Story

I am the Makuta of Stelt.

I keep this record not for vanity’s sake. I keep it to recall the transactions I have made, with whom, which goods for which services, amidst all the other details of such exchanges. It helps me remember the few debts I owe to others… and the many that are owed to me.

Deals are, all things considered, what keeps this universe running. Everything in life, from the physics of protodermis to the movements of nations, is expressed in a series of exchanges. Throughout all barter and trade, there is no escaping this equilibrium. Oh, it is easy enough for any merchant to overcharge you, but that is not unfair. The swindled customer pays with their money for both the useless purchase and their lapse of judgment. The bigger the lapse, the more time, money, or effort is expended - and the more upset feels the fool when all is said and done.

I am a master of deals. One would hope so, for I reign over the center of all trade in our world: Stelt. Our connections extend to the smog-filled metropolis of Xia and the bustling city of Metru Nui, and to stranger places still - mysterious islands lost to history, the secluded workshops of the Nynrah Ghosts, and even, I suspect, the mystical foundries of Artakha. Here, where the law is strong but flexible, you truly can buy anything… though you may not pay for it with widgets.

Yes, deals are the arithmetic on which our universe functions. And if one knows how to control those exchanges - to ensure that one pays little but purchases much - well, one could do almost anything. I keep this record to track all of my transactions, gains, and losses, for all but the most trivial will someday factor into my grand plan.

Such thoughts were on my mind as I reclined in my dark chamber, counting out a series of widgets paid to me by the arena for the renewal of their slave-holding license. Strong, robust slaves were a valuable commodity… a commodity entirely wasted on the arena, who sent dozens after dozens of perfectly fine products to their messy deaths for the amusement of the crowds. Still, it was their money, not mine, and I had not outlawed errant spending habits, so I allowed them to continue.

What concerned me about the arena was not their practices, but rather, the intrigue unfolding behind their most famous champion. Gladiator was a massive creature, his armor stuffed to bursting with muscle and might, with a multitude of long and sharp talons ready to grasp and shred his opponents in a most spectacular manner. He was a peak physical specimen, a crowd favorite… and an illegal fugitive and spy.

Oh, I knew all about Gladiator’s great escape. After his handlers failed to contain him, Gladiator roared through the market district, destroying several weapons shipments I’d had my eyes on. The loss of the shipments would be compensated by the arena’s hefty fee… and their surrender of the slave in question. As I mentioned, I hate wasted potential.

However, it seemed someone else had their eyes on the same prize, someone not so committed to doing things by the book. While I was going over the legal documents with the arena owner, Gladiator vanished from his cell, and was not seen again for many years. My officers - those who were still alive after his escape - investigated the crime, but came up empty-handed. I let the matter slide. There were greater profits to be made in other avenues.

A few years ago, Gladiator was returned to the arena by three Dark Hunters. They claimed to have confiscated him from a mysterious third party, which had been responsible for his abduction, and demanded the reward money. I recognized this immediately as a ploy. Gladiator had been inducted by the Dark Hunters, and he was here to carry out some nefarious task against the Brotherhood. The arena had made another lapse in judgment, and I would see to it that they paid a price… but first, it was time to settle Gladiator’s debts to me.

I found Gladiator in the arena, training against an Exo-Toa, one of several dozen I had sold to the arena last month. Trying to ignore the sight of costly machinery being disemboweled, I approached the arena owner, who was watching the proceedings with a cautious eye.

“Makuta!” he stammered, sinking into a bow. “What brings you here?”

“Cease your trembling,” I replied, tossing him a parcel of widgets. “I am not here to take Gladiator from you. I simply want to talk.”

Gladiator saw me coming, but he couldn’t dodge my magnetic pulse, which locked up his limbs and sent him toppling to the ground. As he lay sprawled on the sandy rock, I set my boot on his head and produced a stone tablet.

“I didn’t break any laws,” he snarled, “but I can break something else of yours, if you want.”

“In general, threats work best when you are not at the other party’s mercy,” I replied. “And I have good news for you: the question I want answered doesn’t pertain to your escape at all.”

“Go to Karzahni, Makuta. I’m not telling you anything.”

“Time is money, slave, and you are wasting both of mine. But I will give you one more chance to reconsider. The answer to this question is worth a lot to me. Far more than widgets… more, even, than solving the ‘mystery’ of your escape all those years ago.”

Gladiator’s tone switched from growling reticence to wary curiosity. “If I answer this question, you’ll call off the investigation?”

“Yes,” I said, withdrawing my boot from his head, “and I’ll do you one better. If you should happen to… ‘go missing’… with your Dark Hunter friends in a few months, I will remember the service you did me this day. You can sail away from here without even a warrant out for your lawful return.”

That got his attention. “I’m listening,” said the brute.

I leaned in close, keeping my magnetic hold as strong as ever - stronger, even, enough to cause Gladiator some pain. “Where… is Voporak?”

