagon. He pushed the button and there was a sizzling pop as the bars electrified and zapped Gorgutt, causing him to immediately withdraw his hands and move away from the bars.

Moloch stepped forward. Putting a hand on Krasus’ shoulder.

“It was worth a shot brother, but it seems Gorgutt here isn’t some brainless welp. He prizes loyalty to his den above all else.”

“I don’t like admitting defeat but I think you’re right Moloch.” Krasus said, throwing his hands up with an exasperated sigh. “We aren’t going to get anything out of this beast. Might as well take him back and book him in detention with the rest of his kin.”

Gorgutt turned and gave them a wide satisfied smile revealing thick wide crooked teeth that were filed to sharp points.

“Gorgutt is loyal!” He said, pounding his chest with satisfaction.

“No one can doubt that.” Moloch said frankly, as he turned to leave. “Let's try a cup of Pendleton’s tea. I could sure use one after this morning's work.

From beside the cage, Mulburt held up both hands in a shocked gesture. “Surely Centurion, that can’t be all.”

“Constable, we know when we are licked. Let's go have tea.” Moloch said, turning to walk away from Gorgutt and towards the lifthouse.

But then he stopped and held up a finger, walking back to Gorgutt’s cage.

Then he leaned in to speak softly, almost conspiratorial to Gorgutt.

“Just to let you know, a lot of those Omanrek dealers died today. But one got away.” He lied to Gorgutt.

Gorgutt seemed to perk up, his long hairy ears twitching with interest.

“I know, we got outsmarted by an Omanrek, but what do you expect from Legion scum?”

Gorgutt snorted to himself, as he rubbed the long hairy fur of his forearms, nodding his head in apparent agreement with Moloch’s statement.

“But before he escaped he told me he blamed you, for the deal going wrong. He said he would be paying your den a visit. Blood for blood and all that business.” Moloch concluded, with disinterest.

This caused Gorgutt to bray with laughter. “Hah! I’d like to see him go to Drydellia and try it.” He said, still nodding his head and rubbing his arms.

Then Gorgutt froze. Everyone silently watched him, but a smile crept over Krasus’ lips.

“Did you get all that?” Moloch asked Krasus.

Krasus had his intelor out and pointed at Gorgutt.

“Got it in one. Gorgutt, you were brilliant. Did you act in spectacles before you hybridized yourself?” Krasus asked him.

Gorgutt howled with rage. He went berserk charging into the resisteel bars and rattling his cage back and forth.

“We really didn’t need anything else from you but the level location of your den. We appreciate you for being so helpful.”

“LEGION SCUM!” Gorgutt raged, slamming his bony head against the bars. “You tricked me!”

“And now you helpfully just confirmed for us that you weren’t lying. Thank you once again!” Krasus gloated as he continued to film Gorgutt’s tantrum. “This is priceless!” He said.

“Noooo!” Gorgutt bellowed.

“I wonder how your fellows in the hybrid detention facility will treat you if they ever saw the footage of you betraying the location of your own den?

“I am a loyal bull!” Gorgutt shouted. “Record this!”

The bull hybrid strained and the two venom fangs emerged from both points on his shoulder.

“Lookout! He’s going to spray!” Mulburt shouted, as he dove for cover.

Gorgutt gripped the tips of the fangs as the acid that coated the tips caused the skin of his palms to sizzle, and with a great effort he bent them towards himself and drove them deep into his chest. As they punctured his skin, they instinctively pumped several spurts of acid into his own chest cavity.

Gorgutt howled and collapsed as the acid boiled his flesh and blood inside as his circulatory system moved it within moments through his whole body. He collapsed limply against the bars as a bloody slurry pouring out of his nose, eyes and lips.

“By the light!” Mulburt said as he peeked out from behind a large planter.

“Old Gorgutt gave the performance of a lifetime. This will get a billion views on the infoplexus.” Krasus said.

“I thought the Legate ordered you to stop posting Legion fieldwork videos.” Moloch said, moving cautiously forward and toeing the body of Gorgutt with the tip of his boot.

“Yes, but surely he’d make an exception for this.”

Pendleton emerged from the lifthouse wearing a frilly apron with large purple flowers dyed over front.

“Lunch is served!” He called out. Then he saw Gorgutt.

“Oh my, that is going to stink something fierce if we don’t do anything with him soon.”

“Do you have plans for the beasties body?” He asked the Centurions politely.

