Book One - Chapter Seven
“The only good Ustur is a dead Ustur.” - Bohemian proverb
Local Time: 10:04
Date: Day 127 of the Year 93 according to the Bohemian Calendar - Year 2623 according to the Galactic Calendar
Location: North-East of Danu - Planet Bohemia - Mid Risk Zone - MUD Territory - Galia
The Fimbul Lowbie’s Subwarp Engine purred with a deep, steady rumble that Cillian could feel in his bones. He loved the sensation. And the sound. The powerful engine had been customised by Toal so that it was now capable of outputting a staggering nine hundred and thirty horsepower at eight thousand rpm.
But Cillian was presently cruising along at just over one hundred and sixty kilometres per hour. Nothing near its max speed. His destination was the National University’s Military Training Campus, which was located one hundred and twelve kilometres to the north-east of Danu. Below the speeding ship, sprawling forest stretched away in each direction in a seemingly endless carpet of verdant, velvet greenery. There were no human-made ground dwellings, nor any other infrastructure this far out from the capital city. In fact, the vast majority of the land on the planet of Bohemia was composed of wild forests. Caedmon, the founder of Bohemia, had intentionally terraformed the planet in this way.
Cillian glanced at the readings on his dashboard, checking how much further to they had to go.
Less than fifty kilometres to go. Just over halfway, thought Cillian to himself.
Despite the fact that Cillian had been a champion Fimbul Airbike rider in his early twenties, nowadays he preferred piloting his Lowbie. He had dubbed the ship Luas, which meant ‘speed’ in the Irish language. He found the Lowbie more comfortable, which made for a more relaxing flight. It was also his preferred mode of transport due to its ability to accommodate an extra passenger. This allowed him to easily travel with Reginald. Whilst Reginald could in theory ride behind Cillian on an Airbike if required, the idea of being grasped for any length of time by Reginald’s metal robotic arms and fingers was not particularly appealing to Cillian.
There was, however, one more passenger in the Lowbie. The dog Luna had been waiting beside Reginald at the exit ramp of Ádh when Cillian had been departing. As usual, he had been unable to resist her pleading eyes. She somehow always knew when he was going out and would be there waiting for him. That being said, the truth was that he actually enjoyed her company and, for this reason, rarely denied her request to join him in his non-military ventures.
“Reg,” said Cillian without turning. “What is the meaning of life?”
“Sir, I am not a living being, therefore I cannot answer this question.”
“Oh, how boring. Tell me a joke then.”
There was an extended silence as Reginald searched the public network for a joke. Cillian took the opportunity to take a swig from his hip flask of whisky.
“A robot gets arrested.”
Reginald did not say anything further.
“And…?”
“He is charged with battery.”
“Oh, dear.”
Luna, who was curled up at the feet of Reginald, began to bark in her sleep.
“The canine appears to find it amusing,” said Reginald.
“Oh bollocks. She does not. She is dreaming. Not that you would know what that is.”
“Dreaming is the period of involuntary hallucinations that afflicts some higher order sentient organisms during sleeping.”
“I guess that is one way to describe it,” mumbled Cillian. “But what you cannot and will not ever comprehend is —“ but Cillian abruptly stopped speaking mid sentence.
What had caught his attention was the sudden appearance of three VZUS ambwe ships, which had ascended into the air from a clearing in the forest below. Whilst brigands and bandits were relatively uncommon on Bohemia, given the brutal effectiveness of the National Military and National Police forces, they were not unheard of. Occasionally, the odd newspaper article of someone being accosted by bandits surfaced in the Boheme Telegraph, the official National newspaper publication. But the stories almost always ended with the capture and arrest of the criminals in question. Perhaps they only published the stories that concluded with the good guys winning.
“Reginald, please send a message to Major Maeve at the National Military University to advise that we may be delayed.”
“Sir, I am unable to send any messages. We are being radio-jammed.”
“Switch to emergency military frequency and contact the Danu Police Department. Request immediate backup. High likelihood of hostile engagement. Send the location co-ordinates,” said Cillian, his speech rapid and precise.
“Authorisation password required to engage emergency military frequency, sir.”
“Star divinity sixty-five opal newtown.”
“Accepted. Switching to emergency military frequency,” said Reginald. “Sir, we are blocked on all frequencies. All incoming and outgoing signals are jammed. There is only one open frequency.”
