To Live is to Kill

2001 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Under a year after Episode IV – A New Hope

Touching the rain is a pleasant sensation - it is as if the dirt of your past is being removed by the generous forgiveness of nature. Water from heaven removes the stains, the blood and the blackness of what you have done, what you are, what you do not want to be. The wet does not restrict itself; it flows and crawls to every part of your soul.

Standing in the rain outside the disused warehouse reminded me of this. I was clothed - it wasn't a very good idea as far as the legal implications were concerned to walk the city naked - but the memory of such cleansings made me smile cynically. The water did not feel fresh on my tongue as there was a rancid taste there, a taste most normal people wouldn't notice, infections in the purity of the sky from great cooling towers and chimneys of progress that spewed acidic vomit into the sky. The horizons I stared at now were stained with the smoke of industry, not battle.

I stepped into the warehouse. Broken glass cracked beneath my feet but stealth was not foremost in my mind. No doubt the leader of this territory had already been warned of my approach by his employees and certainly they were watching me now, their white eyes glaring from the darkness but snapping shut and out of sight as I turned to stare at them directly. I smiled as one creature was too late in their subterfuge and I saw the shadow of their form flicker across the light from a ragged and cracked floor to ceiling window.

The condemned building was peppered with holes that allowed the moonlight from the half-moons above to stream in, turned into long shafts of soft silver by the thin drizzle and smoke that permeated the construct. The ceiling was so high as to be almost lost in darkness and the great wrought metal beams that held the roof above seemed to bleed from the blackness and come down like the bones of a dead gargantuan beast. I felt, for all the world, that I walked along the aisle of some huge technological cathedral.

Either side of me debris lay unclaimed and as I came to the far end of the cathedral, the lights of an old vehicle came on. They were not bright, the decayed energy cell obviously giving little power, but they served their purpose in as much as I became wary. The vehicle was an old truck, some kind of garbage transport vehicle, long abandoned with its repulsor emitters gone and it's bonnet flattened.

Upon the bonnet was a chair. A large chair, strangely decorated with rags and old scrap, and upon this throne was the man - a broad use of the word, mind - that I had arranged to see.

The gang leader suspected what I was so, naturally, he had convened his closest advisors and councillors before I had arrived at the warehouse. He was a tall creature but stockily built (which was a strange contrast to the willowy, sickly gang members that stood about him) and had a pair of eyes that never blinked. He watched me intently as I walked to his makeshift dais.

I now tried to make my steps even and determined so that my intentions did not show - even with my untested skill I knew I would not stand a chance against the beings that I could see and the others I could not. Only my claim to my identity had allowed me audience with the gang leader and this would be the only chance I would have to speak to the underworld whilst I was on Trefnare.

The stench of blood and roses assailed my senses and I knew the gang had fed recently, probably to keep them calm as they did not want a confrontation. With the re-development of the city they were being forced from their habitats and were either perishing in the open or dying at the hands of those that knew and hated them. It was strange how the natural denizens of another world had come here, to this pre-dominantly human planet, to find a new home to escape persecution, only to find it here also. They were beasts, pure and simple, and for some reason the leader of this gang thought they could reclaim their dignity by starting their own business.

They did not want to fight so they ate until they were full- it was like taking a strong shot of alcohol to calm the nerves and I wished I had thought of that myself as I stopped at the base of the truck.

The gang leader rubbed his chin thoughtfully and shook his head.

   "I can't smell you," he said, his voice light yet grave. The coldness was evident; he did not want me here. If he was offended or annoyed during the meeting he would surely attempt to kill me and feed on me. Even at my age I still had feelings of indecision and nervousness and although I would welcome death it did not mean I wished it any time soon.

I fought back the words I wished to speak, to say that this had been a bad idea and I would retreat with honour, but my blood was up. It may have only been half-moons but it still had an unwanted effect on me. It felt like excitement, like anger, like expectation, like all these things.

I could think of no answer and so I elected to simply smile. I was surprised when he smiled back.

