Ghosts of the Past

Skips Sandalin poked at the rim of ice choking the neck of his bottle. It was designed to chill the drink with each sip yet all it did currently was inhibit consumption. Skips’ Gills always dried out after using Multi-System Mass Transit, his skinscales were even beginning to feel crispy to the touch. He returned his attention to the elongated boddle of nutrient supplements that came standard in most Federation restock centers. Any attempt to remove the chunk of ice filtering the viscous flood was futile so he turned his attention to the quartermaster.

“How much for the whole bottle?” Skips asked.

“20 mons,” the barkeep said.

“I’ll take it!” Skips said as he smashed the top half of the bottle against the blue-grey imitation wood countertop. As shards of ice and glass scattered in every direction, Skips unfurled his neck scales and began dumping the hydration fluid across his face and gills, swallowing every few seconds. The thickened mixture seeped into the column of membrane and tissue forming tight pockets around the openings that would normally require water to satiate. Skips was torn on how to feel about the mixture. On one hand, it let his people join the ranks of land-dwellers exploring the stars, yet it created such a cruel dependency. Land-dwellers didn’t have to buy their oxygen by the gallon after all.

This restock center was somewhat fancy compared to the other supply centers around the landing deck. Its bland, off-white walls felt more like a mental ward than a place people would go for food and merrymaking. There was no décor whatsoever and only a few tables for seating, aside from the distribution counter of course. Luckily the place didn’t need decorations to draw people in because this was one of the few restock shops that only served Federation workers. You could tell this building was post-Cyphrus because it lacked the human-centric arrogance that man loved seeing plastered against the walls of anything owned by the Federation.

The thought was interrupted by a jingle at the door which normally announced the unexpected arrival of a fresh face. In this case, however, the face was neither fresh nor unexpected. In walked a Bon Kreel woman of intimidating stature. She wore a brown trench coat with layer upon layer of multi-toned grey fabric underneath. All but her neck was hidden but that alone was enough to reveal the muscular physic concealed beneath. Like most Bon Kreel, her face was covered in thick tufts of hazel fur trimmed short to prevent her hawk-like eyes, well eye, from going unseen. The eyepatch covering her left eye was fastened tightly around her twitching ears and scar-stained chin. She walked with purpose but made her caution apparent only to those that would notice. Skip’s slender frame shot upright as if a predator had locked eyes with him. As she approached the counter, the quartermaster took about a half-second too long to realize what was happening.

“Clear out,” The Bon Kreel snapped.

The quartermaster scuttled away, ducking into a back room to avoid any further berating.

“Good to see you haven’t lost your charm boss,” Skips said as he spread the remainder of the now hardened nutrient paste along the more secluded portions of his head.

“Sad to see to colonies didn’t kick the smartass out of you,” Syndra replied.

“Don’t worry they tried their hardest. I almost settled down with a farmer’s girl last rotation you know. Unfortunately, farmers are the vengeful type and I guess it takes more than a year to get over losing an entire harvest. But hey, how was I supposed to know that Erithol is flammable?”

Syndra paused, “Skips, Erithol is the basis for every known fuel in the galaxy.”

There was another pause. “Well, I know that NOW.” A final pause as Skips waited for the wave of disappointment to pass over him.

“So why did you call me back? Murderer on the loose? Some grand terror plot targeting The Triumvirate? Or did you just miss my pretty face?”

Syndra rolled her eyes and leaned forward, “I need you on beat cop duties down in the lower levels. Something strange has been going on down there and I don’t trust very many people on station currently. Seems like the usual’s for patrol have been showing up to work in fancier and fancier gear and I know for a fact their salary can’t afford that kind of luxury.”

Skips sank in his seat little by little after hearing the phrase ‘beat cop’ until by the end of the speech only his eyes and droopy headfin were poking out over the bar edge. “You called me all the way back here to get smacked around by some crooked cops, are you out of your mind?”

“Don’t worry, I’m assigning you a partner.”