“No, now that hes dead, and the instance of his death was so masterfully documented.” Moloch said turning his helmeted gaze towards Krasus, who crossed his arms and smirked with satisfaction, “If you constables would help with the disposal, we would be appreciative.”

“It's no trouble Centurion. It’ll take but a minute.” Pendleton said, as he walked down and made some inputs, making sure to keep his apron from touching the paddywagon. Two doors of a small garage built beside the lifthouse that was just big enough to house the paddywagon, opened with a hiss. The paddywagon glided soundlessly into the small garage and the doors closed behind it.

A steaming hissing sound, followed by the noises of spraying and pumping water, emerged from the garage.

“Standard cleaning protocol. We use it to clean the paddywagon of fluids generally after a night of collecting drunks who can’t hold their elixir. But it was overengineered with typical Talarrian ingenuity, it should handle the beasties body and fluids without a problem.” Pendleton said with pride, as he smoothed down the front of his apron and adjusted the two ends that were tied in a neat bow behind his back.

The doors hissed open and all trace of Gorgutt had vanished. The sterilized and shining paddywagon gleamed as if it were brand new. It was like the hybrid had never existed at all.

“See, what did I tell you? Talarrian engineering at its finest. Now who's up for some lunch?”

Pendletons skill at making sandwiches and brewing tea had not been exaggerated. He had made a towering platter of cucumber sandwiches and large steaming mugs of fragrant stimroot tea before each of the Centurions as they sat down at the table.

The interior of the lifthouse was dominated by the large table, which served as a place for the constables to while away the hours between the arrival of the central lift. There was a tall ceiling, small cooking area, food preserver and a large holding cell that had several bunks mounted to the wall.

Inside the holding cell there was a well dressed male, with unkempt hair, that had at one point been neatly trimmed and styled. He silently gripped the bars, his eyes reflecting a wild light as he tried to stare into each of theirs.

Pendleton and Mulburt ignored him, opting to tuck into the sandwiches a tea.

Krasus, who could not help himself from asking, pointed a long finger at the man in the holding cell.

“Who is he?”

“That is Rufus Boffin, a local eccentric if you will.”

“Eccentric?” Krasus asked, prodding for more information.

“Madman, more like.” Mulburt said through a mouthful of sandwich. “But Pendleton insists on calling him eccentric, because his father owns half the quarter.”

“I’ve told you a dozen times Mulburt, poor people are crazy and should be institutionalized, the rich are eccentric, and the very rich are not to be questioned for their ideas and actions are beyond our comprehension!”

“Let me out!!!!” Rufus howled, long and loud, and with so much volume that it almost set Mulburt’s china cups to rattling.

“Do you have a muting forcefield for your holding cell?” Moloch asked, as the timbre of the shout had found a resonant frequency with the headache that was forming along with the pulsing lump on the side of his head.

“I regret to inform you that we do not.” Pendlton said sourly. “But we do have a big bowl of earplugs.” reaching behind himself and picking up a small bowl off the counter and offering it to Moloch.

Moloch declined the offer with a wave of his hand, and with the other he reached under the table for his emitter. He could always stun the unruly prisoner if it came to it.

“LET ME OUT!!!” Rufus howled again.

“It’s just best to ignore Rufus. Once he gets it out of his system, he should settle down and play wriggle squirms under his blanket for a couple of hours, until his fathers butler arrives to retrieve him.”

Pendleton took a huge bite of sandwich and chewed it thoughtfully.

“What is wrigglesquirms?” Krasus asked. After a moment when Pendleton finished chewing the mouthful of sandwich and swallowed, and was about to answer his question, Krasus held up his hand. “Oh second thought, I don’t think I want to know.”

This statement only seemed to agitate Rufus more. He began pacing now, and murmuring to himself, gesticulating wildly with his hands, and pausing to point an accusatory finger at an empty place in the air, and listening and nodding carefully to the inaudible response.

Pendleton turned to look at Rufus. “You wouldn’t have to come stay in our cell Rufus if you would just stop running up to female pedestrians and screaming in their faces. What is all that about? Really?”

Rufus stopped his pacing and sidled over to the bars. He wore a large leering smile now. He began to pantomime playing a lute, while he licked his lips.

Then he opened his mouth to loose another mind jarring howl.

“Don’t you do it again Rufus. I am not some female that you can trifle with.” Krasus warned him, with an edge of severity in his voice and he met the madman’s gaze. They stared into each other's eyes for several long moments.

Then Rufus hung his head, and began to sniffle and shuffled over to sit on his cot.

