The New Dark Age

 

By: Chris Vorhis

 

Chapter 1

 

                        Why does life have to be so complicated?

            Jacob sat alone, on the rocky coast, staring at the ocean and the setting sun.  The water reflected the purple and dark orange light, which seemed to dance atop the ever churning waves.  The light grass next to his hands had begun to sway in the wind.  The ground, damp from the afternoon shower, clung tightly to his clothes as he placed his shoulder on a book and positioned his lying body towards the setting sun.

            It was his eighteenth birthday, and Jacob couldn’t have been more unhappy  His father, the Great politician, the Secretary of Foreign Affairs, had Demanded to know what Jacob had planned for his life.  The Secretary had not demanded, he had Demanded.  Why should it matter to the Great Secretary, the man who had President Von Steuben’s ear, that his son was a man of little ambition?  Jacob would not grow to be a Von Steuben, or a Secretary, no, Jacob would grow to be a Jacob.  It didn’t seem that hard to understand, but maybe you had to have a great mind to be that stupid.

            He was single; he was young and naïve; and he knew it.  There was nothing worse than being able to see your own faults.  It was a tradition in his homeland to choose your personal name on your eighteenth birthday, when it was presumed that a young man would be married.  That was the immediate problem, but something far more insidious had developed inside of him.  A series case of non complacency.  It is hard to describe, but it feels like there’s something…like there has to be something more than this.  The only question was where, where would he find the missing piece of reality.

            He knew he was not the first to think this way, but that doesn’t mean that he wasn’t going to find it.  Some people searched for lost cities or ancient treasures.  Their adventures suited them, and they found their missing piece.  Jacob would not find his reality in a lost city or an ancient treasure.  It would not be on the ocean floor or in buried cities and temples.  The missing piece was in the most damnable vault of them all, inside himself.

            Jacob sat on the beach of the island Marak, which was fifty miles from his family’s home, on the island of Sasphem.  The Secretary had brought him here for a meeting with the Great Von Steuben, President of the United Federation of Zenegal.  It consisted of hundreds of islands, and a fiercely independent population.  The scientific and technological achievements of Zenegal were known around the world.  The only characteristic of the Federation stronger than intelligence was their unsinkable pride.

            Jacob sat for several minutes after the sun had set.  Then he grabbed the book he had erroneously brought with him for reading, and walked away.  Jacob headed back to the President’s beach house, occasionally noticing the well-trained guards patrolling the coast.  He was questioned three times before he reached the ultra-contemporary home.  The entire wall facing the ocean was glass, and the white walls were decorated with abstract art, water painted by the finest craftsman Zenegal had to offer.  Jacob walked throught the open Santine doors and into the Great Room.  The Secretary’s voice continued for a minute before he noticed his son.

            “Mr. President, if his war machine continues unchecked by ourselves and the Denshe, then the Emperor would have tacit approval for his ever growing mechanized army.  If we let this audacious behavior continue, it could disrupt the balance of power between the three civilized nations and possibly lead to war.”

            “Carl, I don’t mean to interrupt, but your son is here.  Come here, Jacob, take a seat.”  The elder statesman motioned Jacob to sit at an elegant fur chair beside them.

            “It has come to my concern that you have had some problems, a certain lack of ambition.  What do you think of that?”

            Jacob looked at the Secretary, as if waiting for permission to speak.  Then he decided to clear his throat, and responded, “I feel like what interests me is beyond the Federation.”

            The President blinked, apparently startled by the statement, and smiled.  “Naturally, I wouldn’t be this involved with just any constituent, but your test scores are..well, they merit my attention.  Your placement in the Federal Exams entitles you to virtually any post in the government, excluding me of course.”

            “I am aware of my potential, sir.  I’ve been having what some would call –“

            “Visions,” answered the President.  Jacob shot a glance at the Secretary.

            “Your father has told me about them.  Our society does not have much faith in superstition, but…”  The President looked at the Secretary.  “Carl, could you wait in the briefing room for a second?”

            The Secretary of Foreign Affairs looked at the President and Jacob.  He stood from the sofa and walked out of the room.  Von Steuben waited until he heard the door close.