Skip's groan reverberated within the chambers of his throat mimicking the sound of a dying animal perfectly. He flopped his still moist head down on the counter and began making a sound that could only be described as pitiful.

“Cut the theatrics Sandalin, you’re doing this for me and you know you owe me after last time you were in the core. Top deck station, first light tomorrow. And get rid of that smell, you're making my eyes water.”

*

Skips skimmed the datatrac on the dead weight he would have to drag around on this mission. His new partner was short for a Bon Kreel and rather heavy set with a dark oak tint to his fur. Patches of fur were starting to shift in color to the dull amber that marked a Bon Kreel as past their prime. He had been a member of a grunt patrol for some time before recently getting promoted to detective. Skips made a note that he never worked during Cyphrus’s time in office. He also noticed that every partner he has been paired with has died in the line of duty which was always a great sign for things to come.

Skips exited the hyper lift from a lower deck onto the main breezeway in front of the station with a look of dismay plastered on his face. He seemed to be in a trance as he scanned the artificial appearance of the station courtyard. There was a moment of awkward eye contact with Jamison as his gaze meandered along the horizon of the courtyard. Skips continued to look around as he walked up to Jamison whould was standing in the center of the courtyard by a pristine stone fountain. Jamison felt like he was missing something and joined Sandalin in his investigation of the courtyard. The fountain, which marked the center of the oblong square, was pumping out less water than usual and the lawn services were out in mass creating a noisy din on the other side of the yard. Jamison was broke from his trace as Skips flicked his head.

“They renovated this place last rotation, didn’t they? Covering up an incident by the looks of it.” Skips said still scanning the perimeter.

“Yeah, how did you know? There were some protests that got out of hand back then. Cyphrus loyalists tried to storm the station. Turned into a bloodbath.”

“Hmph,” was all Skips had to add.

“Mr. Sandalin I-“

“Eh, Eh, Eh no talk. Just listen. First of all, call me Skips you’re not applying for anything. Second, don’t ask why I was in the colonies I’m not going to tell you. Third, I'm gonna do my thing, you're welcome to join me but for the love of The Nine do not get your mind set on any grand adventures. Any questions?”

Jamison's face revealed that he had a swath of questions but most had been taken off the table by the announced rules.

“You mind if I take notes?” was the only thing he said.

This caught Skips off guard as it clearly took Skips a second to process the request.

“Sure.”

*

Normally it would take hours to get from the upper to the lower deck of Triumvirate’s Glory. The orbital station was constructed within a gravity well equidistant from the three founding civilizations in The Federation, yet nobody seems happy about this fact. The heart of Triumvirante's Glory was hollow allowing for each level to be observed from the web of transit tubes that sprawled in every direction. Every level is supposed to have an even distribution of species according to Federation law but after Cyphrus’s takeover, race relations took a massive hit. As Skips and Jamison descended down the rapid transit elevator Syndra let them use, both could quickly see how unkempt the lower decks were starting to look.

“When did it get this bad down here?” Skips asked.

“Last few years. After the loyalists started getting arrested on the upper decks they moved to the lower ones. Farther from the law I guess.”

The duo exited the elevator to an immediate wave of smells. Stalls of exotic meals lined the narrow corridors of the station's lowest deck, affectionately dubbed “The Dregs”. There was shouting in at least five different languages and none of it sounded friendly. The blocky colorless buildings Skips grew up in still loomed over the stalls as far as the eye could see, each brandishing a different degree of wear and tear. None of the beggars that usually sat by the elevator were there, except for a blind Gel-Naga named Skink who was gasping for air. Jamison ran over to see if he needed any help pulling out a small tube of nutrient fluid. Skink thanked the kind act as Skips began to laugh.

“Still swindling top deckers into thinking your amphibious Skink?” Skips said

Skink smiled, “Skips you bastard where you been lately?”

“I’ll tell ya later, first get me up to speed on what’s going on. Somethings off about The Dregs.”

“Loyalists took over down here. You say something bad about Cyphrus and you’re gone the next day. Heard they were workin on something big in that warehouse back by your old place.”

“Thanks Skink I owe you.”