“You sure have a way with eccentrics, Centurion!” Pendleton said as he lifted up his teacup in a congratulatory toast.

Rufus began to sob quietly on his bunk. Everyone ignored him.

Moloch gingerly pulled his helmet off and set it on the floor beside him. He touched his head, he could feel a large knot swelling up from where Gorgutt had struck him earlier. He winced, and rummaged in the pouch at his belt returning with a combat injectrix.

Pendleton and Mulburt took their customary seats around the table and began tucking into the sandwiches with a will. Krasus sipped at his tea, and his eyebrows arose with appreciation.

“Good tea.” He said, and took another sip. “Usually they will over over-steeped the stim root, and it will have a sharp astringent taste.”

“Older chaps like myself brew the best tea.” Pendleton said as he took a sip between a bite of sandwich that he held in his other hand.

“Is that because it takes wisdom and patience bestowed by age to learn how to brew tea properly?” Moloch asked sarcastically, wincing as he administered an analgesic dose to his scalp from the injectrix.

“No, because when you finally get to be my age you get tired of drinking bitter stim root tea, and you’ll take the time to learn to make it right.” Pendleton replied as he took another bite of sandwich.

“Well I must be young at heart, because I still can’t make it right.” Mulburt said with a chuckle.

Moloch took a sip of his tea. It had a rich complex earthy flavor and a smooth finish.

After they had amply supped on tea and sandwiches, Moloch’s intelor began to buzz. It was the Legate Septimus calling from the central command located in their Legion’s ziggurat on surface city.

Moloch sighed, and wiped crumbs away from his lips as he answered the transmission. Suddenly the Legate was in the room with them. Their intelors used a communication field that allowed contacts to project an image of themselves into whatever space the call was answered in.

Legate Septimus appeared in the guardhouse. He was dressed in a trim white uniform with gold fringe. He had sharp features, a thinning shock of white hair and cold gray eyes. He held a slender controller in his left hand, and even the projection could convey that his knee high boots had been recently polished.

“Centurions, Report.”

Krasus stood up from the table and stepped forward.

“Moloch’s contact was good. We stopped the gene juice deal and apprehended the Omanreks that were selling it on the central lift. We also caught the hybrid buyer.”

“I read as much from the report the lift constable’s filed when they booked the Omanreks. Where is the hybrid?”

Moloch cleared his throat. “He is dead, Sir.”

Legate Septimus lifted a single eyebrow. “Didn’t Krasus just say you apprehended him? How did he die?”

Moloch looked Septimus in the eye. “He extruded acidic spider fangs from his chest and then drove them into himself.”

Septimus sighed heavily. “Prisoner deaths do not reflect well on your personal records. Did you learn anything of value before the creatures untimely suicide?”

“We did Sir, we learned that their den is located on the level of Drydellia.” Krasus said, “Which is the information we needed from him anyway. So it would probably be best to note that the prisoner expired from its wounds in the fighting and died shortly after confessing.”

Septimus barked a short laugh. “Best for whom?” He asked. “Truth serves only itself.”

Moloch swallowed. Septimus could make a big deal about this if he was feeling disposed to but there was nothing they could have done to prevent Gorgutt from taking his own life.

Septimus walked around the room looking things over. “Stopped for a nice little tea party did you? Did you have any intention of updating me to your status?”

“We needed to dress our wounds Sir. Lift guards Mulburt and Pendleton were kind enough to offer us refreshment.”

Mulburt and Pendleton got up hastily and offered a salute.

Septimus cracked a smile. “Thank you for your kind hospitality towards my two troublesome Centurions.”

“Uh, it was no trouble your Legate-ness.” Mulburt said. Pendleton elbowed him. “That is not what he’s called.”

“LET ME OUT!!!” Rufus screamed, shaking the bars as hard as he could and gyrating his body against them.

“By the blood of the nine Praetors, what in the void was that?!” Septimus said, rubbing his ears gingerly.

“I had the volume turned up on my projector.” He said angrily.

“Uh that was just a local simpleton they have incarcerated in the jailhouse.” Moloch replied.

Septimus looked as if he was going to say something, but he turned away from them slightly and it looked like he was making several inputs into his intelor pad.

Moloch and Krasus exchanged glances wondering what their next set of orders would entail.

Then Septimus turned around to face them, wearing a pleased smile. “I’m so happy you two had a chance to rest up, and take a nice long lunch.” He grinned, because I’m sending you both to Drydellia. I’ve dispatched a Centuri of Legionnaires to rendezvous with you there. Be on the next level lift. Find the hybrid den and eradicate it.”

