Last Updated 01 Sep 1999.
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created and maintained by Virtual Insanity. |
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Chapter 5
by Albin Johnson
[Andromeda R&R Station - in orbit around Anker in the Zebulon system]
The elevator doors opened to a scene of unrestrained revelry. Throngs of well-to-do tourists packed the casino main floor, throwing away credits and drinking like Volturnian needle-fish. Pulsating strobe lights bathed the massive room in mesmerizing colors and only partially obscured the naked females dancing on their pedestals. Hovering serv-bots zipped in and out everywhere, carrying drinks, voucher chips, and exotic pharmaceuticals that would be hard to come by outside such a luxurious venue.
If Zo'Zur was impressed by the scene he didn't show it. The dark-faced Vrusk exited the elevator along with his four companions and seemed to scan the room like it was a battlefield. Without a word, he nodded to the figures behind him and proceeded alone to the far end of the room. No one noticed his presence here. To these people he was nothing, nobody. That was precisely how he preferred it in his line of work.
A slender chrome figure approached him, tray extended as if offering a drink. "How may I help you, sir?" the robot droned.
Zo'Zur said nothing. Instead he produced a small progit and inserted it into a slot on the robot's anthropomorphic 'chest'. The servbot paused for a moment. Zo'Zur could see the com unit on the robot's head light up.
"Right this way, sir. Boss Bulba is expecting you." Zo'Zur followed the sleek automaton to a corner of the room where it stopped near the mirrored wall. With a touch from the servbot's hand a secret panel swung wide and Zo'Zur was ushered into a dark room. Blue light dimly lit the floor in front of him and revealed a hallway leading to a lift. He proceeded, knowing a half dozen sensors were probing him already.
Sssssss
Zo'Zur stepped out into a richly appointed room. Fine art lined the walls. The skin of a Turlian Sabercat lay on the floor. The far wall bowed out in a concave curve and was lined with one-way windows overlooking the casino floor. At the center of it all was seated an enormous Dralasite sitting behind a curved, hovering black desk.
"Zo'Zur K'Trinitz, mercenary extraordinaire and leader of the freelance squad known only by the designation 'Novram Hand'. Welcome."
"Where is it, Boss?" the Vrusk shot back, in no mood for small talk. Boss Bulba was visibly taken aback by the abrupt switch to a business mood.
"You Vrusk are always so serious. Have a drink!" Zo'Zur scanned the walls, taking in the delicate strokes of a nearby painting.
"Three degrees of gratitude, but no. I wish to discuss terms." Bulba grunted and shifted his ponderous mass in the hovering recliner.
"Oh, very well. Here."
A shimmering green square appeared in mid-air behind Bulba's desk. Lines of data filed down the image next to a rotating three dimensional image of a starship.
"The Gri' Nashu. Starship reported to have been built by the Yazirians during the exodus from their homeworld. No confirmation on its operational status, it was relegated to the waste bin of history. A lone salvage operator came upon the derelict wreckage of a ship matching its description three standard days ago. Onboard could very well be a retinue of Yazirians still in stasis after all these years!"
"Collecting more antiques, Bulba?" Zo'Zur asked, handling a statuette.
"No, nothing like that." Bulba replied in an annoyed tone. "It's the cargo. Or at least the potential value of the cargo as a...shall we say bargaining chip? I don't expect you to know Yazirian political history. There were thousands lost in the exodus from their homeworld. Chief among them certain key figures that could rock the Yazirian government were they to surface today!"
"From what that file says on the screen, I'd think you'd be more selective of your investment prospects, Bulba. Dangerous: ten degrees danger it is. Do you know the potential risk if news of such a find was leaked..."
"Yes, yes. I'm aware of the risk. That's why I called YOU in. This must be handled discretely!"
Zo'Zur turned and leaned on the floating desk. His compound eyes bore into the fat Dralasite like an interrogation lamp. "Five degrees of insistence I pose: what is the mission?"
Bulba grimaced at having the terms of ids transaction hijacked by the Vrusk. "Board her and wire her with enough kaboomite to blow her to atoms. Then contact me at this frequency and await further instructions. When I've secured the highest bid for her fate, you'll be told what to do next."
"No good it is", Zo'Zur clicked in a calm voice. "Too dangerous. How do we escape? I sense seven degrees of advantage in your favor, should you choose to leave us hanging."
Another hissing sound emanated at the back of the room. Into the office stepped the four figures from the elevator: a Yazirian dressed in a combat harness that bulged with prominent satchels and sporting an ugly cybernetic eye, a lanky Human with shifty eyes and a field medkit, a waddling Dralasite with a bulge in ids mid-section that testified to a large hidden weapon, and a tall figure with four arms and a single eye.
"W-what! You can't just barge in here...! Is that a Quatro with you? You never mentioned you had one of those..."
"Security we need." Zo'Zur purred, eyeing the Dralasite for some comprehension of ids intentions.
"Okay, okay, I was getting to that. There will be a customized escape vehicle mounted to your ship. Any trouble, you blow the entire thing and make off in the escape pod. It's rigged to appear as junk on any sensor reading. There'll be a ship by within days to pick you up."
"Payment?"
The Dralasite smiled too easily. "One million credits forwarded to your regular account, of course." Zo'Zur picked up the information progit and rose to go.
"Three degrees of expediancy we exercise and leave now. But Bolba", he said, turning back to glower at the Dralasite, "no ship to pick us up at the time you promise and every syndicate in the black market will hear your deals go bad. Not good for you - very strict are the syndicates."
Zo'Zur closed the elevator door before Bulba could respond. Inside, his partners were eager for the details.
"Gomra's Eye! The Gri' Nashu!" the Yazirian exclaimed suddenly. "That's what that was on the screen, wasn't it, Zo'zur?"
"It was."
The Yazirian's fangs began to jut out, a growl building in his throat. "Do you realize how big this is?"
"Big, yes. Ten degrees of enterprise I sense. Very big payoff."
"You don't understand. The Gri' Nashu was commissioned to carry the Ka'Trada clan from our old homeworld when the Exodus began. I am of the Gha-Chak clan. We have been sworn life enemies since before recorded history!"
"Professionalism I expect of you. Nothing less. You are one of the Novram Hand, your bond is with us now. You cannot complete this mission, tell me now."
The haggard Yazirian seemed to calm a bit, but was obviously riled. The restraint he exercised could only be prompted by the loyalty he felt for his mercenary comrades, as well as the payoff this mission promised.
"I'm in, Zo'Zur. But know this: I will not hesitate to gut any miserable spawn of Gha-Chak if given the chance. You'd better keep them in the freezer if you want them to live."
Zo'Zur didn't seem intimidated by the ultimatum. He turned and stared at his cold-blooded companions. "You want blood, my friend? Don't worry. Dr. Sikes here will have plenty of opportunities to perform his 'talents' and Din-Kar will have abundant heads to add to his savage little collection."
"This job will be much hairier than Bulba let on. I have eight degrees of certainty our best bet for living to collect our fee will be to destroy the ship and kill every sentient between here and Truane's Star. Chaos will be our best cover for escape."
"Every sentient?", the Yazirian asked, grinning.
"EVERY ONE."
"You sure that's the right way to go, Zo'Zur?" the Dralasite asked.
"Mreemar, conflict does not prove who is right..." he said gravely, gripping the handle of his vibroknife fervently, "...only who is left."
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