by Blaze Ward
Perhaps he had been a little too loyal to the old Dominator, rather than the throne? Was sending him off on a wild good chase punishment for some sin he had never admitted to her? Possibly.
For now, it was enough that this ship was armed, and Longshot Hypothesis, as far as she could tell, was not. And that Laurentia recognized her diplomatic credentials and dealt with her with politeness.
She missed having the Ambassador who had traveled with her as far as Tartarus. He was a smart man, educated and erudite. The team of White Hats he had left behind were competent, but little more than that. The ship’s captain was a bureaucrat so faceless she occasionally startled when he walked into the cabin to speak with her.
And Kyriaki Apokapes…
That woman would burn in hell. Athanasia didn’t know how Hall or Tarasicodissa had seduced her away from her duty, but they had. That bullshit about sneaking aboard their ship so she could capture or disable it was, in retrospect, the perfect cover for the Inspector to escape justice, fleeing into Wildspace with her paramours.
Athanasia had a special vengeance planned for Apokapes. She just needed to catch them.
All the way to the edge of the galaxy, and beyond, if necessary.
“Madam, docking is complete,” the captain entered her salon and spoke.
Athanasia shook her head to come back to the antiseptic room around her and stood. Too much wool-gathering. It had not been her style, when she was the wife of the Dominator.
Introspection was time wasted that could have been better served in planning. Still, she was here.
“Very good, Captain,” she replied.
The man retreated, leaving the hatch open. In the corridor, she could see the Inspector and the man’s small team of White Hats, all armed, standing at attention.
They were for show. If she started trouble here, she would never find the clues she needed to track Dave Hall down.
No, this was better served with honey than vinegar.
She checked her clothing. Long white robes edged in green that made often her appear as a statue if she stood perfectly still. Her blond hair was in the traditional twin braids. In official mourning, she wore no makeup, and let the natural paleness of her skin suggest a ghost to strangers.
Or an avenging angel.
Athanasia preceded the troops forward to the docking tunnel. The hatch was already open, and she could see a small group of folks standing in a polite circle, waiting for her.
Not at any sort of formal attention. Laurentia wouldn’t do that, and most certainly would not for a representative of their worst enemy, however diplomatic and polite she might be.
Athanasia studied the man at the center of the small group. Tall, perhaps a little taller than her. Lean and rangy, rather than muscled like the men of the Dominion Household. She guessed he was in his sixties, from the short, gray hair peeking out from under a brown cowboy hat, as well as the gray mustache on his chiseled face. Brown eyes focused warily on her as she emerged onto the concourse.
From the way the others stood, this man was in charge. The rest were much younger, three men and two women. Several of them were armed as was the man at the center.
“Ambassador,” the man nodded as she got close. “Welcome to Bohrne Station. I am Ramazan Bolat-Nurlan, Sheriff of the station.”
Athanasia considered the man. Sheriff was a political role, as well as a law enforcement one. These others might all be deputies, perhaps. One woman she recognized now as the Stationmaster, but that one was also deferring.
“Thank you,” she decided to pour on the charm. “My apologies for our earlier gruffness and the misunderstandings that might have resulted. Is there someplace quiet we could retire to?”
She didn’t miss the way Bolat-Nurlan’s eyes flickered over her shoulder to note the team of White Hats behind her.
“I won’t need them, will I?” she asked lightly.
“You will not,” the Sheriff allowed.
Athanasia turned to the Inspector in charge.
“You may return to the ship and go off duty for now,” she said simply.
Better to put herself at something of a social disadvantage with this man, and let his ego control the situation. Much easier to manipulate most men that way.
The Inspector nodded silently and the entire team marched back up into the ship, leaving her alone.
“Sheriff?” she smiled up at the man.
“We can talk in my office,” he decided.
She noted that most of the deputies departed at that point, leaving only one standing a loose sort of guard on the concourse. Probably in case her White Hats decided to sneak out later and cause trouble.
Athanasia had no idea if the captain would give them shore leave, or leave them in barracks. Hopefully, she wasn’t going to be here all that long.
The station had not changed since she was last here, before the unfortunate sidetrip to Meskle. A man walking towards her caught her eye, doubly so when his scale became evident.
As they approached to pass, Athanasia realized that the stranger was three meters tall and built like her former husband, all muscles and power. And angry enough to chew nails, from the thunderous look on his face.
She noted a stutter in the Sheriff’s step for just the briefest bit. As though he expected problems with the man. But they passed without words and the giant continued on his angry way.
“Trouble?” she asked quietly, coming up beside the man instead of following him.
“Hopefully not for much longer,” the Sheriff said. “The man came here from Begzatlari, but didn’t find what he was looking for. In another day or so I’m hoping he departs.”
“What was he looking for?” Athanasia asked.
She didn’t even recognize the species, other than to know that he was one of the so-called Variant Humanities that were more common in Wildspace and exceedingly rare even in Laurentia, and unknown in the Dominion.