Jamison looked harder and saw that the creature wasn't actually a Gel-Naga, but a Thraxian with a fake headfin on top. Skink pulled the blindfold down and winked at the duo before returning the blindfold and grabbing his walking stick.

Their destination was on the other side of D block so they wouldn’t have to walk far. It was nice no longer being the only Gel-Naga in a 12-block radius for once though.

Skips noticed that for the first time since entering the Dregs, he wasn't getting the usually dirty looks and death stares, those were directed at Jamison.

“Not a fan favorite around these parts are you?” Skips said.

“The cost of not taking bribes it seems.”

They had amassed a bit of a gathering by the time the warehouse they were supposed to check up on was in sight. Before they could get close to the door a wall of well-dressed brutes blocked their approach. A human stood out front, puffing his chest up with such force that Skips thought his back was going to give out.

“Don’t know who you are but stubby over here isn’t too friendly with our cause. Think it’s time for you to leave.” The human said through gritted teeth. The man had the top of a tattoo resembling the Cyphrus house crest peeking out above his collar.

Skips straightened up and put on a more regal tone.

“Worry not brother, I’ve made a loyalist out of this one yet. Won’t be needing any incentive to support the cause.” Skips shot a glare at Jamison and gestured at their aggressor.

Jamison stared ahead for a second before shifting his posture. “Fins here was pretty convincing. Hail to the one true ruler!”

A confused expression overtook the grimace caked on the man’s face.

“I know who you are stubby but who's he? And how’s he know about the cause?”

Skips put a hand in front of Jamison. “Jerimiah Fins, I used to work on Dominus Cyphrus’s personal investigation force before, well, you know. I was truly saddened to see him removed from office in such a way. I got reassigned to the colonies because that was the only choice they gave me. Seems like we now have enough friends in the department to bring me back though,” Skips said with a wicked smile.

The man returned the smile.

“Alright yeah, see you around then.”

Jamison breathed a sigh of relief as they dispersed.

“Where’d you get so good at lying?”

“It’s easier to lie when you sprinkle in a bit of truth.”

The warehouse door stood out from the monotone blocks of housing that surrounded it because it was the only sign of color in sight. The Cyphrus Crest was meticulously painted across the bay doors with a smaller door position to the left. There was only a camera positioned in front of the door.

Skips walked up to the camera and tried his usual smooth-talking but there was no response. After a few more painful seconds with no response, Skips cursed and reached in his pocket for something. He pulled out a pretty dated looking I.D of himself, one with the Cyphrus Crest on the back. The door immediately opened promptly shutting behind them after their entrance.

There was no turning back now as the two stepped into the poorly lit warehouse. As their eyes adjusted, they began to make out just how busy this warehouse was. Before them stood station after station of people working on weapons systems. Some were loading bullets into magazines while others were mounting turrets on hover tanks. There were crates being moved overhead with the Federation hazard tag for explosives. Most of the people working have cybernetics of some kind. The only ones that didn’t were the well-dressed overseers inspecting each station. The whole room looked like a war-time assembly line.

“Gentlemen right this way!” A voice called from the left side of the facility. A woman stood atop a staircase leading to the sole office overlooking the facility, signaling for them to approach.

By the time they had scaled the stairs, two men had assumed a position behind them. The office was well decorated but in a way that screamed ‘museum’. There was propaganda of every kind proclaiming the nature of Cyphrus’s rule. Human-centric dioramas depicted Cyphrus helping the needy and smiting criminals, the criminals were the only depictions of other species on the walls. To bring it all together there was a massive house crest centered directly behind the woman’s deck.

“Mr. Sandalin it’s an honor to meet someone who was positioned so close to my father. Are you impressed with what we have accomplished since you were sent away?”

Skips was still looking at the posters on the wall when the woman cleared her through to signal a request for a response. Skips leaned forward placing both his hands on the woman’s desk and squinted at the figure before him. His grip tightened around some papers as he threw his head back and laughed.

“Your Illiana Cyphrus correct? Your father always spoke highly of your talents, now I know why.”

