Part XX – The Syneshtan Deal
“Did yer ears werk? You herr me?”
“Yes I… I’ve just never seen a Syneshtan before. Sorry. I’ve got it. Delivery arrives at seven. Bomb blows at seven-thirty,” the bald man repeats the details.
“You say; O.K.” the Syneshtan utters.
“What if there are Eudorans checking the shipments?” the bald man asks.
“Udern na matter. Agints use Syneshtan Mind Block. No werry.” The Syneshtan holds out one of its smaller, hairy tentacles to the bald man. “Fee, please.”
“Ah, right.” The bald man picks up a briefcase. “In full, in Trade Alliance Credit, like we agreed. I’m sorry, I have to ask you; what is that above your eyes? Another eye of some sort?”
“Yer rude, questin.” The Syneshtan seems offended by the question. “You ner see Synestan befer. Yer government not much like us be on Erth. You look bad to us, too.” The Syneshtan takes the case of credits. As the bald man leaves the room, the Syneshtan speaks again.
“Yer fernd Rock not crazed.”
“Pardon me?” The bald man is shocked by the Syneshtan’s words.
“You wunder. Not crazy. Someone mess his brain.”
“How did you know?” the bald man asks, eager to know.
“Syneshtans see tings Erther not. Jelly see tings we not. Queens fount of nollage. You er tink how Syneshtia Bee talk to uther? Brain to brain. The Jelly knows.”
“Thank you,” the bald man says, closing the door on his way out.
‘Who would mess with Rock? Have to be Eudorans, but who would… Farmtech. The money, the resources, and the motive. Damn. Now, how do I get him back to his old self?’
At that moment, Rock Tone is imprisoned, in a small, dark room, with one door and no windows. He quickly discovers his hands are tied to a stone ring in the floor. He is surrounded on all sides by stone representations of the horrifying gods of this nightmare city. He cries out in the darkness, shielding his eyes from the stone visions no man is meant to behold.
Next time; My Favorite Wilson.
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