The Sheriff cocked a bit of side-eye at her. Perhaps did a bit of math in his head.
“I won’t offer to bribe you, Sheriff,” she murmured, stepping a notch closer as they walked and twining her arm into his. “But I am happy to pay for useful information. I understand that Laurentia never has enough cash, and I doubt this station is so rolling in trade that it doesn’t need more. I didn’t bring trade goods, but I do have funds available.”
“Information might be more useful than money, Ambassador,” he replied after a beat. “I have questions myself that seek answers, and you probably know them.”
“Information is even easier then,” she smiled and leaned a touch more into the man as they walked. “Those sorts of trades are always the best kind.”
The look on his face suggested that he might welcome some sort of physical exchange as well. She may even look forward to that. Her husband had not touched her in several years at this point, and no other man would dare.
Unless they had no idea who she was.
Or didn’t care.
Yes, she could certainly trade with this man.
4
Dave
Scum and villainy was an old saying, but Dave had never actually walked into a place that exemplified it so well. Bars like this barely existed in the sort of places he had been while living as the Dominator. Since turning himself into Dave Hall and seeing the galaxy, Valentinian had largely kept them to the mid-range joints and dives.
Scum or villainy, he supposed, but never both at the same time.
At least until today.
They had landed on the outskirts of a small city in the middle of a big desert. Maybe five or eight thousand inhabitants, depending how far underground some of those dome-shaped buildings went. It almost reminded him of an ant hive, seeing tunnels and arcades connecting bigger buildings. Probably to keep the sun off you when you had to scurry between buildings.
The daytime heat was savage. Walking in it had been a chore, but Vee apparently understood the weather, and had made Dave add a long robe and a floppy hat over
pants plus a thin shirt that was more a tunic cut high on the sides so he could get to either holster. Valentinian wore the same.
Bayjy was stripped to long shorts she had cut down from a pair of cargo pants, and a simple T-shirt, with a messenger bag slung on one hip. And a smile a mile wide as she walked, but she enjoyed this sort of weather.
Had been born for it. Literally.
Maybe Kyriaki hadn’t had the worst idea, electing to remain behind and guard the ship, in the cooler air, while the others got a chance to get out and see something other than those same walls. She wouldn’t be sweating or swearing nearly as badly as Dave was under his breath.
At least they had made it into a cantina of some sort. A big, ring-shaped bar at the center of the round interior, with four bartenders working it. Two of them were Standard Humans, and he couldn’t tell with the other two. Maybe they were Variant Humans, or maybe just aliens that were close enough in form to pass in the dim light. The Dominion had been far too specist to truly accept any sort of aliens, and never kept slaves, so his education on the subject was quite lacking.
There was a band playing on a raised stage, the kind high enough that Dave was only about at eyeball level with the singer’s ankles, as tall as he was. They looked mostly human. Vee had found a small booth right up against the stage and the three of them slid in.
In the vids, the person working the floor in joints like this was always somehow a beautiful, nubile, young woman destined to fall madly in love with the loveable scamp of a main character. Considering the hairy, overweight dude that took their drink orders, Dave was just fine only being the sidekick today. Although he doubted that Vee found the man interesting.
But space never turned out like the vids.
Bayjy just smiled.
“We likely to see any action during the day?” Dave asked.
Evening would be when folks were active. Cool enough to move around comfortably, but not the bitter cold you might get by dawn.
“Only if they’re serious,” Vee replied, looking somehow utterly casual and ridiculously solemn at the same time.
Dave had never quite figured out how the man did that, but he didn’t have to. Valentinian might have been born with that natural charisma. Dave had just needed the man’s help to escape.
Several times.
Big, fat, and hairy delivered plastic mugs of thin beer, took some cash, and left them alone. The band was more enthusiastic than skilled, but about what you could expect in a joint like this, on a planet like this, on the left-hand side of Wildspace from the more civilized sectors.
Maybe he’d just gotten too jaded after watching the professionals of Solaria Femina working. Even as teenage girls, they had things down tight. This was a jam band. Dave wasn’t even sure they were all playing the same song right now.
His instincts had gotten honed, however, by living a more personally-dangerous life as Dave Hall than he ever had before in his Dominator armor. He spotted the man the instant he came through the door.
Vee had once suggested that they were all cousins, the men and women who worked every spaceport as fixers, finders, or scroungers. It seemed like every one of them had that same, vaguely-oily sheen about them, like you wanted to take a shower after talking to them.
The stranger had that look. Walked in the door, scanned the place, and locked in hard on Vee. Not hard enough that Dave felt the need to come up with a heavy pistol, but that was about the only option more serious. Everyone in this bar was armed to some degree or another. Opening fire would just unleash a semi-apocalyptic shitshow, even if most of them probably didn’t even train as hard and accurately as Valentinian did, to say nothing of the standards Dave maintained.
His Caelon assault troopers had been the best in the galaxy. Dave could still outshoot most of them.