“Damn it,” swore Cillian, his brow furrowing in frustration. “Okay, hail them on the open frequency.”
A few moments later, a muffled voice was heard over the radio. The speaker was clearly disguising their identity by using voice distortion technology.
“You are ordered to land in the clearing ahead. Failure to comply will be met with lethal force.”
Cillian grabbed the corded radio microphone and flicked it on. “Ordered by whom?” quipped Cillian sarcastically.
There was no response to Cillian’s question.
Cillian sighed and placed the microphone back on the dash. He took another swig of whisky.
“Reginald, it looks like our day just got a lot more interesting. Should we try to outrun the bastards? I bet Luas would be able to beat them in a straight race.”
“Sir, I believe that their missiles have locked on to our ship and at this distance the probability of escaping alive, should they fire the missiles, would be minimal.”
“Ever the party pooper, aye, Reg. I suspect you are correct, though.”
Cillian slowed down the ship and began to veer towards the clearing in the forest. He could see that it had only recently been cleared by what appeared to have been explosive impacts. This was clearly pre-meditated. The question was whether they had been waiting for him specifically or had just been waiting to ambush the first unsuspecting and unguarded ship that would pass by.
Once Cillian had landed the Lowbie, two of the three ships followed suit and landed nearby. Their entrance hatches quickly opened and three tall figures emerged from each ship. The six soldiers wore full battle dress, armoured black space suits, combat helmets, jet packs and assault plasma rifles. The third VZUS ambwe, which had not landed, held a holding pattern above them, no doubt as a precautionary measure in case Cillian attempted to escape in his ship.
Cillian remained sitting in the car, observing the soldiers as they fanned out around his ship.
These are no ordinary bandits. They appear to be trained soldiers, thought Cillian.
As they moved closer, he could see that their assault rifles had been customised. They sported short range scopes, barrel compensators, vertical grips and extended magazines.
These look to be mercenary soldiers, likely ex-military, but by their tall stature, they do not appear to be human. Most likely Ustur then. Off-worlders, thought Cillian as he quickly appraised the situation.
But then Cillian noticed that two of the rearmost soldiers were limping, one of them very badly, their left leg dragging along the ground.
They have recently been in a scuffle, it would appear, thought Cillian.
The muffled voice came over the radio again.
“You are ordered to exit from the ship.”
“Sir, I do believe that these individuals appear to have hostile intentions.”
“I think I would agree with you on this one, Reg.”
By this time, Luna had awoken from her slumber. Sensing potential danger, she began to whimper.
“It is okay, Luna. I need you to stay here in the car and guard it for me, okay?” said Cillian as he reached back behind Reginald’s seat to grab a pair of pink-rimmed aviator sunglasses, a crumpled flower-bedecked long-sleeved shirt and matching loose pants and a shiny metal sphere. “Uncle Reggie and I will take care of this. We shall not be long. I promise.”
Luna appeared to be reassured by the tone in Cillian’s voice. She stopped her whimpering and rested her head back down. The tinted glass of Cillian’s Lowbie had been customised to provide complete privacy for the occupants. Knowing this, Cillian quickly removed his military uniform and slipped the floral shirt and floral pants over his military under-armour. The under-armour was effectively concealed from view once he had donned his civilian garments. He had left his combat space suit back on Ádh as he had not anticipated a hostile encounter this day. But he would not be completely defenceless as he was still wearing his under-armour, which was actually an extremely high-grade military defensive device capable of generating a powerful personal energy shield when required. And, of course, he had the eight silver-coloured rings, one on each finger of his two hands. He wore these rings at all times, and whilst most people simply dismissed them as no more than jewellery accessories, once activated, they actually became close-combat military weapons.
“Sir, will you require my combat services today?”
“Reg, I do believe I may.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Follow my lead, though. And remember, you are supposed to be just a dumb butler robot, so make sure you act the part. Just like we have practiced. Understood?”
“Understood, sir. I note, however, that you have brought no guns with you on this journey.”
“Why on Bohemia would I need any guns when I have you?” asked Cillian with a wide grin. Cillian took a final long swig of whisky and donned his straw hat, ensuring it sat slightly akimbo on his head. “Plus, I always have my fists of fury,” continued Cillian, wiggling a ring-bedecked hand as he opened his driver-side door with the other hand.
Once the pair had emerged from Luas, the third mercenary ship, which had been circling above, descended to land.
