Hero

by Cheryl Brooks

  "I'm glad we understand one another."

  "Oh, to be sure," Grekkor said, rising to his feet. His powerful but elegant form was accentuated rather than concealed by the shimmering cape he wore over his carefully chosen attire. Rich, but not ostentatious. It wouldn't do to appear to possess more wealth than was appropriate for his standing in the Consortium--just enough to look the part, and no more. "I'll pass the results of our meeting along to the members. Perhaps, knowing your stand, those who are in violation of the regulations will leave voluntarily."

  "I certainly hope so," said Beontal. "But I wouldn't count on it."

  Grekkor's smile turned grim. "Neither would I."

  Nor would he count on Beontal remaining alive for long if he maintained this stand. Grekkor had gone up against far more formidable opponents than the stiff-necked Edraitian and emerged victorious. He might even kill Beontal himself... and with a great deal of pleasure.

  ***

  Windura headed back to her post after lunch still convinced that she'd seen someone like Micayla before; she just couldn't remember where. One thing was certain--she'd never met one in person, and in her ten years on Orleon Station, she'd met beings from a hundred different worlds, though very few that were as attractive as Micayla's kind.

  Normally, she wouldn't have had the chance to become well acquainted with a communications officer like Micayla, who was among the station's elite; Windura was just the computer whiz who kept everything running smoothly--most of the time. She and her team were constantly putting out fires and were at virtually everyone's beck and call--with the result that Windura had at least a passing acquaintance with nearly everyone on the station, and that included the hookers. She'd revamped their "john" tracking system more than once, and Windura had to admit, it was pretty effective. Once a man entered their lair his biometric imprint was recorded into the Hooker's Network, and from then on, they knew who to kick out and who to invite back. They might not have actual names listed, but they knew every customer's preferences and habits, as well as his tipping record. The network wasn't advertised--in fact, Windura had been sworn to secrecy--but wrong one hooker, and you've wronged them all.

  Micayla's situation intrigued her. Windura couldn't begin to fathom what it would be like to feel as alone in the universe as Micayla must. Her own parents were teachers on Vessonia, and Windura knew exactly where they were and what they were doing, receiving deep space missives from them on a regular basis. She understood what it meant to be the only one of her kind on the station, but at least she knew what "kind" she was.

  Sitting down at her desk, she switched on the Orleon music loop's rock station and logged on to her computer. After an hour's fruitless search of the standard database, she was about to give up when she decided to try a different tactic. Logging into the Hooker's Network with the password Layha had given her, along with the retinal scan the system required, she simply typed in the word "fangs."

  Holograms of some of the fiercest-looking creatures she'd ever seen popped up, some of which had actually passed through Orleon, but one in particular stood out from the rest. Yes, he was the one she remembered seeing before--probably during a previous check of the system. Male, of course, but his features were similar to Micayla's and he was every bit as handsome as she was beautiful, the orange streak in his black hair only adding to his attractiveness. The description of his sexual abilities was remarkable to the point of sounding like fiction--body fluids that could chemically trigger orgasms? That couldn't be true! But the hookers were known for their strict adherence to the facts. His performance and genitalia were second to none and he wasn't the kind to get too rough, but he had one other interesting talent: he could purr.

  A song began playing just then, one performed by a band Windura had never seen but had heard about. The lead singer was supposed to be the sexiest thing to hit the galactic music scene in a hundred years, one of a lost race of feline humanoids...

  Switching to the entertainment database, Windura finally found what she was looking for. Why it wasn't in the standard files was a mystery, but there he was, one of the few survivors of the destruction of the planet Zetith. According to a footnote, there were only six adult males known to exist. Any other remnants of that civilization had been tracked down and presumably killed by Nedwut bounty hunters. Though some had produced offspring with Terran mates, there was no mention of any female survivors; apparently none had ever been found--until now.

  ***

  Lerotan viewed the list of new station regulations with distaste. "We'll have to leave soon," he told Rodan. "According to this, we can resupply and buy anything we like on Orleon, but we can't sell any of our weapons."

  "Since when has that ever stopped you?" Rodan countered.

  "Since now," Lerotan replied tersely. "It's not worth the trouble. Pick up what we need and let the rest of the crew know we'll be leaving again in a couple of hours. If anyone wants to buy arms, they'll just have to buy them from me somewhere else."

  "You aren't going soft, are you?"

  "No, just getting older and smarter," Lerotan replied. "And besides, it's a big galaxy. There are plenty of other places we can operate without being hassled."

  ***

  Micayla's shift had been busy, but not busy enough to divert her thoughts completely. During the occasional lulls, she asked Dana enough questions to irritate the most obliging person imaginable--but fortunately, Dana was just such a person. She filled Micayla in on the entire exchange, from the man's eye color to the loss of his sister, and by the time Micayla relinquished her post to Xantric, she was ready to go charging down to sections twenty-eight and nine alone, in spite of Windura's dire warnings.