✴        ✴        ✴

The study of Kanohi masks of power had been a profitable venture for Matoran scholars since time immemorial. It was their work that allowed the development of advanced mask powers, such as my own Mask of Aging. Their work concluded that our universe would eventually see the rise of a third legendary Kanohi: the Mask of Time. So certain was the mask’s creation that our leader, Makuta Teridax, incorporated it as a keystone of his great Plan.

I created Voporak to make the Plan possible. He was my masterpiece: a being entirely attuned to the flow of time. With his power, he could detect the mask whenever it might come into being. I made a scientific breakthrough to facilitate the execution of the Plan – and what did Teridax do? He lent the creature to the Dark Hunters, to spare the cost of housing and training it on Destral. And Voporak grew loyal to his keepers, rather than his creators.

I despise wasted potential.

The years after the loss of Voporak were painful indeed. I was locked out of discussions of the Mask of Time and replaced by Kojol, of all Makuta. His spies led him to believe that the components of the mask were hidden in Metru Nui, and Teridax decided to monitor the situation while posing as Turaga Dume. I contacted him frequently in the Coliseum, reminding him the Mask of Time must be found. Each time, he gave evasive, nonsensical responses – “The Vahki will ensure every Matoran’s fate” was a favorite. He did not even attempt to disguise his failure to find the mask! Then, the Mask of Time finally arrived… forged by a Toa, while in the process of ruining Makuta’s own Plan. Not long afterwards, I thought Teridax might finally redeem himself by claiming the mask – but instead, he found himself overpowered by the Dark Hunters, including my own Voporak, and forced to surrender the mask to a Toa.

Our leader’s dismissal, betrayal, and subsequent defeat was as vindicating as it was infuriating, and turned me against Teridax irreversibly. It was clear he failed to see the value that I saw in the Mask of Time, and planned to use it only to accelerate his domination of the Matoran. Yet with the Mask of Time, the Brotherhood wouldn’t need to rule through deceit and conquest – we would have a monopoly over time itself. The islands would sell themselves to us for just a taste of that power!

That was when I swore: the Mask of Time would be mine. I went against the Plan and devoted as many resources as I could to a covert hunt for the mask. Yet my search turned up only dead ends. The mask seemed to be nowhere in the known universe… and if Teridax knew where it was, he was not telling.

Before I realized it, a thousand years had passed, bringing with it a new sense of urgency. Teridax’s plan was nearing fruition. Soon, he would travel to the place beneath Metru Nui to usurp command of the universe. He had promised the Brotherhood an exchange: we would help him attain ultimate power, and he would reward us with positions of power in a new age.

Only I, spurned and rebuked by our leader for years, could see his false promise for what it was. Once Teridax was the Great Spirit, there would be no further service we could offer him. The Brotherhood would pay the price: our lives in exchange for blind trust of our power-hungry leader.

Unless, of course, one of us possessed power to rival his. Teridax would control the universe, but I would control time. Attack me, and he would risk the disruption of the time flow. I would have bought my survival - no, more than survival. I would become a rival to Teridax’s power, a second Great Spirit.

And I would be crowned by Voporak.

✴        ✴        ✴

Gladiator didn’t know much, but he knew what I needed. Voporak had been stationed somewhere beyond Metru Nui, and although he remained on mission, his partner – Ancient – had returned to the Shadowed One’s side. Most beings would find it difficult to track down a Dark Hunter known for his secrecy… but most beings are not the ruler of an island boasting the largest black market in the universe.

I had long since perfected the art of slumming: shapeshifting disguised me as a common criminal, and telepathy told me who could be trusted. My request was esoteric: I needed a single, innocuous item – a Kanoka disk, a piece of armor, a tablet – once carried by Ancient. It took me a great deal of time to find a vendor who wasn’t lying through his mask, but you know the old saying: if you want something, someone’s selling it on Stelt.

Once I had Ancient’s discarded disk launcher, it was simple enough to synthesize an Energy Hound in my laboratory. And so I set off, following the Rahi’s nose, for a voyage that took me north of Metru Nui… and outside the known universe.

The trail plunged into the heart of the Bohrok nest, into a deep, dark cavern lit by the glow of a protodermis cage. Inside writhed the two Bahrag, hissing and snarling at the enigmatic cube that hovered before their prison. A ruby-armored Bohrok was sprawled near the cube, among scraps of armor from Exo-Toa and Bohrok alike. Some bio away stood Voporak himself, tracing wisps of golden energy in the air.

He had not heard our approach; my power had blanketed our footsteps in utter silence. Now I relaxed my power, and I spoke.

“Voporak.”

Upon seeing me, Voporak’s eyes widened; then he turned away, focusing on the remnant time energy.

“The Vahi was used here,” I assessed. “Sloppily. Without skill. But still, its power reverberates.” I saw him caress the air that had felt the touch of time, and I knew we felt the same yearning. “The mask lies in Metru Nui, guarded by a handful of Matoran and one naive team of Toa,” I said. “Why have you not stormed the city and claimed your prize?”

Voporak did not turn, but curled his claws into a fist.