            “Jacob, this might surprise you, but I haven’t lived here all my life.  It was a tradition in my family to send the first born male be sent to the mainland to learn the ancient ways.  As you know, both of my sons died during childbirth.  I had no relatives to draw from, no one to continue the tradition.  Your scores on the test alerted me of your abilities, and your father’s job on my staff made this meeting much easier.”

            Jacob was absorbing everything the honorable old man said, and he was captivated by the man’s sincerity and compassion.

            “The reason I invited you here is to take my son’s place.  It is unusual, but not unprecedented.  You would learn the things that we can’t teach you.  That is, of course, assuming you want to.”

            Jacob did not need to hear any more.  He stood from the chair and walked to the President.  Von Steuben stood, and saw Jacob’s hand extend towards him.

            “Mr. President, I can’t say I’ve ever been given a better offer in my life.  I only hope that I can live up to your high expectations.  Thank you, sir.”

            “No Jacob, thank you.  My hopes and prayers will be for you, and I hope that you will find what you are looking for.”

 

            Not everyone was so happy.  The Secretary spoke to him on the flight home that the primitives on the mainland will teach nothing but mysticism and contempt for his homeland.  Jacob simply ignored him.  His attention was focused on the steam plane they were in.  A compartment in the rear of the thirty foot long plane boiled steam that powered the turbines, which in turn made the propellers spin.  It was a very efficient machine, and it could run forever without a need for refueling.  Flight was his people’s finest invention.  No other nation had an Air Force, and no other nation could equal their mobility as a fighting force.  Despite his country’s numerous inventions and the progress made to upgrade them, it had no less turmoil than any other nation.  Governments would be governments, and Fathers will be Fathers.

 

            He was to report to the Dock of Cassanova at dawn.  No belongings would be needed.  Jacob was going to search for himself.  This was the opportunity that he had been waiting for.  Adventure, the high seas, maybe even some new friends.  Still, Jacob had to wonder who or what he would find.  His father had traveled to the mainland many times for his job, but he brought nothing back with him except for rekindled animosity for foreigners.  His father was not to be trusted.

 

            The continent was several hundred miles south of the Federation had no name.  It was the political and economic center of the planet, home to pilgrims, warriors, and isolated nomadic tribes.  Ancient storytellers say that Zenegal, the founder of the Federation, led the settlers from the mainland to their new homes.  Official reports from the government, however, assert that Zenegal and his followers were banished from the land of their birth because they rediscovered ancient technologies.

            Jacob was ready.  He stood on top of the creaking floorboards that comprised the dock.  The water was clear throughout the harbor.  The water came into the land almost as if the ocean had taken a mouth-shaped bite of the coastline.  The sand was a pure, light yellow.  It gave the island a deserving tropical and peaceful appearance.

            When the sun had entirely risen, a man wearing green  shorts and an unbuttoned vest walked up to him.

            “Are you Jacob?” His baritone voice showed no emotion, no variance in tone.

            “Yes, I am here to travel to the mainland.”

            The man’s white dress shirt was stiff, and his face was perfectly leveled with the new horizon.  “Come with me, I am here to make sure nothing happens to you.”

            “So…you’re my bodyguard, right?  Am I that important?”

            “Yes.  We must go.  Follow me.”  The guard led him further down the dock.  They passed several fishing trawlers before Jacob realized where he was being led.  Several hundred yards in front of him, an incredibly large steel plate arose from the horizon.  The fishing trawlers that were lined on either side were ants in comparison to the mammoth vessel that scraped the sky like The Tower of Babel.  Never before in his life had Jacob witnessed a more breathtaking example of his country’s zest for engineering and blasphemy.  The large letters that marked the ship had identified it as the “Brave New World.”  The ship was over three miles tall, and well over ten miles long.  Although it appeared rectangular in shape, the sides curved inwards and fused together beneath the water’s surface.  By the time Jacob stood next to the ship, the sun was entirely blocked from view. 

            “You never told me your name.”