  "She's going hunk hunting," Dana said when Xantric remarked on her haste. "I've seen the guy, and trust me, I'd be running out of here too."

  Xantric's bald pate gleamed as she shook her head at Micayla. "Scott will be so disappointed if you find someone else."

  "Something tells me he'll get over it," Micayla said.

  "I don't know," Xantric said. "To hear him talk, the two of you are already an item." She took in Micayla's attire with a swift, assessing glance. "Not going after hunks dressed like that, are you?"

  "Why--what's wrong with my uniform?" she asked, making a quick check for tea stains.

  Xantric rubbed the horn at the end of her rhinoceros-like snout contemplatively. "Don't you have anything prettier to wear?"

  "No," Micayla replied, "at least not what you'd call pretty." Micayla rarely wore anything aside from her uniform, and even when she did, it was certainly nothing like the colorful, voluminous dresses and gaudy earrings that Xantric favored.

  "Just a suggestion," Xantric said kindly. "I could loan you something if you like."

  Since Xantric was well over two meters in height with a much broader build, Micayla would have been swallowed up in one of her dresses.

  "I've got a dress that would look fabulous on you," Dana said. "I could run and get it real quick."

  Micayla was about to refuse both offers when Windura interrupted them.

  "No time for that," Windura said as she approached. "We really need to get going." The urgency in her voice and the gleam of excitement in her eyes spoke volumes.

  "You found something?"

  "You bet I did," Windura replied. "Something very interesting."

  "Like what?" Dana asked.

  "I'd rather not say until I'm sure," Windura said evasively.

  "Oh, come on, don't keep us in suspense," Dana urged. "Did you at least find out his name?"

  "No," Windura replied. "But--"

  "Never mind that," Xantric interjected. "And never mind changing clothes," she said to Micayla, giving her a push toward the door. "Get going, girl!"

  Micayla had a million questions buzzing through her head as they hurried along the concourse, but one of them stood firmly in the forefront.

  "Did you find out what I--?"

  Windura put a finger to her lips and shook her h
ead. "I'll explain in a minute."

  The reason for secrecy wasn't clear, but Micayla somehow managed to hold her tongue until they reached the lift, which was also crowded with various station residents. When they finally got off the lift, the corridor ahead was chilly and dimly lit and their footsteps echoed eerily off the dull grey walls. "I've never been on Level One before," she said. "It's kinda creepy, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but it's the best way to get to section twenty-nine," Windura assured her. "Much safer than the main commerce deck."

  "Can we talk now?"

  Windura nodded. "I didn't want anyone to overhear us."

  "Why not?"

  "Remember what you said about maybe being the kind of species that was hunted down and shot on sight?"

  "Yes, but surely you don't think..."

  "Listen, if you're what I think you are, that possibility definitely exists, and I'd rather no one else knew about it until we're sure."

  Micayla's hands turned to ice. "So I really am some sort of evil cat?"

  "Probably not, but apparently someone thinks you are. We need to get Layha to run a scan on you to see if you match up."

  Micayla's disappointment was profound. "You mean we're not going looking for the man in the park? And who is Layha anyway?"

  Windura grinned. "She's a hooker--a Delfian hooker."

  Micayla blinked hard. She'd heard enough about Delfians to know she didn't want to meet one--particularly a hooker who probably didn't wear very much.

  "If I'm right--and I'm pretty sure I am," Windura continued, "we'll have the answer to all of your questions pretty soon. Ever hear of a rock band called Princes & Slaves?"

  "Should I have?"

  "Maybe not," Windura admitted. "They're very popular in the Andromeda quadrant. Some in the Terran quadrant have heard of them, and since we're on the border between the two, I've heard their music and know a bit about them, but I'd never looked up a picture until now."

  "And this is important because...?"

  "The lead singer of Princes & Slaves is a guy named Tycharian Vladatonsk," Windura replied. "Women all over the quadrant are hot after his ass. But so is someone else. Seems their species was nearly exterminated--about the same time you lost your family--and there are only a handful of them left. Some Nedwuts tried to kill him during a performance a few weeks ago, but his fans mobbed them and tore them to pieces."

  "Dedicated fans," Micayla remarked. "But I still don't understand--"

  "The connection?" Windura said. "The connection is that he's got the same pointed ears, fangs, and feline eyes that you have--and the curly hair. Granted, his coloring is different, but I think you're the same species."

  Micayla felt her heart try to leap out of her chest, but she somehow managed to keep walking.

  "There was another one too, but he was only in the hooker's database," Windura went on, directing a triumphant glance at Micayla. "Long black hair and wears a cloak. Sound like someone you might have seen?"

