by C H Gideon
Reynolds glared at her. “Don’t. Say. A. Word,” he warned.
She bit back her laugh and settled into the seat alongside the rest of the crew, who similarly kept their mouths shut, much to Reynolds’ surprise.
He turned back to the android. “We need a place to stay.”
“The Arch Point offers a pleasant stay this time of year,” the android replied in its monotone voice. “It’s located centrally in Aspar’s Hold, within walking distance of food and shopping opportunities and—”
Reynolds waved it to silence, cutting the android off. “Sounds good. Take us there.”
Unoffended, the driver turned back around and started off without another word.
Once or twice as the cab made its way through the busy port, winding between ships and avoiding debarking passengers and other cabs, Reynolds glanced at the Jonny-Taxi android with disgust.
I can’t believe I let Jiya talk me into inhabiting one of those things, he thought ruefully, remembering when he’d first arrive on Lariest.
His new body was an improvement of light years beyond the crappy cab android they’d hijacked, but he’d learned in his short time disconnected from the SD Reynolds that absolutely nothing compared to his being a part of the ship. His being the ship.
That was who he was meant to be, and he’d never again separate himself. He was the SD Reynolds, and that’s all there was to it. He would always be.
Minutes later, the cab emerged from the crowded port onto an equally crowded street.
Their advance was slow, the vehicle merging with the mess of traffic, both pedestrian and vehicle, which seemed to cover every square millimeter of occupiable space. It wasn’t until they eased off the main thoroughfare that they found any respite from the crowd and were able to see anything outside of the milling throng of people.
The cab sped up and made its way toward the lodging it had suggested for the crew. Reynolds agreed to the price and paid for the ride and the stay at the same time through the cab’s computer system, reserving their rooms.
Reynolds watched the city scroll past. It was every bit the diverse construct its residents were.
There wasn’t any architectural consistency anywhere in Aspar’s Hold. Each building appeared to be a reflection of its owners and the species they came from. One building would be a towering skyscraper of reflective steel and plas-glas, modern and free from any sort of decoration that might mar its sleek image, while the next was formed from some sort of living material that reminded Reynolds of tree bark.
The building rose about five stories, looking as if it had been grown rather than constructed. Windows were ringed by curling branches, giving them a rounded appearance. A reddish-brown tinge ran the length of the building, giving off a slight sheen as the sun touched its exterior.
Right next door to that was a squat shop built of brick and mortar, a throwback to styles that would have fit in nicely on Muultar.
The crew stared out the windows as the cultural variances assailed their senses, but they kept quiet, understanding it would be best not to appear as total newcomers to the city.
That would draw more attention to them than they wanted initially.
Fortunately, no one on the streets so much as glanced in the taxi’s direction, its presence so mundane as to be nearly invisible in the flowing traffic.
A short while later, the cab pulled to a halt outside the hotel it had suggested, which was more conventional than Reynolds had expected it to be.
The cab’s doors popped open, and the Jonny-android thanked them and ushered them out as a bot concierge met them on the walk.
“I’ll take your bags for you,” the bot offered.
Reynolds shook his head. “We’ll carry them.”
The bot spun around without argument. “Then follow me to your suite, please.” It started off at a casual pace, leading the crew inside the hotel and making sure they were close behind.
Reynolds caught the crew furtively glancing around them, taking in their surroundings. There was a lot to see.
Crowds roamed the walk and darted back and forth across the street between traffic. Brilliant lights littered every surface of the town, great big signs offering every possible service or supply imaginable.
Anyone who’d ever thought of any way to pry money out of a person had apparently moved to Aspar and set up shop. It was tourist heaven, albeit on the darker side of things.
The entire place gleamed and glistened with gold and lights, but its façade was cracked and warped, and Reynolds could see the grime that lurked just beneath the surface of everything.
And everyone.
It was as if the entire city was a performance put on just for them.
People glanced their way as they entered the hotel, but it was as if they hadn’t been noticed. There was so much going on that it didn’t appear as though anyone had the time or energy to note yet another group of travelers headed to their rooms.
Reynolds suspected it would be different once they emerged and entered the throng directly, setting themselves up as marks to the criminal economy that powered the hold.
Right now, though, he’d be happy if he hadn’t marched his crew into an ambush of some sort.
Jora’nal could be anywhere, and Reynolds needed to find him as soon as possible.
He wanted his pound of flesh.
Chapter Three
In the hotel room, the crew geared up and hid their armored suits under loose, flowing garments that would keep the average citizen from realizing they were so heavily-equipped.
They gathered extra weapons and ammunition, and each collected several grenades, just in case. They figured they’d need all the offense they could muster.
The plan was a simple one: go out into the town and hunt for Jora’nal or anyone connected to him and get Phraim-’Eh’s location, then take them all out before proceeding to do the same to the god.
Each of the crew had memorized the faces of the cultists who had departed the Pillar’s shuttles, and their systems were tuned to recognize any of them should they pop up anywhere.