            The man turned towards Jacob.  “Thomas.”  Thomas led him down the cargo platform.  Several dozen workmen were busy attaching clamps on large crates and hoisting them up the several pulleys hanging over the ship’s deck.  Thomas approached the Supervisor, and showed him a white sheet of paper.  When the supervisor nodded and barked orders at his subordinates, Thomas carefully refolded the paper and pocketed it.  A large crate was lowered from the ship.  It was wood on five sides and a chain link fence on the sixth.  When it reached the floorboards, a worker opened the fence and motioned for them to enter.  Thomas and Jacob entered the box just as the worker closed the fence behind them.  The box was lifted into the air, and both fell to the floor from the jolt.  The box began to turn in the air.  Every few seconds a flash of light would appear and follow the contours of the box until it disappeared again.  When the crate was dropped on the main deck, the passengers walked out a bit shaken.  Both had a severe case of motion sickness, and collapsed on the deck. 

            “Welcome to the Brave New World, Jacob.  The President says you are to go to the Mainland, to the Denshe.  That is acceptable to us, as long as you do not interfere with the operation of my boat.  If I catch you sniffing around unassigned corridors, I will not hesitate to sell you to the Qur’Tag as slave laborers.  I advise you to stay in your quarters at all times.  This ship is a living city, we have all the comforts of home.  Enjoy your trip.”

            When Jacob was well enough to raise his head, he saw the receding figure of the ship’s Commodore, a burly, seasoned naval officer.  The Brave New World was not a transport ship exactly, as it was home to several thousand men, women, and children.  They made their living by assisting the ship wherever it docked, and maintaining the welfare of the crewmen between docks.  It was privately owned, and was friend to anyone with reasonable demands and money to bargain with.  It was said by some of the Secretary’s staff that The Brave New World had weapons and was fully armored to fight a naval campaign, at least if you had enough money.  The Owner’s spokesperson dismissed those rumors as absurd, but the Brave New World has never allowed a military inspection below decks.  Some believe it is a weapons dealer, yet others believe it to be a slave transport for the Qur’Tag mines.  Jacob had a more interesting theory.  He reasoned that it stored artifacts from the Lost Ones, the once dominant race over the mainland.  All of the leaders of his race, Zenegal, Roeshing, The Lady Celes, and Murden joined to overthrow the Lost Ones.  That was over a thousand years ago, when man lived as slaves to the oppression imposed upon them by the ancient civilization.  The armies of man joined, and forced the Lost Ones off the Mainland. 

            A short sailor with a battered shirt and a shaved head led Thomas and Jacob.  His jaws were uneven, and his smile was littered with silver, gold, and animal teeth.  When the sailor stopped in the narrow hallway, he paused so they could examine their quarters.  Inside the hatch was a room no larger than their crate-elevator.  There was a bunk bed on either side, and a card table between them.  There was a small face mirror on the opposite wall.  A single light bulb swayed from the ceiling, it repeated it’s cycle of dimming every other second and brightening the next.  A few flies circled around the ancient dead apple that decorated the table.

            “Your meals will be provided.  Use the chute to dispose of waste, and never leave this deck.  We checked the rooms for bugs, as you requested.  We tried to keep the deck empty, to avoid any unnecessary contamination with the other passengers.  Enjoy your stay at the Brave New World.”  The heavy steel door closed behind them, and the excitement was over.

            “Thomas, is this the best our nation can afford?  I don’t mean to complain, but it seems like the crew sees us as some sort of disease.”

            “No other boat travels to the Mainland.  It is too far, our supplies would run out.”

            “Our ships were mechanically driven, we could have cargo ships to provide food for the other-“

            “There is something else.  The Denshe sink our boats as soon as they see them.  They defend their coastline vigorously.  The Brave New World is neutral, and it is a merchant ship.  This gives us safe passage.”

            “But what about the contamination?”

            “Get some sleep, Jacob.  You need it, and I’m not here for small talk.”

 

            Thomas obviously wasn’t going to help him with his questions.  Jacob put his arm under the bed to find his bag he had brought with him for emergencies.  He moved his arm both left and right, but the bag was not there.  Jacob rolled over, onto the floor, to search for it.  His hand felt the wall under the bunk, and felt a rhythmic pattern of bumps along the wall.  He crawled under the bed, and determined that it must be an air vent.  Jacob carefully unscrewed the metal bolts, and placed them in his pockets.  He pulled the metal sheet from the wall, and gently lowered it to the floor, so as not to awaken Thomas.