“I know it must agitate you,” I said. “There is only one reason for you not to seize the mask: your precious Shadowed One forbids it. He is cautious of Metru Nui’s defenses… or should I say, cowardly. Has one scuffle with Teridax struck such fear into his heart?”

Voporak whirled to face me. His rhotuka spinner was blazing in his claws. I smiled. Now, I could be sure he was listening.

“We share a common enemy,” I said. “You and I both know that Teridax covets the mask, and keeps a watchful eye on Metru Nui. But only I know when he will be distracted – a window to steal the mask. I can tell you when to act, and you will finally have the mask you are destined to claim.”

Voporak snarled. Then, with a voice raspy from disuse, he spoke. “I remember… what happened… the last time… I made a deal… with you.”

I smiled behind my mask. I had programmed Voporak like a Rahi, giving him one overpowering instinct: to find the Mask of Time. Loyalty and obedience came second to his destiny. But Voporak was not a Rahi; he had been a clan leader once, and his newfound instincts were layered over his original personality. I had theorized that some remnant of that clan leader might emerge if he were presented with recognized stimuli… and now, I had been proven right.

You see, if I had made a simple Rahi to find the Mask of Time, then that was all I could expect it to do. It would find the mask and bring it back to its master, whether that be Makuta or Dark Hunter. But beneath it all, Voporak was still an intelligent being… and I could reason with an intelligent being. I could make a deal.

“Very well. I will speak plainly – no tricks, no deceptions, only a simple trade,” I proposed. “There is no point in hiding it: I want the Mask of Time. When you have claimed the mask, you will travel to my laboratory on Stelt, and deliver it to me.”

Voporak narrowed his eyes. “And… in… return?”

“I gave you your power, and all the burden that comes with it,” I said. “That burning need to find the mask… to obey your master… to focus on nothing but that duty, no matter how much you might wish to do otherwise.” I stepped closer to Voporak. “And I can take it away. Bring me the Mask of Time, and I will restore you to what you once were.”

I had planned this conversation for years. Now, it was imperative to give Voporak no chance to refuse.

“Of course,” I added, “now that I know the mask is in Metru Nui, there’s no reason I need your help. I could just as easily send my own servants during the one moment while Teridax is looking away, leaving you to wait and watch from this little cave.”

I yanked the Energy Hound’s leash, and turned as if to leave. “Time is wasting, Voporak. After all, I don’t have the mask… yet.”

I must credit Voporak; he deliberated for a full three footsteps before calling out. “Wait.”

“Do we have a deal?” I asked, walking closer and staring him in the eye. “I will tell you when to strike. You will bring me the Mask of Time. And I will cure you of all that has ailed you for millennia.”

Looking past Voporak’s golden eyes, my telepathy power could see much buried in his animalistic mind: hatred for the Makuta who had turned him into this creature, frustration that the Shadowed One would not permit him to act, and longing to achieve his destiny. What I did not yet see was trust.

“Let’s shake on it,” I offered, extending a protosteel gauntlet. I let it hang just outside of his temporal field, taunting him. So long as it was active, no one could ever come near him; he would always be a beast, a servant sent by masters to hunt a singular artifact. He had to realize what I was offering.

Narrowing his golden eyes, Voporak took my hand. As we shook, I felt protosteel wither and turn to rust, exposing my essence to the air. Yet I maintained the handshake until the last flecks of metal drifted to the ground.

“Then we are agreed,” I said.

Voporak turned away, but he didn’t need to answer. I saw what I wanted to see in his mind.

✴        ✴        ✴

The deal was done, and the pieces had begun to fall into place. I returned to my laboratory on Stelt and prepared to wield the Mask of Time. Kanohi scholars had correctly predicted the mask’s creation; now, I studied their theories on its function. The successful use of a legendary mask would require immense willpower and total understanding of the power it controlled. The clumsy Toa had never mastered the mask… but a Makuta such as myself? That would be a different story.

My studying was not without its interruptions, however. A few weeks later, Gladiator disappeared mysteriously into the night. Lacking the patience for another round of political drama, I had the arena owner executed for his grievous incompetence. I hear the new arena owner has poured most of her funds into doubling the guard; maybe to keep the slaves in, maybe to keep me out. I don’t know, and I don’t care. Soon enough, I will have all of time at my command, and then I will need not bother with the arena’s antics.

Not a few months later, a trader had the audacity to demand a personal audience with me. He claimed that his most prized boat had been stolen by a group of criminals, including Roodaka herself. The trader demanded that I send my officers to recapture the boat before it got too far south. The idea was laughable – I am on the cusp of achieving my destiny. I can’t be bothered with the bizarre affairs of common merchants. It makes no difference to the fate of the universe if one boat and a few miscreants wander off to sea.

The time is nearly at hand. Mata Nui’s resurrection was only a month ago - or was it two? Down here with only the tablets for company, time seems slow and fast simultaneously. No matter. Soon, any task will take exactly as long as I desire.

Of course, this studying would be more easily done without all these interruptions. There is a tremendous racket echoing from the street. If I didn’t know better, I’d say a Tahtorak had been loosed in the market district. I suppose I had better go and investigate.