The nearest mercenary soldier, clearly the leader of the team, was presently walking towards Cillian, their assault rifle raised.
“Greetings and salutations, ladies and gentleman,” said Cillian loudly, intentionally slurring his words to feign drunkenness. He was still holding his hip flask in his left hand as he opened his arms wide in what he intended to be a welcoming gesture. Cillian looked the very image of an arrogant young playboy out for a drunken joy ride. “Oh, so sorry if I have offended. By your towering stature, I surmise you may be Ustur and I do believe if I am not mistaken that you do not identify with any gender. Non-binary would you say? Do you have preferred pronouns? How should I address you?”
The other ship had now landed, and two additional mercenary soldiers joined the group. Eight mercenary soldiers in total were now arrayed before Cillian, with the leader halting three metres from him just as Reginald arrived by Cillian’s side.
Curious. Only two soldiers emerged from the third ship. No signs of anyone else aboard the ship. Third team likely suffered a casualty, thought Cillian.
The mercenary leader took their left hand off their assault rifle to press a button on the side of their helmet and in the process of doing so, the barrel of their assault rifle began to droop towards the ground. The visor flicked up to reveal an Ustur face. Cillian’s sharp gaze caught a grimace of pain as the Ustur struggled to keep the rifle level with only their right arm holding it. They were ultimately unable to achieve this and only once the left hand had returned to its supporting position on the rifle were they once again able to aim the assault rifle back on Cillian.
Right arm injury, thought Cillian. No visible wounds would suggest internal damage. Possibly a fractured radius. Wait, do Ustur have radius bones? Likely not. Absurd of me to think they would have the same anatomy as humans. Note to self: research Ustur anatomy later this afternoon.
“Ah, my supposition was correct. You are indeed Ustur,” said Cillian, bringing his hands down beside him. He made sure to sway back and forth on his feet as he spoke, to further feed the image of intoxication. “Welcome to Bohemia. My name is Cillian, and this is my butler, Reginald.”
Cillian gestured towards Reginald, who stood quietly beside Cillian. Reginald’s posture was hunched forward, his head bowed. On hearing his name, he glanced up at the gathered party of Ustur mercenaries and waved a limp hand, an expression of despondence upon his multi-articulated metallic face. He looked like just another world-weary personal butler to some spoilt rich playboy. In fact, whilst Reginald was actually a highly advanced combat assault robot, a Fimbul Robravo, designed specifically for the purpose of personal security, an intentional design decision had been made to make these combat robots perfectly resemble a popular model of robot butler, the Fimbul Robutler. The reason that they had done this was to ensure that the Robravos did not draw unwanted attention. If enemies were able to easily identify Robravos, then this would have the opposite effect of protecting whoever was being guarded, as it would make them an easily identifiable target. Unlike Robravos, Robutlers did not have any combat capabilities, nor did they even have the capacity to fight due to their programming. This made it very difficult for enemies to identify officers who were in civilian clothing, as the officer in question simply looked like any other wealthy civilian with a private butler robot. The Robravos’ combat and defensive systems were ingeniously hidden within their frame, only becoming visible as and when required.
Cillian being Cillian had, of course, taken it a step further and outfitted Reginald with an entire butler’s uniform. It was actually quite common for butler robots owned by those in the upper-class circles of society to wear uniforms. These would often depict the Family insignia. Cillian had elected to outfit Reginald in a uniform with absurdly clashing colours and styles, predominantly as a grand practical joke. The uniform consisted of a pink long-sleeved dress shirt with rainbow-coloured bow tie, yellow gloves, red polkadot waistcoat, purple butler’s cap and finally a black and white chequered waist apron. That being said, it certainly did reinforce the illusion that Reginald was merely a butler robot to an eccentric elite, and not, in fact, a highly advanced combat assault robot.
“So, I am still curious,” said Cillian as he began to pace back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. “Is it they/them? Ze/hir? Xe/xem? Hy/hym? Or maybe just it/its? Or are there some other preferred pronouns I am not aware of? Please do enlighten me. I am ever so curious. You see for us Boheme, we have only two genders, male and female. And these two genders correlate with the two biological sexes that exist in our species of humans. It makes life very simple, you see. But I understand things may be different for you Usturs. How would you classify your gender identity? Would you say you are more agender rather than non-binary? Or perhaps androgynous or neutrois?”