            He put his hands in the shaft, and tested to see if it could support his weight.  It was not fast transportation, but it was better than being restricted to one deck.  Light came in through the striped openings along the floor of the shaft.  Jacob could hear the multitude of conversations as they echoed down the passages.  He passed a gambling table, one room was full of the sounds of a concert pianist.  Occasionally he could see the people in their rooms.  One might be cheating at cards by pulling an extra card from his sleeve, another might be cheating on his wife, or it could just be idle gossip of middle aged women.  The adulterer had easily the most entertaining room of them all.  The man was wearing a gold ring on his finger, with strange markings and symbols engraved on the sides.  His mistress had nothing of the sort.  The man had dark hair, the color of ink, and his skin was a heavy tan.  The woman’s hair was a light sandy blond, and her lover’s hands were always stroking it.  Their legs were locked, neither willing nor able to let go.  The room was dimly lit by an old light bulb, which swayed back and forth, back and forth.  Their shadows danced on the wall, and the effect seemed only to invigorate them.  Jacob watched for fifteen or twenty minutes until he willed himself away.

            After an hour of crawling, he saw an officer’s quarters.  A man of fifty-five or so, was reading a solemn book in a velvet chair.  There was no light bulb, but a traditional fireplace lighted the room.  The fire reflected off the stoic officer’s reading glasses.

            Jacob had one small problem now.  He had no idea how to retrace his steps.  He spent fifteen minutes trying to find a connecting passage way where he could change directions, and he had lost his sense of direction.  Jacob tried to find familiar rooms or sounds, but it was toiling work.  He eventually found the adulterer’s room, but the sounds had died down.  The adultery was busy cleaning a knife with a wash cloth.  Jacob looked more carefully, and saw the woman’s dead body lying draped over the bed.  Her arms dangled like withered branches from a dead tree over the bed.  Her fingers touched the ground and her hair was tangled with sweat.  The hair glistened in the dim light, reflecting the mirrors of her still warm body.  Her legs were obscenely left open, as if in the middle of an embrace.  There was a narrow wound on the side of her throat, where blood had trickled to the floor and formed a puddle beneath her head.  The killer had the foresight to place a mat on the floor, to hold the blood when he was done.  Jacob memorized the killer’s face, his thin nose, narrow lips, large eyebrows, and his lightly grizzled face.  His eyes shined with satisfaction, as did hers.  But his was far more repulsive and disgusting, for his pleasure came from the death of others.  Jacob felt the burn in his throat, and his left hand covered his throat to stop him from vomiting.  His left leg slipped, and a hollow thump echoed inside the man’s room.  Jacob looked through the striped openings on the floor, and saw the man’s stare.

            The murderer’s eyes locked on Jacob, and the two were frozen with mutual fear.  The whole world dematerialized in that instant.  A cyclone formed, lasting a momentary eternity.  All of life appeared so obscure, so remote and ill-defined, that he had no choice but to stare into the soul of the damned.  The eyes of a murderer.  The eyes of a guilty abomination.  What so terrified Jacob was not the stoicism or the steely black eyes; it was the fear behind them.   This person, even though he was a cold-hearted killer, was consumed with fear.  He knew he was caught.   In both of their minds, they were imagining the consequences of their actions.  Each would willingly kill the other to escape the same fate.

            The storm suddenly subsided the moment the murderer charged the vent with his knife.  Jacob tried to crawl away, but the man plunged his knife into Jacob’s shoe.  Jacob  lost his balance, and hit the floor of the shaft with the full force of his weight.  The metal supports cracked, and Jacob slid down the shaft.  He tumbled down the shaft for a few seconds before his body hit the floor.  Jacob stood up, and saw the hole in his shoe, where the knife had been, between his two smallest toes.

            Jacob prepared to defend himself, but something was not right.  The killer was not there.  Nor was the body, or the puddle of blood, or the dim light bulb.  The room was entirely dark, and Jacob could only see a little light on the floor next to the broken end of the ventilation shaft.  He had fallen into a separate room, one uninhabited by killers and corpses. 

