Purple shades of light blinded the girl as she stood at the corner of the dome-shaped room. A hand to her book while the other tossed around her hazel hair as she leaned against the wall, waiting. It had been over an hour since she had stayed at this part of the city, the "M-District" was what the locals had called it, the area where different species roamed to find pleasure and excitement, an escape from the riveting truths of their lives.
At noon, the district was made rowdier with the influx of ship cargos, deliveries, slave traders and tourists. Beyond the building she could sense the hubbubs of the capital city, Cverya. It was made even worse this week, with the arrival of "Arruine." The week-long event that celebrated the union between their neighboring planets, a consolidation within their galaxy, a ceasefire agreement. This arduous event required chiefs, emperors and dignitaries of the different star systems to come together and perform various rituals throughout the week, which eventually leads to the grand 'finale' celebration, the Tantell, where the high-ranks discuss the comings and goings of their own respective planets as well as the posing threats that arise outside the galaxy.
5 minutes left.
She glanced to her hand, at the thin sheet of glass-monitor situated atop the back of her palm—the 'Mione'. It was light and thin as paper, and yet the gadget was capable of many things: communication, entertainment and convenience jammed into one thin piece of glass-paper—a removable, waterproof and transparent contraption. It was of no wonder as to why it immediately became available in the Universal Trade Market.
Beads of sweat cascaded from her forehead as the massive coiling heat caused her white shirt cling to onto her fair skin. The room was big, illuminated by a wide purple ray of light embedded onto the curved ceiling, inside the room were various furnitures and tables, topped with an array of cleaning and mechanical materials on each of the four sides of the room, and at its center was a machine— the Praleiyt. The Dreamer.
She sighed at the sight, the pod shaped device was meticulously designed to solely fit one person, regardless of what species they were, be it Draconian or any of the other beasts that roam their galaxy. The particular device was shaped cylindrically and was made entirely out of solid 'fraythellie', a material that was deemed more impenetrable than a diamond and sported a lighter mass—Arcturian made. A machine made for escape, for dreaming, and for manipulation.
Her braided hair bounced behind her shoulders as she approached the being inside the capsule. The being—a female Nordic, was surprisingly short for her kind. She surveyed the Nordic from top to bottom, noting her pale white skin and long blonde hair which stretched to her calves. Her eyes stopped onto the being's neck, to the scars that now marred her white skin, much like a snake wrapped in barbs of wire and steel, the patient's neck was thoroughly damaged, leaving a trail of thorned wires circling around her neck at its wake.
Another refugee.
Her palm heated, her gray eyes then trailed back to her Mione.
"ETA 3 minutes. Better hurry it up Vassa, Cantis will be arriving any moment now." The familiar voice rang through her adrenaline-fueled mind as she hurried towards the monitor placed beside the Praleiyt device.
She cursed, "What happened to Kria then? Wasn't she supposed to distract the old yank?" The girl panicked as she pressed various keys which reflected the Nordic's vital signs and various 'preigh' levels.
The voice scoffed, "Well...something happened she—"
She cut him off, "No shit, Pycke. Of course something happened, something always happens to Kria nowadays." She rolled her eyes in annoyance. Later she would slap the living hell out of Kria and shove some sense down into Pycke's scrubby throat—if she made it out. She then heaved a sigh, "Now where in the hell is Nevim?" Her fingers continued to type codes onto the monitor, disrupting the walls of the seemingly impervious defenses of the machine. One by one the walls fell as trails of cold sweat ran down her back while she awaited Pycke's answer through the Mione connection.
This had to work, she said to herself. It had to, or else she would be knee-deep in trouble if this operation fails, plus the pay was good enough as well—two million cyph. Her lips quirked at the thought of the prize money. For greed was truly a terrible addiction, one marked with concupiscence and ruthlessness, where the weak dwindle, the strong thrive and the mad worship.
And she was indeed a mad woman.
So here she was, stealing once again—no, claiming back what their client deserved. Her ever-so enigmatic client. Ever since she beheld the client's mysterious features through the lens of the first generation model of the Mione, she was always skeptic of the client's true intentions. After all, who in the right mind would consider breaking into Cverya's most promising Praleiyt parlor and fish out information from one of the notorious Cantis brothers? Her shoulders sagged a bit. She would, it seems. It was a risky job for amateur sleuths, but they needed the money, badly.
The monitor near the Praleiyt device glowed.
Memory transfer : 80%
Preigh levels : 30-70-10
Simulation: Rhiatos Star Clusters
She cursed once more. Despite bringing down the system's walls and enabling the Mione-Praleiyt connection, the transfer was still excruciatingly slow. The client had made it explicitly clear to her and her group of misfits to extract the memories of the Nordic refugee in a way that most certainly does not harm the patient.
Pycke's reply came just in time as the girl heard loud noises erupt from below. "Nevim can't be reached, his Mione signal disappeared. I-I even tried tracking him with the poddes...but found nothing." Slow and heavy steps woke the building of the Praleiyt salon, accompanied with high pitched snickering and praises. Cantis and his goonies were here.
"How long till the memories are transferred?" Pycke asked, and she could almost imagine Pycke's sweat-drenched face as he bit his nails in panic.
"15 minutes. Its still in 82%, and I need to reroute the machine and put back the walls afterwards." She rushed to the nearby closet, grabbed a sleek black employee uniform and tied her wavy hair into a bun, putting pressure on the stick that pressed the bun to its place. "Calm your ass down and stick to the plan. Just keep calling Nevim and I'll improvise. I always do." Pycke was about to shout back something through the line before she placed her hand to her ear and cancelled the connection.