Reynolds looked the crew over, assessing them. They appeared to be ready to rumble, eyes gleaming with excitement and determination.
After scanning the room for bugs, Reynolds confidently left their extra equipment in it and returned to the streets. The change of clothing would further throw off any scrutiny of them as they left the building, although Reynolds was sure they hadn’t been followed to the hotel.
“I’m not seeing anyone paying specific interest to us,” Maddox reported as they stepped out on the street.
“Me either,” Geroux added.
She subtly tapped at the computer on her wrist, which was hidden beneath the voluminous sleeve. The young tech had set up a surveillance web around the crew, which would warn them if anyone was attempting to listen in on their conversations by electronic means, or if anyone used a device to try and track them.
“No tails or ears,” she called, nodding her approval of the findings.
“Off to a good start,” Reynolds said, moving off and strolling down the crowded walk. The crew followed him closely, arranging themselves in a manner that hemmed Reynolds in between them.
They’d prepared for pickpockets and scammers, packing nothing that could be spirited away from under their loose clothing or tight armor. The positioning was more about making sure no one came into direct contact with Reynolds.
As crowded as the streets were, it was guaranteed they’d bump into people.
A lot of them.
There was really no way to avoid it.
And while there wouldn’t be any issue if someone ran into any of the crew, it would be obvious to anyone that Reynolds was an android should someone bump into him.
As human as he looked, he was as solid as the Pods, and that would be a curiosity that would spread through town like a raging fire.
One that would reach Jora’nal’s ears and announce their presence much sooner than they
wanted it to.
There would be no hiding from the cultist since he knew they were there, but the longer they could remain out of sight, the better the chances they could control the terms of the eventual meeting.
That was what Reynolds wanted.
He was sure the cultist was preparing for them, but it would be best for them if Jora’nal didn’t see them coming.
Not until the last minute, at least.
They needed him on the defensive, ready to bolt; ready to run and hide behind his master’s skirts so they could track the wannabe god down.
That was a small part of the project Takal and Xyxl had worked on, the pair designing a tracker they could deploy discreetly in order to trace the movements of the Pillar no matter where it Gated, much like Jora’nal had done to them at their first meeting.
Turnabout’s a motherfucker.
The rest of the project was a secret he couldn’t wait to reveal in the fight against Phraim-’Eh.
The crew continued walking, assailed by the sights and sounds of the wild city.
As they slipped deeper into the business sector of Aspar’s Hold, barkers at clubs and shops and strip joints vied for their attention, accosting them at nearly every step with offers of all kinds.
The crew obliged them to a small degree like locals might, snarling and jeering and waving them off as they continued, but their slow, harried pace was nothing more than cover for surveilling the scene, looking for anyone who had a connection to Jora’nal or his ship.
Scanners running full time, their inputs linked to Geroux’s system, the crew made their way through the streets with a purpose. They stopped here and there, looking through shop windows and examining merchandise long enough to avoid looking completely out of place, but it was as if no one cared about them at all.
They were just nameless faces on the street.
In the hustle and bustle of pedestrian traffic, people glanced their way, but there was no concerted effort to stare them down or impede their path.
Not until a crowd of obviously drunk males plowed straight into Geroux as she had her head turned, examining a side street.
She stumbled backward and bumped into a pole, grunting at the unexpected impact.
“Watch where you’re going,” one of the males barked, snarling at Geroux as she turned her gaze on him.
“You should know your place, bitch!” another jeered, laughing.
“Excuse me?” Jiya growled as the five males spun around to face her.
“The same goes for you, red-face,” the first told her, jabbing a finger in her direction and stepping in menacingly. “You don’t want any part of this.”
The others gathered at his back, following his lead, all of them swaying.
“You’re about to make a big mistake,” Maddox warned.
“Shut the fuck up,” the lead male said, shoving Jiya away from him.
“And there it is.” Maddox laughed.
Jiya punched the leader, driving her fist knuckle-deep into his stomach. The shit-talker whoofed and folded, doubling up to clutch at his stomach as he fell heavily to his knees. He gasped for breath as Jiya loomed over him.
One of the others shook off his surprise and leapt at Jiya, but he didn’t make it anywhere close to her.
Ka’nak stepped in with a massive grin and struck him sharply in the jaw.
There was a loud crack, like a tree branch being snapped in half, and the guy crashed into a nearby wall, his jaw crooked on his face. He slid to the ground with wide, glassy eyes spinning in their sockets.
The third drunk howled and engaged the Melowi, whaling on Ka’nak.
The first two blows caught the Melowi squarely, but everything after that slipped past, barely grazing Ka’nak as he flowed with the punches and avoided their impact.
He took a half-step back and reset, parrying another downward punch and coming over the top with a brutal right hand. Blood spattered as the male’s bulbous nose gave way, but Ka’nak didn’t even give him a chance to cry out.
A left hook caught him in the ribs, followed by a right to the throat. The asshole gurgled, stumbling back, but he wasn’t getting away that easily.