            Jacob had begun to think that the room was completely devoid of life until he heard a rustling of clothes behind him.  Jacob jolted from the cot and ran into the wall on the other side of the room.  He quickly turned around to face the person, but it was too dark to see anything.  All Jacob could discern was a figure dressed in a strange blue color.

            The man pulled the fine copper chain attached to the hanging lightbulb, and the room was awash with visibility.  Jacob could see everything now, but it confused him even more. 

            The man looked like he was several hundred years old.  His white, tangled beard went all the way down to his waist.  He wore a simple blue hat that fell over his head eight inches in all directions.  His cold, light blue eyes showed a certain wisdom and profundity that spoke of years of hardship and intense mental training.  His eyes were almost imperceptibly enlarged by his magnifying glass spectacles.  He was dressed in a blue frock with strange symbols circling his collar.  His lips, although weak in color, moved with tightness that only age could bestow.

            “I didn’t hear you pass the first time…I didn’t…most unusual…hasn’t happened in…can’t remember.”

            “What…who are you?”

            “Some trick on the ears, no doubt…old age perhaps…curious what Roeshing would say about this…”

            Jacob inched down the wall to escape the ancient’s monologue.  He unlocked the man’s door and stealthily moved down the hallway.

            “Yes…Roeshing…well…hm…where has that boy gone now?”  By now, Jacob was already searching the ship for his room.

 

            It took over thirty minutes to find a broken door hatch, one of the things he noticed on the path to his room.  After searching several rooms for Thomas, he finally found his quarters.  Jacob walked slowly into the room, and closed the hatch as silently as possible. 

            Once he heard the click of the door, a thick arm pressed into his waist, and a sharp blade was held to his throat.

            After turning on the lightbulb, Thomas released Jacob from his death grip.

            “No more adventures for you, I don’t want to lose my head because you can’t keep your damned ass in a cot.  If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll chain your legs to my cot.  Understand?”

            Not exactly a successful expedition.

 

            The rest of the days were boring and entirely mundane.  They spent a total of thirty-five days at sea and at several ports.  Not that they ever saw land, but they guessed that the engines would be turned off when not at sea.

            When they had docked for the fourth time, a flashing red light they had never noticed before filled the room with fear and wild speculation.  Thomas and Jacob whirled to the hatch, as it opened from the outside.  They jumped out of the room and noticed all of the doors on the deck were mechanically opened.  A shrill whistle rang from the sirens, followed by an announcement. 

            “Commodore Tal speaking.  This vessel was entering the Harbor of The Inner Sanctum, a Denshe port, when the Denshe Royal Navy sealed the entrance to the Harbor.  All passengers, dock workers, or families of interim workers are asked to abandon ship.  Disobeying this order justifies death.  All citizens of The Brave New World, General Order 5 is under effect.  That is all.”

            The two stared at each other for a moment, and then ran as fast as their legs could carry them.  Thomas was talking as they tried to remember the path they had taken to their room from the surface.

            “If we are separated, you must head for the castle of King Malachar.  He is a friend of the Federation.  Beware the Denshe, they are treacherous.  While you are in their country, pray to their God, and honor the Sataro Denshe.  Malachar and his people are south some hundred miles.  I have never been there myself, but they can take you to safety.  Any questions?”

            “Where can Malachar take me?  Where was I supposed to go before all this?”

            “You were supposed to meet a friend of Von Steuben’s.  You are not to go to him, but to Malachar.  He is the only friend you have on this God-forsaken continent.”

            The deck was in complete chaos.  Thousands of men, women, and children were screaming and desperately clawing to catch the life boats.  Several dozen sailors were busy on top of a large mound covered in brown fabric.  They were working to untie the ropes that secured the cloth in place.  People were fighting for the hundreds of life boats.  The boats were on either side of the deck, supported by cranes and very thick steel cables.  Several boats were already being lowered down the immense ship, down the three mile drop.  Amidst the shuffling and fighting, many people were being pushed off boats so that they could secure a place for them or their family.  Their fading screams ended with a serene splash and the splattering of their bodies throughout the water’s surface.  The immensity of the fall caused bodies to tear on impact, and their entrails floated to the surface, occasionally bouncing off the sides of their former life boats.