Illiana revealed a slight blush. “My father spoke of me in private?”

“Of course,” Skips said increasing the tempo of his speech. “You were the star candidate to be his successor. Now tell me, what exactly are you doing down here? I apologize for not visiting sooner. You see, I've been out and about looking for allies in the colonies.”

Jamison shot a concerned glance at Skips.

“Planning the revolution my father would have wanted. He never liked having the masses control who ruled and we must return to the framework he put forth. We nearly have all the weapons and allies needed to retake control of this station. All that’s left is to deal with that pesky chief detective. Very soon we will be removing that thorn from our side though.”

“How soon?” Skips tried to avoid sounding frantic.

Illiana glanced at the time, “Within the hour.”

Skips stood up and turned for the door but found himself blocked.

“Why do you ask Mr. Sandalin?” Illiana's expression turned sour.

Jamison stood forward to draw some attention. “We just learned that the chief has some data stores hidden away that are on a timed delete if she were to die. Information that would prove advantageous to the cause.”

Illiana squinted then waved the two guards aside. “You’d best hurry then.”

Skips and Jamison were in a full sprint by the time the warehouse was out of sight and Skips was breaking away. Jamison grabbed Skips and spun him around, a fire burning in his eyes.

“You never said you were a friend of Cyphrus.”

“Can we do this later? Syndra’s in danger.”

“How am I supposed to trust you?”

“Ask Syndra who got the evidence to get Cyphrus convicted! Go ahead and ask her. After that tell her these words exactly ‘It’s looking like it’s going to be a warm winter in Vressa, Might be worth the trip’ then hang up.” Skips said before pushing in front of Jamison and disappearing out of sight.

*

Skips was about halfway up the express lift when we heard the distant rumbles of an explosion. He fiddled with his datatrac faster as the lift neared its destination. The lift door opened to reveal a firefight taking place between a vastly outnumbered police force and a band of hooded gunmen. Syndra was pinned down behind the lip of the fountain with aggressors closing in from all sides. She was clearly wounded but still breathing, unable to return fire. Seems like she got the warning in time.

The hooded figures turned their attention to Skips and took aim. Skip’s mind began racing and he did the one thing he was best at. He started talking.

“BY ORDER OF ILLIANA CYPHRUS CEASE FIRE.”

The gunfire stopped but the men did not budge.

“Identify yourself,” One of the hooded figures said.

Skips held up his datatrac revealing a copy of a document from Iliana’s desk. Slowly he made his way over to the head gunman and handed him the datatrac.

“It’s not time yet,” Skips whispered.

The figure nodded and retreated back into the shuttle parked on the far side of the courtyard.

Skips rushed over to the bleeding body of Syndra and began applying first aid.

“Seems like you’ve got yourself a fan club,” Skips said.

Syndra chuckled then groaned at the ensuing pain. “Can you shut up and tell me what’s going on?”

Skips yelled at the surviving officers to call for reinforcements before leveling a frown at Syndra.

“Some old skeletons are clawing their way out of the closet.”

*

Skips, Syndra, and Jamison sat in the cramped medbay stall trying to compose their thoughts. Syndra was applying pressure to a bullet wound with one hand and holding a datatrac with the other. Skips was flipping through a notebook aimlessly, occasionally glancing over at his old I.D. Jamison alternated staring at the two until the silence in the room became maddening.

“So you’re telling me you two have been working for Beacon this entire time?” Jamison said. “THE Beacon that was responsible for rooting out the corruption surrounding Dominus Cyphrus?”

“Founded Beacon,” Skips added.

Syndra punched his arm and both of them winced.

“You're not supposed to just go around telling people moron.”

“Hey if you trusted him enough to make him my partner, then I trust him enough to keep this secret. Besides we need all the allies we can get right now.”

Jamison’s eyes had glazed over by this point yet he somehow managed to still be taking notes. Skips gave Syndra a half-smile and shook Jamison.

“You’re not going to tell anyone RIGHT?”

Jamison shook his head. “No of course not.”

“Good then let’s get to work.”