The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption Read Online Free PDF

I
watched the pushy photographers jump out of their cars and struggle
to explain how our car had disappeared, avoiding a crash landing
that would have provided the bottom-feeding lens hounds with weeks
of lucrative photo sales.
    As we glided off towards Universal City, even
Spud cracked a smile. “Someday,” he vowed, wiping the beads of
sweat off his face and chest with the remnants of his T-shirt. “I
shall earnestly seek a more incognitious and solitary
existence.”
    “My brother Blair told me there was a bee
farm for sale in Sussex,” I joked, as I touched down under a
deserted freeway overpass near the rear studio gate and made my
“car” re-visible and road-worthy.
    “Ha,” was Spud’s only response. He continued
scowling until we were waved through the entrance to the studio and
heading for my designated parking space.
     
    * * *
     
    It was early evening, and I was praying it
was the last take for Bulwark’s Touareg prison scene. I so
desperately wanted to scratch my skin. To appear convincing as
captives tortured by the evil Mordmort’s guards, Spud and I had had
to spend much of the afternoon with the FX make-up specialists
getting tortured. After dressing in ragged versions of our Phaeton
Alliance spacesuits, we had been imprisoned by the special effects
artists as they’d slathered us with silicone wounds, fake blood,
and painted gashes. Chell’s delicate artwork was no match for the
industrial efforts of the FX team. We soon looked as traumatized as
Chell would be if he saw us in this condition. And, unfortunately,
their make-up really itched!
    “Okay, kids,” Jerry shouted--to my relief--as
the soundstage lights came up. “That one worked.” He waved at us,
signaling our freedom, and, running his fingers through his
thinning hair, turned to talk to the gaffer about his next shot,
which was blessedly without us. I started peeling off the silicone
even before I had stepped off the set. Spud and I were done for the
week. I could now scratch away to my heart’s content.
    As I’d predicted, Chell gasped when he saw
us. “My God, what have they done to you? You need Dr. Chell’s
first-aid!”
    “Thanks, but a warm shower will do just
fine,” I returned with a friendly smile, as John’s-- my Ergal
started to vibrate in a pocket inside my costume. Strange, we were
off Zygan duty today. I pulled out the Ergal, now a late-model cell
phone, and, holding it up, added, “I’ll take this in my
trailer.”
    Spud’s own cell phone Ergal vibrated a second
or two later. He reached for it in his back pocket under his
cigarettes and chimed in, “I, too, shall take this in her
trailer.”
    Our eyes met, and I knew Spud had also
received the outwardly silent CANDI signal that this alert was an
emergency. We set off for my dressing room at top speed. The sudden
appearance on our soundstage of a holographic Zygan aggellaphor
messenger would be very hard to explain to Chell, Jerry, and the
crew.
    * * *
     
    Safely in my trailer, I flipped open my phone
and hit the activator button on the Ergal’s keypad. The aggellaphor
messenger hologram M-fanned—appeared--before us and sat stiffly on
the rim of my beanbag chair, looking quite irritated at our delay.
“Zygint Central has received intelligence that Benedict’s Andarts
may be attacking Zygfed territories and vulnerable protectorates in
this quadrant within the next solar week. You are needed to stop
one of these temporal aggressions.”
    “Contact metrics?” asked Spud.
    “Temporal aggressions?” I interjected. Could
Benedict now be planning new guerilla attacks not only in the
present, but in the future or the past?
    Our questions were succinctly answered.
“Eight Av 3778, 24-3, mark six, Sidon. You’ll be briefed further at
Earth Core. Status: Condition One.”
    The aggellaphor X-fanned—disappeared--before
we could get any more details. Aggellaphors are like that; not much
for conversation really. In any case, the message was loud and
clear.