She smoothed down the folds of her uniform in one sweep and straightened her back as she headed back to her old position at the corner of the room, away from the Praleiyt device, and right across the door, to where Cantis now stood, five men in tow behind him, a smug grin plastered to his face.
Cantis was a half-breed, a cross between a dark skinned Yahyel and a white-skin Essassani, yielding a tanned, square-faced seven foot tall giant who smokes cartons upon cartons of top-grade tobacco. The youngest of the three brothers, Ouroc Cantis was the most noticeable among the siblings, mostly due to his 'large' frame accompanied with a weird child-like voice. Cantis owned various salons throughout the district, with district authorities and politicians wrapped around his little sausage fingers, 'the Rabbit Kingpin'.
Cantis spoke, his high-pitched tone stunned the girl. "Where is Myuttor?" The employee who was supposed to be watching the Nordic, now tied in ropes and stashed inside the closet, unconscious.
"H-he left. Something about his sister getting into a fight with her partner." She started, surprisingly acting nervous and jittery, like a rabbit surrounded by a hoard of foxes, defenseless and innocent. An act. "A-Apologies sir. I'm new to this job," Her eyes reverted back to the Praleiyt device. "I did what I was told in the heat of the moment." She bowed her head, deep and full of regret.
Cantis scoffed and faced his men, "Dock Myuttor's pay and put it on her pay instead." He looked at her way and said, with his pre-pubertal voice, "Raise your head dearie," The girl obeyed. "What is your name dearest?" His smirk did all the talking, he looked at her with such lust and desire, he wanted something more.
She looked at the sad crone, face-to-face. "L-lyxe, sir. Lyxe Quitton from Pleiadiem." They were inches apart, and the girl debated whether she would tear his face out or remain his unrelenting subordinate.
His eyes widened. "A Pleiadian." She glanced at his men, they too, eyes widened with surprise. "What brings you to Essande, dearie?" Pleiadians were a proud race, a proud neighbor of the Essassani; a loyal group of species capable of great things—abilities.
Cantis surveyed the girl up and down. "Are you...Can you do-" She cut him off and swayed her head in answer. Cantis merely sighed in disappointment and shuffled off to the Praleiyt device.
She stayed at the corner of the room, watching Cantis and his men approach the Nordic. Their steps were silent and careful, as if they were afraid to wake the Nordic—idiots.
Cantis slid his hand onto the hood of the cylinder, murmuring words of the ancients to himself. A prayer? A ritual? Nonsense. There were no gods, nor were there any deities or saints. Only them.
"Have you been to an Arruine before, dear Pleiadian?" Cantis did not use her name, just her kind.
The girl squared her shoulders and forced a smile. "No sir, I have yet to see such a celebration."
Cantis smiled back, his yellow teeth gleaming against the purple light, revealing a bit of food residing in between his two front canines. "Well, luck is with you dearie. For Essande is this year's host for the event, and no Empire could ever compare to such grandeur and merriment as much as Essande." He nodded to one of his goons and gazed at the wall on the other side. The wall illuminated, exposing the flat sheet of glass that now displayed the Essande Royal Palace—a projector is what it was.
The girl's eyes stared intently at the sight. It was the national channel, showing the hoarding crowds of people blocking the front entrance of the Royal Palace. The camera pulled back, exhibiting a full panoramic view of the Palace itself. The castle had another name: The Glass Palace. An architectural beauty constructed out of fraythellie glass, the building stood like a mountain, its three main tips looked like glass shards seeping from the ground and arching its way to the top and through the flamingo shades of clouds that surrounded the top of the palace.
It was glorious and magnificent; the rays of the suns that decorate the Essande skies shone through its glass walls, creating rainbows that cascaded from the tops of the palace. And for once, the girl thought of how wonderful it was to live inside the palace, to surround herself with dazzling light and prance around their glass home with no apprehension, to feel protected and cared for, to live a life of luxury like a fragile creature. She quickly stamped out the thought.
"A beauty isn't she?" Cantis began, "The Essanier family sure knows how to construct a castle." He looked to the girl, her eyes as curious as ever, and asked, "I take it you have not had the displeasure of witnessing the Royal family?" The girl nodded and took into consideration how the kingpin highlighted the word displeasure. The men behind him snickered and watched as the screen displayed the Essanier royal family.
All of them listened as the narrator chronicled the lives of he entire Essanier family in vague detail. From their exemplary lineage and excellence, to their recent accolades and achievements, the reporter was clearly construed on getting into the good graces of the Royal family—another kiss ass. Nonetheless, the family was undoubtedly a gander to behold. The girl was absolutely enamored by their striking beauty: immaculate faces and clear complexions, fiery red locks and silver eyes, all finished with convincingly tall statures. All except one.
She eyed the lady positioned among the royals, her rose gold colored hair dancing with the wind, and her eyes, though silver, branded something different, something discriminable. As if the lady hid something beneath those rage-filled defiant eyes of hers, she was not like the other royals of whom the girl despised, she was peculiar, an outsider— much like her the girl mused.
Cantis must have noticed the girl's unyielding attention to the rose-haired lady as he said, "That, my dear is Imperial Princess Elicynne Brys Essanier." The girl feigned her surprise as Cantis persisted, "But you would have already known that, wouldn't you?" He snapped his chummy fingers and grinned. "Dearest Vassa, please do make yourself at home." His men made their way behind the girl and grabbed her by the shoulders as they pushed her onto a chair on the edge of the room. At her dismay, she was not alone, for there she saw, wrapped in filthy ropes and held by Cantis' men was Kria, one of her crew. Vassa merely smiled as she held her head high, masking away any uncertainty that ceased to remain disclosed along her features.
And so it begins.