I stood there, stone-faced.
“Bow,” he said in a cold voice.
I licked my lips. Coinciding with my better judgment, I gave a slight gesture of head, hating every moment of it.
“Very good, Rusco. A grudging bow is better than none at all. Acceptable at this juncture, but in need of improvement. Ritualistic prayers and acts of devotion go on here daily in assurance of a better future.”
“What is that exactly?” I growled.
“A unified universe governed with strength, peace and order.”
I snorted. “Under your rule.”
“Of course—under who else’s rule? Strength must be wielded by the most capable man.”
I had to admire Mong for his supreme arrogance. Not a shred of doubt in that feverish brain of his with its vision of manifest destiny. Lunacy at its most depraved. Insatiably cruel, but a mathematical beauty lay in its simplicity. I shook my head. Shut your mind off, Rusco, you don’t want to get brainwashed like these others.
I looked above and saw alabaster statues raised on high amongst the columns flanking the altar—half man, half demigod with wings spread wide. Angels of doom? Avatars of destiny? They all had R6s clutched in enlarged hands and maniacal grins carved on angel faces. I shuddered. The rifles had barrels large as bassoons.
Mong nudged me forward. I had to wipe my eyes to ensure I wasn’t hallucinating.
Two glass tanks flanked the altar, each with a human male floating suspended in pale greenish liquid. Their eyes stared out from behind the glass, as if they were alive.
“What the fuck are those?” I croaked.
“Watch your language, Rusco. This is a hallowed place. Those tanks are the wave of the future. I’ve been collecting them, like curios and scientific curiosities. They are like nothing else in this universe! Strokes of genius from a dead race like no other. Once I discover how to harness their power, I’ll become supreme ruler of these jaded worlds while you and other dissidents will go to feed a nation.”
“I have no doubt about your vision, Mong, and yet, I’m glad to know I will serve the empire in some small way.”
He huffed at my sarcasm and breathed in a heady sigh. “Those two tanks I discovered in a remote, abandoned mine station, a Mentera factory, if you will, on Perseus. A rare find.”
“No doubt.”
“The grim, vacant-eyed fellow to the left is the Lord of Evenness. He defied me at Jaro. The one on the right is Vanxus, a skulking rogue if there ever was one. The blackguard betrayed me at the battle of Brog. Now the two are sacrifices to the Temple of Light.”
I moved closer to study the victims and saw Vanxus’s lips move in a small curl as a fish might blow bubbles. I recoiled. The blond hair hung suspended and moved with the imperceptible currents in the pale green liquid.
“Are they alive?” I asked in morbid wonder.
“In a way, but perhaps it is better to be dead than grace the waters of the Mentera tanks.”
It became clearer to me now Mong’s infatuation with the alien tech. These fucks worshiped the technology of the tanks. Maybe they worshiped the whole dead race of the Mentera. I’d heard of them. Mong and his crew must be one of these old Mentera cults still floating around the universe in fly-infested corners…which explained his obsessive fascination with relics, memorabilia and acquisitions of amalgamators.
I stepped back to stop from reeling. He had made some ghastly shrine out of these pickled occupants in the tanks. The dazed cultists wandering about this temple worshiped them on their fancy daises near the altar like statues of Zeus, while their high priest, the mighty Mong, fed on the living within and became the all-powerful sorcerer. It made twisted sense. In a skewed, monkey-brained world. My head ached.
“Sorry to bust in on your parade, Mong, but what about my hand? Am I supposed to walk around with a bird’s claw for the rest of my life? It’s throbbing like a banshee. Some regen would be helpful. That or a basic medic.”
He waved a palm. “Don’t sweat it, Jet. A minor wound, some small inconvenience in the overall order of the things. Distractions as these are fodder for disciplining an aspiring mind. Makes a man worthier to rise above a modicum of pain. You seem a bit squeamish about pain. I had my man Balt go through a heavy rigor on his journey to lieutenant-dom. Now he could care less if his balls were on fire.”
“Very good to know. I’ll remember that next time I’m applying for position of lieutenant.”
“Good rejoinder, Rusco. I like your quick mind. But your creeping cynicism, I don’t like. Speaking of which, seems you got your other hand back. Pity I didn’t blow the other one off back on Trellian. It would have had me devising more creative tortures than bent fingers to convince you to reveal the location of my amalgamator. But I have better plans for you. As much as you’ve sabotaged my plans, I’ve taken a shine to you. That last scheme you pulled off on Belisar One was a bit of genius. Oh, don’t think I didn’t know about your part in orchestrating poor Captain Baer’s demise. I was just fucking with you earlier, drawing you out, seeing what you knew, hoping you’d let something slip about my amalgamator. And you did. I see potential in your hustling and roguish mind that may serve my ends quite well—as much as I’d like to see your hide roasted and blown into a thousand fragments. I’d take as much pleasure in personally torturing you myself.”
Mong’s true colors shining again. I knew his aesthetic side was too good to be true.
“I spare you this painful indignity,” he went on, “because you delivered me my amalgamator.” He reached over, gave Vanxus’s tank a loving caress, then flashed its