Cillian turned back to once again face the Ustur mercenaries.
“Do you have anything down there?” said Cillian, his right hand pointing towards his crutch? “Anything at all? Or is it all just a shiny — “ but Cillian got no further as the leader of the mercenary crew fired a warning shot into the air as a means of silencing Cillian.
The leader then spoke up and this time their voice was not disguised by voice distortion technology. An undercurrent of anger was clearly heard in their tone of voice. “You are now our prisoners. Our hostages. We will not harm you so long as you do exactly as commanded. Do you have any weapons on your person? Does your servant robot have any weapons on them?”
“Prisoners? Hostages?” said Cillian, feigning shock. “Why on earth would you want to take poor innocent little me hostage? I have no weapons, as you can see. And Butler robots are unable to bear or use arms of any kind. No, you must have me mistaken for someone else. I cannot for the life of me imagine why you would want to take me as your prisoner. Did I offend you with my questions regarding your gender identity? Let us start over again, then, shall we? This discussion has become terribly serious. I know what we need. Some humour. Reginald, would you mind telling these Ustur ‘folk’ that joke you told me earlier? Actually, hold off on that for a moment. I have one more thing to clarify.”
Cillian began to pace back and forth, his eyes studying the ground as he resumed speaking. “Apologies for using the term ‘folk’. I was no doubt making an assumption. If I have offended you in any way, it was not intentional. Is ‘folk’ the collective noun that you Ustur use when referring to yourselves in plural contexts, given you are neither a group of men nor women? I could not have very well said ‘people’ because… well, you are not humans. Perhaps the term ‘beings’ is more appropriate as that refers to sentient entities and being a living organism is not a pre-requisite for sentience. You are not living in the normal sense, are you? You appear to satisfy all the key attributes of a living organism save for four fundamental ones: cellular structure, growth, reproduction and adaptation. But, oh how human-centric and arrogant of me to project onto another… ‘being’ the expectation that they would need to conform to the same attributes that characterise us humans as living organisms. That being said, I am fairly certain that every other living species in Galia — the Mierese, the Punaab, the Tufa and even the freaky Photoli — do actually adequately conform to and satisfy all the fundamental life characteristics. All except the Ustur. It makes one wonder, does it not? Did nature really intend for these ‘things’ to exist?”
Cillian stopped pacing and looked up at the mercenary leader who still stood with their gun trained on Cillian, a look of rage now on their face.
“Ah,” cried Cillian. “I have found the term that best describes you all. ‘Things’! It suits you all perfectly. And logically your pronouns would therefore be it/its. Fantastic. Now that we have resolved that mystery, Reginald, please now relay the joke to these ‘things’.”
“A robot gets arrested,” said Reginald. He paused for another second, and then continued. “He is charged with battery.”
Cillian began to laugh hysterically, turning as he did so to slap Reginald on the back. He then bent over, right hand on the ground, as he howled with laughter.
The mercenary soldiers appeared to be perturbed by this highly eccentric behaviour. The soldiers looked from Cillian to their leader and back to Cillian.
“This is not the time for your stupid antics,” yelled the Ustur leader, firing another warning shot above Cillian, this time closer to his head. “Have you not understood what I have said?”
Cillian continued laughing, tears streaming down his face.
“Fucking insane human,” growled the mercenary leader. Without turning, he addressed his team. “Search the human for weapons. Then bind them both. Once that is done, I want you to contact the Bohemian authorities and let them know we have a member of one of their elite Families as our hostage. This rich brat is the son of someone important, no doubt. So he will be our ticket off this forsaken planet.”
Despite the fact that Cillian was at this time on his knees, laughter continuing to rock his body back and forth, his acute hearing picked up the Ustur’s words.
So that is their game, huh, thought Cillian.
Cillian immediately ceased laughing, straightening up as he did so, and he reached into his right pocket to remove a shiny sphere. The same shiny sphere he had taken from behind the passenger seat of his car.
“Oh, please pay no mind to this here trinket. It is not a weapon, so you need not be afraid,” he said, holding the sphere out on his flat palm. The multi-faceted ball of metal began to unfold and transform. Twin propellers appearing on either side of a centrally positioned camera that was attached to a miniature gimbal. It was, in fact, a high quality personal video recording drone. These were, for the most part, only used by wealthy elites, celebrities, high-ranking politicians, entertainers, social media influencers and some athletes. And, of course, by Cillian.