            One boat, already filled twice beyond its capacity, began the trip down the sides of the boat just as an incendiary blast reduced the forty terrified passengers to an immense cloud of blood and timber that covered the deck and sprayed the other boats.  As Jacob stepped forward to see the attacker his shoe stepped in something soft.  He lifted his leg and saw a diamond ring, and the finger attached to it.  No hands attached, just a severed finger.  Jacob’s left arm was showered in blood, and Jacob wanted to throw up again.

            An armada of ships approached from the ocean side.  Their mammoth cannons were firing balls of lead shot that upon impact detonated the gunpowder inside.  The mighty roar from the explosions deafened everyone on deck.  Thomas grabbed Jacob’s arm and they ran towards the nearest life boat. 

            “You can’t go on, she’s already filled to capacity,” said a sailor next to their boat.  “Lower boat number 172,” he yelled to the workers operating the cranes. 

            “Excuse me, we need to get on board this ship.”

            “So does everyone else.  Find one yourself.”

            Thomas pulled a tiny plastic cylinder from his pocket, and removed several dozen gold coins. 

            “No one’s going to give up their lives for money!” cried one of the passengers.  Thomas put his hand once more into his pocket, and revealed a silver knife with a gold hilt.  Thomas charged the boat and stabbed the passenger in the chest.  The man went limp, and collapsed on Thomas’ shoulder.  Thomas removed the knife and hurled the man’s body overboard.  Thomas forced Jacob into the vacant, bloodied seat. 

            “Go to Malachar.  I will try to find you on the beach.  Don’t wait up for me.” Thomas handed him the gold coins. 

            Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.  Jacob leaned closer to him, and Thomas coughed up blood on Jacob’s shorts.  Thomas turned around, and Jacob saw a knife sticking out of Thomas’ back.  His body went slack, and Thomas fell over the railing, back on the deck.  Jacob’s eyes crawled from Thomas’ quivering body to the man who had killed him.  He removed the weapon, and cleaned the blade with a stained red cloth.  It was the very same man who had killed the woman that night.  He wore a red vest under a black suit, and a fine leather sheath above the right pocket along his waistline.

            “No one’s hear to protect you now, lad.  I’m not sure how you knew I was the one assigned to kill you, but that doesn’t matter now.”

            In a moment of brilliance, the boat began its descent down to the ocean.  Just as the assassin lunged for him, Jacob was almost five feet below him.  He watched the assassin as he stood on the deck and jumped down in pursuit of the boat.  He landed on an old man, and it was apparent that the man’s throat had been crushed from the fall.  The assassin moved like a Fallen Angel.  He landed straight, his entire body stood as still as a reed.  His head, which was aimed at the boat during the fall, arose to meet Jacob’s stare.  So they were.  A gust of wind blew the man’s fine suit ever so gently.  A tree in spring, a spider’s web.  Woe to all.  Damn the sinner.  And this was the Angel of Death, or a painter in spring time.  The painter’s arm was up, his brush was ready.  Or was it a claw?  The claw of the tiger.

            “Calius forcade.  Mushath me enparte fairth.”  An assassin of the Guild, this man was not a professional; he was a Doktratos, Master of the Deliverance of Death. 

            Jacob reached for his only weapon, the crystal blade Von Steuben had given him after their conversation.  He held it in front of him, angling the blade downwards with his thumb and forefinger.  The blade extended ten inches, shorter than average for a dirk.

            The Doktratos breathed silently, his body immobile.  Then, his arms slowly began to rise into the sky.  When they were fully extended, two short daggers flashed from beneath his sleeves.  His hands flinched, and the Master held the portents of Death in either palm.  The silver blades glimmered in the mid-day sun, amid the violent eruptions and the shrieks of hysteria that so captivated their mother ship.

            The Doktratos moved.  The tiger pounced, and the crane dodged the attack of the man’s left hand.  The Doktratos was not slow, in fact he was among the fastest in the Assassins’ Guild.  It is a well known fact that the crane usually loses to the tiger.  The tiger can fight longer, he can choose when to strike. 