Fixer over there seemed to take that into account as he approached. Maybe the negligent smile Dave had on his face. The kind that said it might just be easier to kill you and steal your watch than to stop and ask the time.
The approaching stranger was positively friendly by the time he got close enough to smile at them. Usually they had to sit down before the bonhomie came out.
“May I sit?” the man asked with a decidedly odd accent as he stood close. The vowels were too long and the consonants too sharp. Usually you got one, or the other, but not both.
“Selling anything I want to buy?” Valentinian asked laconically.
“What is it you might be in need of?” Fixer asked.
“You came here,” Valentinian rumbled. “I didn’t come looking for you.”
“Indeed, sir,” Fixer said, finding his footing finally after Vee knocked him back a stride. “You are strangers here. I have not seen an Anuradhan cargo transport like that in more than a decade.”
Dave was just amazed that the man even knew what Longshot Hypothesis was. His troops had only finally taken Anuradha about five years ago, and it was on the far side of the Dominion from Wildspace. Call it three thousand light-years from here, minus a little.
“And?” Vee snapped at the stranger.
“So one would expect that you are seeking cargo to transport,” the oily butterball said.
Somehow, they were always slightly overweight as well, as though good eating and not enough exercise was part of the job description.
“Kryuome even have anything worth exporting?” Valentinian scowled hard at the man.
Others in here were largely ignoring the conversation. And Vee had not asked the man to sit. Good to know that folks tended towards that level of insularity.
“I’m sure we can find something of interest,” the stranger smarmed. “If nothing else, the arms import business never flags.”
“Import?” Vee asked, somewhat negligent.
Dave didn’t lean into the conversation, but he focused a bit more of his concentration on it. And split the rest looking for someone making a sudden move to either join the conversation or halt it. Ramazan Bolat-Nurlan, the Sheriff of Bohrne Station, might be the only person Dave had ever met as fast with a drawn weapon as he was, but there were probably others out there.
“The mutant tribes of the central belt are forever at war with one another,” Fixer opined negligently. “And preying on strangers wandering into that zone. Used gear can always be found at a good price, and they are forever seeking more and better with which to either kill their neighbors or hold their own territory.”
Vee grunted. Near as Dave could tell, that had been the first useful thing the man had said, the rest being blather.
“Not buying or selling anything right this moment,” Valentinian said finally. “Leave a card and I might give you a call in a few days.”
That seemed sufficient. The man dipped into a pocket and produced something that looked like off-white plastic, about six by ten centimeters.
“I look forward to dealing, Captain,” he nodded and departed with a jaunty step.
Dave scored it about a draw, which was probably Valentinian’s point. We aren’t desperate for anything, nor do we need a gig right now.
More mysterious that way. At least for the moment
“Now what?” Bayjy spoke up when they were truly alone again.
“Now I need maps,” Vee replied quietly. “And maybe some better firepower and a short-range ground transport. You’ll need cutting tools and general salvager gear. Hopefully, the thing on the map still exists and hasn’t been looted in the last however-long since it was made. I’m guessing we aren’t the first prospectors to come along.”
“Trouble?” she asked.
“According to the coordinates on that map, where we need to go is somewhere along the central belt,” Vee said with a shrug. “Where these apparent mutant tribes are living. What I don’t have is the correct zero point to calculate longitude from, and so we have twenty-seven thousand miles of equator to look at, by nearly four degrees of width. Not even a dedicated survey ship is likely to find something in less than several years of looking.”
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br /> “Gotcha,” Bayjy nodded back. “At least it will be good to be out in the sun, finally.”
Dave smiled at her and sipped his beer. She had no idea what violence was really like. From what that fixer had intimated, it was a warzone where his Caelons might have troubles. Or fun. At least until they decided to just wipe out everyone instead of going through the effort of pacifying them.
He didn’t have that option this time, probably, so they might have to do it one fool at a time.
5
Ramazan
As Sheriff of Bohrne Station, Ramazan’s job was keeping the peace. Not just on his deck, but also in his corner of Laurentia, and sometimes beyond. Anything that threatened that had to be dealt with.
This tall, blond, so-called Ambassador from the Dominion might as well have had Threat tattooed on her skin. She was like one of those insects where the bright colors are there as a warning to predators that they are poisonous. Toxic. Whatever the term was.
Lethal.
She had adjusted her persona by the time he got her into his office and got the door closed. Gone was the hard woman filled with bluster, cash, and demands. Something softer had taken up residence instead.
Ramazan had no doubts that the former was more likely to be her actual personality, but he could adapt as well. It wasn’t as though she was going to be around long.
If she really wanted to seduce him for information that a few hours digging in a computer system elsewhere might uncover, who was he to argue? She was not an unattractive woman, if you liked them tall and muscular.
He had been a widower long enough to appreciate all kinds.
“When last you were here…” Ramazan began as they settled.
“When last I was here, I did things in an unfortunate, undiplomatic manner, Sheriff,” she cut him off politely but seriously.
Not a woman going for half-measures today.
“Oh?”