The recording drone lifted off into the air and immediately began to record Cillian as he recommenced his pacing. It was, however, not only recording but also live-streaming to Cillian’s infrequently used social media account on the Hologram News Network. Cillian had noticed that as soon as they exited the ship, they were able to receive and transmit frequencies, which meant that only his Lowbie was being radio jammed and shielded. In their arrogance, the Ustur had evidently not considered it a significant risk if Cillian or Reginald were to contact the Bohemian officials once they had exited their ship given the authorities were going to be called by the Ustur anyway once Cillian had been taken as a prisoner.
Cillian spoke loudly and clearly as he walked, his words no longer slurring. “I see now that I was intended to be your hostage. To be used in your negotiations as leverage with the Bohemian authorities to assist in your escape off-planet. You must have therefore come to Bohemia on a secret mission. You bear no insignia, nor do you have any uniform. Mercenaries, I suspect. Paid to carry out a mission. Likely against the nation state of Bohemia itself, given the National Military are after you. Oh, yes, I can see you have had a run in with the National Military. And not just any old regular soldiers, either. You were engaged by Bohemian special forces. I can tell because of the bullet holes in two of your comrades. These bullet holes all have the faint but distinctive chemical residues left behind by the unique armour-penetrating ammunition that is exclusively used by the Bohemian Special Forces. How can I see this you may wonder? I can see it with my high tech — and highly fashionable — sunglasses.”
Cillian stopped momentarily to tap his aviator sunglasses, flashed a grin up at the recording drone, and then resumed his pacing. There were currently just over three hundred live viewers and this number was growing with each passing second. Cillian did not post very often on his social media account, however, when he did, the videos would inevitably go viral. His last post, which had been the live streaming of his drunken horse race two days prior, already had over two million views.
“These are not just any old glasses, though. No, no. These allow me to see all sorts of things. Including the following facts,” said Cillian, halting mid-stride to turn towards the lead mercenary. He raised his right hand and began to count off each item with his fingers as he spoke. “Two of your soldiers have no ammunition in their assault rifles. None of your team has any backup guns. You are the only one with a single spare ammunition magazine. One of your soldiers has sustained three fractures in whatever equivalent of bones you ‘things’ have in your legs and you yourself have a broken right arm. And finally, your personal energy shield power level is down to around twenty-five percent remaining capacity, whilst most of your team have either very minimal or no remaining power in their personal energy shields.”
Cillian stopped speaking to gauge the effect his words were having on the Ustur. Two Ustur on the left side of the field, whose assault rifles were empty of ammunition, had already lowered their weapons. They realised the pointlessness of holding up the empty rifles any longer given their bluff had been called.
“So, back to my story. Yes, you came here on a secret mission to carry out some nefarious plot. But you failed in your mission. Caught in the act, I suspect. You fought off the Special Forces, who no doubt came crashing down on you when you muddled your mission. You somehow escaped, although not without losing a soldier and being injured in the process. And now you are trying to escape the planet as the Bohemian Special Forces are no doubt searching for you this very minute. Then along comes what appears to be a spoilt rich kid in his souped up ship, and you thought this would be the perfect hostage as he likely has parents in powerful positions who would do anything to get their beloved boy back. How am I doing so far?”
The Ustur soldiers stood motionless, unable to respond. The recording drone swivelled in the air to capture the expressions of the Ustur. Just under ten thousand viewers now. The word was spreading like wildfire through the Bohemian community and abroad. By now, the authorities would have been alerted and likely would already have ships airborne and on the way to the location of the livestream transmission.
“I take it by your stunned expressions that I am right on the money. Now the only two questions left are: one, what was your mission, and two, who sent you? For this reason, I will keep one of you alive so I can question them later. And that one will be… you,” said Cillian, the index finger of his right hand pointing towards the mercenary leader. “Reginald?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Please enter combat mode. Engage and neutralise all the ‘things’ in the area. Except for this ‘thing’ I am pointing at. I will keep it alive for questioning,” said Cillian.
“Understood, sir.”
“Very good,” said Cillian, turning to the recording drone once again. He smiled widely as he observed that twenty-five thousand viewers were now watching the live recording. “And please remember, my beloved fans, Reggie and I are trained professionals, so please do not attempt the following at home.”