            Jacob moved fast, faster than he had ever seen anyone move.  He gripped the assassin’s wrist and directed his lunge towards the edge of the boat.  He followed through with his crystal dirk, but the Doktratos had backwards-somersaulted behind the reach of the dirk.  The Doktratos scissor swiped Jacob, cutting the air with his blades in opposite directions.  Jacob ducked, and narrowly missed certain decapitation.  Instead, the trained killers blade whisked a single solitary hair off the ear lobe of a young woman. Jacob struggled to stand, he had to shove two people who blocked him from maintaining any kind of defensive stance. 

            Once he had time and room to stand, he had but a moment to see the silver blade being thrust at his face.  The crane hopped, and the tiger clawed at Jacob’s shirt, leaving a tattered stripe down his left side.  Jacob swung his blade in mid-jump, and swiped the Doktratos’ shoulder.  A thin stripe of red appeared in the corner of Jacob’s eye as he gripped the extremely thick metal cable that lowered them to the ocean.  Jacob swiveled around the cable and jumped off, aiming for the opposite side of the boat.  He turned his head to see where his adversary was.  The Doktratos had pulled one of his knives well past the shoulder, and was shot-gunning it at Jacob.  He straddled his legs before impact, and landed on the boat with his legs and bottom.  The blade moved through his hair and struck a young man in the shoulder behind him.  The man’s left arm hit Jacob as he tried to cover the wound.  Jacob slammed the deck with his hands and rose slightly above standing height, and he dropped his legs to stand.  The water was too close, too close indeed.  The steel cable would snap when they were close to the water to save time for the operation of other ships.  He could see the stained water below, the waves seemed as big as his thumb. 

            The injured man behind him was gurgling.  Gurgling?  Nerve-toxin!  The blades had been poison tipped; one scratch meant certain death.  Jacob grabbed the knife and pulled it out of the man’s shoulder. The Doktratos lunged, and Jacob met his blows with the crystal dagger.  The blades met in a shower of sparks, and the Doktratos attacked again.  The sparks were flying, and Jacob had been pushed to the end of the boat. 

            Jacob was bracing for another blow when the thick cable snapped.  The boat was in free fall, and Jacob felt the upward pull.

            The boat hit the water with a terrific blast.  Jacob’s left foot slipped and he fell on his back.  The edge of the boat met his vertebrae six inches from the waist.  The Doktratos attacked again, but Jacob lost his grip on the crystal dirk. 

            A quick grin on his face, the tiger showing his full jaw to his fallen prey.  No death line, no last word, nothing except the Doktratos’ business-like grin.  Just another day at work.

            Jacob revealed the poison-tipped knife from behind his back and sliced along the man’s waistline.  The would-be assassin’s face went pale, and he stabbed the knife towards Jacob’s neck in a last, desperate act to regain honor by vanquishing his foe.  Jacob easily met the knife and forced it out of his now dead fingers.  The tiger lay dead, resting on the crane.  Blood begets blood. 

            With a last grunt, Jacob shoved the corpse overboard.  Some of the more alert passengers had already begun rowing the boat to ashore.  Jacob joined them.

 

            On board the Brave New World, the sailors had fully removed the brown cloth.  Men in odd suits that completely covered their bodies were now attending to an enormous turret with many wires and electronic scanners.  There was a black visor over their faces.  The turret itself was transparent, and a silver colored pipe curled inside the strange weapon’s barrel.  The curling pipe extended two/thirds the length of the barrel.  Jacob’s boat had moved several hundred feet from the drop off point when everyone heard a high-pitched humming from the Brave New World.  The curled pipe had a slender blue cord of light that twisted around the pipe.  The light began to grow, until the entire curled pipe emitted a magnificent light blue aura.  The technicians aimed the weapon, and threw a switch.

            A cyclone of light gushed from the end of the barrel.  Jacob could hear the screeching of metal from the armada, and saw a cloud of smoke that covered the entrance to the harbor.  The Denshe fleet had been vaporized by a weapon unknown to the rest of mankind.  A Brave New World indeed, it sailed away after its display of mystical force.  It left all of its passengers to the swords of the Denshe. 

            Jacob was a pilgrim in an Unholy Land.  All he had was a name.

            “Malachar.”