Ka’nak stayed on him. A sharp, crisp jab lifted the drunk’s jaw, and a right cross spun his head around, knocking him out instantly.
A swift kick to the gut launched him into his drunken companions before he could even fall. They caught him and stumbled back under his weight before regaining their balance.
Reynolds reached out and cuffed one of the entangled males on the ear, sending shockwaves through his skull. The drunk cried out, clutching his head, and let go of his friend, who slumped to the sidewalk.
Reynolds grabbed the guy he’d hit and slammed him into the wall beside him, knocking him out cold.
The crowd that had been so close, milling around them just moments ago, had moved back in practiced unison to form a tight circle around the combatants. Reynolds worried for an instant that they were drawing too much attention and standing out, but that concern quickly subsided.
This was entertainment to the people of Aspar’s Hold.
They cheered and hooted, encouraging the violence to continue. Reynolds saw some simple form of currency changing hands as the crowd got into the fight, making it a spectacle.
“Looks like we fit right in,” Maddox commented, watching Ka’nak wreak havoc on the drunks.
Jiya had gone over to check on Geroux, who was unhurt, and the pair glared at the drunken males. They both looked ready to jump into the fray, but Jiya apparently didn’t see much point to it, seeing how the Melowi warrior was all over them.
Ka’nak jumped over the fallen drunk he’d clobbered and engaged the last of the group, grabbing his shirt. The fight, if it could be called that, ended seconds later as the Melowi drove fist after fist into the face of the drunk, beating him until he hung limp. Ka’nak finally let go of the drunk’s shirt and let him topple to the ground.
With a whip of his hands to shake the blood off his knuckles, Ka’nak turned to face the crowd, motioning them on.
“Anyone else fancy an ass-whupping today?” he asked, grinning all the while.
“Some other time,” Reynolds told him, grabbing him by the arm and leading him toward the mass of onlookers.
The crowd parted, letting him and the rest of the crew through without trouble. Applause followed them out of the makeshift combat circle, and Ka’nak laughed as they walked.
Less than a half-block down the street, it was as if the fight had never happened.
The crowd raided the pockets of the drunks and dispersed with their ill-gotten loot before the drunks regained consciousness. They left the bodies where they fell and barely made any effort at all to avoid them as the normal routine returned, the hoots and hollers of the barkers ramping up once again.
“That was interesting,” Geroux muttered. “I hope we weren’t—” Her words broke off as a quiet, muffled beep drew her attention to her wrist. “Shit,” she whispered. “No such luck.”
Reynolds processed the data from Geroux’s computer and snapped his head around, catching sight of a melted-faced male who stared at the crew from a nearby alley, from which he’d watched the fight.
There was no hiding the recognition that marred his already distorted features.
He knew who they were.
The cultist turned and ran without hesitation, vanishing down the alley.
“After him,” Reynolds ordered, not that he needed to.
As one, the crew bolted after the Muultu, understanding that he was their best link to Jora’nal.
The sudden rush of motion didn’t draw more than a glance or two of suspicion from passersby as they pushed through the pedestrian traffic to chase Phraim-‘Eh’s disciple.
Like the fight, Reynolds figured this was a common occurrence, too: people chasing random others down the street.
It was kind of refreshing, he had to admit.
At least it was until a gunfight broke out.
The crew raced around the far end of the alley in pursuit and was met by blaster fire.
The wall just above Jiya’s head scorched black as she stepped out, only to dart back into the cover of the alley to get out of the line of fire.
“That was close.” Jiya grinned as she leaned against the wall, staying under cover as more weapons fire barked down the street. “Guess the guy got tired of us chasing him already.”
Except there was more fire than a single person could manifest.
And it was still coming.
Reynolds glanced around the corner, taking the lead to see what they were up against. There hadn’t been time to register much more than the crowd the first time they’d rounded the wall, but this time, he took a deliberate approach to suss out what they were up against.
As passersby fled to avoid being shot, quite calmly, he had to add, it was apparent the cultist they had been following had joined up with more of his ilk.
Reynolds ran his gaze over the group of cultists who’d gathered near an alley across the street to take shots at them. He recognized the melted face of the cultist they’d followed, and he scanned the rest of them, mentally comparing their faces to those he’d seen on the video.
It was definitely the same crew who had departed the Pillar.
And then he saw him!
At the back of the crowd of cultists stood Jora’nal. He glared at Reynolds as he orchestrated the attack from behind his minions.
Reynolds dodged back behind the wall as blaster fire ripped up the corner where his head had just been, and he growled.
“We’ve got you now, motherfucker,” he snarled, whipping his rifle out from under his loose garb.
“That’s him?” Jiya asked.
Reynolds nodded. “He’s in the alley across the way with about ten of his people,” the AI reported. “We need to push forward, but be careful. We don’t want to accidentally kill him.”
Ka’nak made air quotes. “’Accidentally?’ What about on purpose?”