   "You claim to be of Cipple yet you have no scent," he growled, his smile suddenly dropping. "Do you have proof of your lineage?"

He was speaking in the classical form of his species. He adjusted his clothes as he spoke. He had a blue velvet suit on, with wide lapels and fluffed sleeve cuffs. Hs hair was long and jewellery glittered from his ears and fingers. He played the part well - a noble creature with ancient blood - but I could see through his charade. Most of the creatures that were within these walls were young and were probably only recently bloodied and the gang leader was living up to their expectations of what one of these 'noble' beasts should be. He was visually acceptable.

   "I have no proof," I said after a pause. "How can I prove my lineage? I have no proof. I am simply here to ascertain your intentions towards Glann Cipple's operation."

He shook his head and waved over his shoulder. A young creature, still dressed in this day and age's clothes which told me she had only recently been turned out of the city, stepped forward with a goblet which he drank from deeply. He offered me the cup.

It had been a while since I had last partaken and I was not willing to taste even to make this meeting go smoothly. I waved my hand low and shook my head.

   "I am offended," he said with a frown.

   "Be offended," I almost snapped. The moons were filling my senses more than I had realised and my temper was rapidly growing. He was playing the noble Lord and I was supposed to be the penitent servant whilst I was within his borders. I was tired and had no time for such games.

He frowned even more. I saw his canines extend and his brow crease unnaturally.

   "This is my domain!" he roared, casting the cup down so that it's connection with the stone floor echoed throughout the warehouse. I stood stoically.

   "All I wish is to know what your intentions are. I did not come here to role-play your fantasies." My temper was showing through, now, every time the moons broke the cloud and bathed me in it's silver light. I could feel my nerves becoming stretched.

The collection of aliens growled and extended their own teeth, looking down on me and seeming ready to pounce. I would drag some of them to the abyss with me, if they so desired, and I made ready for combat.

The gang lord lifted his hand and allowed his features to return to something more resembling normality. He made a visible attempt to be relaxed and looked about at his brethren, who in turn retracted their own features and stood down.

   "I am intrigued," he said, as if the confrontation had not bothered him. "You come here claiming to be of Cipple and making demands of me. I do not want to simply kill you. Not until I discover why you are making such wild claims. Tell me, what is your true nature?"

I had no intention of playing his game.

   "Your brethren battled Glann's people last night. Some of them were slain but most escaped. I wish to know where they were chased to."

   "How do you know this battle took place?"

   "I watch. I listen. Some are more forthcoming with their information to a man of my position. They still honour the old ways. As do I. Just tell me what I wish to know and I promise I will not return to your borders."

The gang leader looked on me as a teacher would look upon a petulant child. His eyes burned and his teeth were bared again. "Brethren do not communicate with strangers," he hissed. "You lie of your blood."

   "I do not lie. I am of the Cipple lineage, lord."

   "Ha!" He threw up his arms and turned to show his surprised visage to the mass of creatures about him. "When he becomes nervous he pays me the proper respect!" The collection gave a strange, guttural chuckle of agreement that unnerved me somewhat. I had not come here for a confrontation but if he so wished it would happen. I had to make sure I kept the purpose of the meeting in perspective.

   "Lord, the men you fought..." I began to say but the gang leader waved his hand as if bored of the subject.

   "Pathetic operatives who ran when they were merely petted too hard," the mutant said with an air of disinterest. "They strayed into our domain when they knew they should not and paid the price. The naked forms of their dead have either been consumed by us or the law of this city found them. Either way, no code of secrecy has been violated. Is this all you wished to know?"

   "Where did the battle take place?"

   "On the old waste ground by the new spaceport. No doubt the law have already cordoned the place off and attributed the deaths to a killer or a youth cult thing, as they always do. Rationalise, examine, find the 'truth'; such is the way of human beings. Are you concerned of the ramifications?"

I shook my head. "I am not."

   "Then why wish to know of this?"

I turned and took a few steps. "You have helped me greatly, Lord," I said as I began to depart. "I will return the favour."