“Could you send some more armor, ours has been damaged from earlier today.” Moloch said, holding up his melted and battered breastplate.

“Centurion, has it ever occurred to you to duck or take cover?” Septimus said, crossing his arms. “Never in all my cycles of command have I ever seen anyone go through more armor than you.”

“What can I say sir? People just love shooting me.”

“A quality of yours I don’t see ever changing.”

Krasus snickered quietly as he drained the rest of the stim root tea from his cup.

Septimus made several more inputs into his intelor pad. “Very well, I’ve sent two new sets of armor with the Legionnaires. I’d say try not to ruin it, but I know better.”

“You’re the best Septimus!” Moloch said.

Septimus smiled sourly. “Stay in touch Centurions and keep me apprised of your situation.”

“As you command Legate.” Moloch and Krasus said in unison.

“Love you Legate!” Rufus shouted, waving goodbye, and wearing a goofy grin from his cell.

“One of you really ought to medicate him!” Septimus said, pointing at Krasus as he ended the transmission.

Krasus smiled deviously and pulled his injectrix. “You heard the Legate, Rufus, put your arm out through the bars.”

“Oh I thought you’d never ask.” Rufus said very normally as he put his arm out to Krasus through the bars.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t find a way to make this weird.” Krasus said, looking at him and hesitating with the injectrix.

“It's kind of my speciality.” Rufus said with a shrug as a rich crimson blush rose to his cheeks. “Come on Centurion, don’t be shy. Gimme your dose.”

Krasus brought the injectrix closer to Rufus’s proffered arm.

“Go on, yeah that’s the stuff.” Rofus said, waggling his eyebrows up and down as he licked his lips.

Mulburt and Pendleton were trying to stifle laughs into their teacups as they watched Krasus.

“Good soldiers follow orders.” Rufus prodded Krasus. “Come on soldier boy, show me what you got.”

Krasus brought the injectrix near to Rufus’ arm and then put it away back into his pocket.

Tears welled up in Rufus’ eyes. “Now what did you go and do a thing like that for?” He began to sniffle, “To tease a fella like that, is just not right.”

“It felt pretty right to me.” Krasus said.

Rufus looked at Krasus and then he screamed. “LET ME OUT!!!” Then he gripped the bars and began working himself into a mad frenzy, shaking himself against the bars and howling until his voice began to crack and spittle flaked around his lips.

“Void’s bells.” Krasus cursed, as he patted his pocketed the injectrix.

“You both never said he was a junkie.”

“He isn't.” Pendleton said. “At least anymore than the rest of us are.”

“What do you mean by that?” Krasus said as he began gathering up his gear.

“We just drank stim root tea and I’m pretty sure I saw Centurion Moloch having a cheeky tug on his fogpipe.”

“So, what of it?”

“Are we junkies?”

“You’ve never given yourself alil nip off your injectrix from time to time?” Pendleton gave Krasus a sly grin over the rim of his teacup.

“In for a dime, in for a ducat.” Mulburt said, as he stood up from the table.

“Who cares what I do, I’m not a junkie like him!”

“At least he lets himself enjoy it.” Mulburt said, hooking a thumb at Rufus who had crawled under his blanket and it looked like he was caressing his body with his fingertips, while tittering and cooing to himself.

Krasus and Moloch moved towards the guardhouse door.

“What’s he doing now?” Krasus asked, looking over his shoulder.

“That Centurion, is wrigglesquirms. You must feel very honored to see it.” Pendleton said, with a wry grin. “I think he likes you.”

Rufus popped his head out from under the blanket and winked at Krasus, and then instantly he retreated back inside, wriggling and squirming with delight.

Moloch thought that he looked like a turtle that poked its head out of its shell.

“Wrigglesquirms is a good name for it.” Krasus said, as he rubbed the back of his head.

“This has been a very interesting Lunch, but judging from your clock we only have a few minutes before the lift arrives again.”

“So you do, and we’ll see that you’re on it.” Pendleton agreed, rising and walking with the Centurions back into the Talarian street.

Moloch and Krasus waved goodbye to Pendleton and Mulburt as the doors of the level lift closed.

“That was one of the stranger lunches I’ve had.” Moloch said, as the level lift doors closed around the four directions with resounding booms.

“There is still nothing like a really good cup of tea. We should have asked him for a jug to take with us.” Krasus replied.