   "Oh, you will," he called after me. If he gave a signal behind my back I do not know but suddenly a collection of aliens of varying appearances crowded ahead of me from the shadows. They approached menacingly, teeth extended, eyes glaring, throats gurgling with their predatory growls, hands clenching and unclenching with anticipation. I faltered in my step and then stood immobile, looking at each one in turn and judging their intent, which I had already figured to be unfriendly. I was forced to begin retreating back to the truck as they crowded in on me.

   "I would know what you are, stranger," said the lord with a whisper. "You do not smell of anything but you do have the aura of ages upon you."

I turned as he spoke and saw that he had descended from the truck and approached with slow, deliberate steps. I knew that being here would be a risk and that the confusion that the creature would experience over my lack of scent would be my only saving grace but this gang lord was too curious for his own good. I had heard this of him. Most of his kind were content to deal with outsiders on the understanding they were left alone but here was a Lord who believed himself to be in a position that allowed him any whim. I had been afraid of such.

He stood now perhaps two metres from me.

   "Of Cipple blood, you say?" he mused, casting his yellow eyes up and down my form. "What would you taste like, stranger?"

   "My blood is not for drinking," I said and I meant it. I could not allow him to taste me, could not allow us to share that piercing kiss, and I would kill myself before I allowed that to happen. That was one vow I had always intended to keep. I would shoot myself if it meant not having to be defeated.

I drew my double-barrelled Blaslas pistol I had hidden under my coat, the weapon ringing as it slid from its sheath. The ancient weapon was faded and worn but the steel glittered with fresh oil. The new blade under the barrel had not been used as of yet but I was willing to allow my first thrust to be into my own body if he intended to strike.

The gang leader smiled and flicked his fingers over his shoulder. Another creature appeared with a huge blaster, the double-handed grip covered in leather strips of varying colours.

"This would where the phrase 'mine is bigger than yours' would be appropriate," he said for the benefit of his followers and his ego and he lifted the weapon into a defensive stance.

I lifted my own blade and held it out in salute.

For one brief moment I saw him hesitate. His eyes were on my weapon, on the style, on its dull, faded emblems that covered the grip - and on the broken Soul Spear blade that I used as a bayonet. For that one moment, that second of time that seems extended into an eternity when one realises that all is over, his eyes glazed over.

   "A Soul Spear," he whispered.

All I needed was that moment.

I spun fully around so that my momentum would increase the heftiness of my blow. The steel of my blade smashed through the aged metal of his own blaster, shattering the weapon into a shower of sparkling flecks and then continuing through his neck, severing the head completely. The two halves of his useless weapon fell to the ground.

At first I expected the other creatures to swarm over me but they held their distance. I remained in the stance I was in for a second, my legs bent and wide, my arms outstretched.

Slowly I lowered the weapon and looked around me.

The creatures had obviously been confused by their leader's last words and expression and they looked at me and each other with indecision.

The mother moons bathed me in their light and I felt my blood boil. I had tasted death; even the kind delivered on those considered already dead and I could no longer help myself. Ancient emotion welled within me and my arms, my legs, my heart was not my own. The feeling of the ease of slaying, the exultation that came with the lust of conflict, the twinge of terror, confused with excitement, as adrenalin mixed with blood older than history surged to my limbs. Blood that clogged my mind when it ran hot.

The aliens saw, felt, this change in my mood. Even as the first few began to retreat I lifted the blade and threw myself upon the first of them.

Many escaped but many were destroyed. The warehouse was filled with their screams, their considered position as untouchable challenged. Calls for mercy, cries of misery as I laid their bodies to dust with blade and blaster.

I am Goah Galletti. This is my first hit, and I revel in the slaughter.

To Live is to Kill

2001 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Under a year after Episode IV – A New Hope

Histories – The first chronological appearance of the Galletti clone, and a mission that takes the lethal weapon to Trefnare, home of the true Galletti.  This Jonathan Hicks tale shows from the very beginning the differences in the two men – the feral nature of the clone as opposed to the all-too-human approach of the real Goah Galletti.

Cast of Characters

Goah Galletti Clone