  The implication struck Micayla dumb for a moment. "Did he--does he have an orange streak in his hair?" she asked, surprised at how faint her own voice sounded.

  Windura nodded. "Yes, he does, and, like I said, I knew there was something familiar about you, I just couldn't place it. I must have seen him before when I'd run a check of the network."

  "So what do we have to do?"

  "Layha will run a scan on you to see if there's a biometric match in her system. I'm willing to bet there is--and if he's still here on the station she just might know where to find him."

  ***

  Grekkor was beyond furious. He was livid. "But do you mean to tell me, Tilat, that even after I warned you to keep a low profile, you went and spouted off to the section chief that you were selling Friotian cocaine?"

  The sniveling Kitnock spread his thin, bony arms in protest. "He asked to buy some! We've never been the subject of any stings on this station. How was I to know?"

  "If you had listened to me, you would have," Grekkor seethed. "Now I'll have to go see that cursed commander again and explain that you are a stupid fool and thought that the man was joking with you."

  "But--"

  "And then you will leave this station and never return. Do you understand?"

  Tilat was taller than Grekkor by about ten centimeters, but Grekkor was powerfully built and probably outweighed him by half, and his thug was even bigger. Dolurp was a big, hairy, ape-like humanoid from Herpatron who, rumor had it, enjoyed breaking fingers--especially those of Kitnocks; he liked the sound they made when they snapped.

  Whirling away as though he could no longer stand the sight of the Kitnock, Grekkor stormed off down the narrow corridor, his cape billowing out behind him and Dolurp at his heels.

  He hadn't gone far when he saw two females approaching, both in the uniform of station staff. He automatically began to smile, but it was wiped from his face as he recognized one of them. Not her, specifically, but her kind.

  As they passed, his icy blue eyes met the darkly glowing feline orbs of the woman in question. Hatred for her and all her kind blazed up in him. However, he managed to hold his comment until they passed.

  "As if this day hadn't gone badly enough," he growled. "I thought we'd killed all those cats."

  "Want me to go get her?" Dolurp inquired, plainly itching for some action.

  "Don't bother," he said, tossing a glance over his shoulder. "Without one of their males, the females can't repro--" He broke off as he saw that the woman had turned and was staring after him. "--duce."

  ***

  "Whoa, shit!" Windura exclaimed as the two men began to race toward them. "We're in trouble now!"

  Micayla had been on the alert from the moment that venomous gaze had locked onto hers and, pivoting on one foot, she snatched Windura's hand and sped off down the passageway, dragging Windura behind her.

  "'Stay away from sections twenty-eight and twenty-nine,'" Micayla quoted as she ran. "Why the hell don't you pay attention to your own advice?"

  "Trust me, he doesn't belong here either," Windura gasped. "I know who he is."

  "Tell me later," Micayla said, picking up speed. Rounding a corner, she almost ran into a load lifter carrying three huge barrels.

  "No shooting!" the Norludian driver exclaimed, waving his sucker-tipped fingers in alarm.

  "We don't have weapons!" Micayla shouted as she passed. A pulse beam struck the barrels and they burst open, flooding the corridor. "But I guess they do," she added.

  "I'll bet they have friends around to head us off," Windura said darkly. "He's a very powerful man. We've got to get to another level. Someplace where there are more people."

  They heard the sounds of a crash and a scuffle behind them. Apparently the bad guys had slipped on whatever the Norludian had in the barrel. Micayla could hear shouted curses and insults. "Too bad they didn't break their necks," she muttered. "There's a lift up ahead."

  "How the hell do you know?" Windura demanded.

  "Remember what I told you before about knowing where everything is?"

  "Yeah, right. I remember now. Oh, joy."

  "You don't sound very happy about it."

  "Hey, I thought you were crazy at the time," Windura explained. "Any premonitions that we get out of this alive?"

  "Uh, no. Not really."

  "Make one up then."

  They reached the lift, Windura pounding on the control buttons and cursing it for being so slow. When the lift finally jolted to a halt, the doors slid open with a hiss to reveal two huge Darconians. "I told you we exceeded the weight limit," one of them said. "You never listen to me."

  "Aw, shut up," the other said as the dinosaur-like creatures lumbered out of the lift with their tails swinging behind them.

  Micayla and Windura dove into the lift and they both shouted out, "Level Ten!" The doors remained open for what seemed like an eternity before finally closing just as their pursuers came into view.

  "Shit!" Windura exclaimed. "This was a bad idea. They'll
know what level we've gone to. All they have to do is look at the console!"

  Fortunately, the lift stopped on Level Five to allow three Drells to get on before continuing on to Level Ten uninterrupted. Being Drells, they insisted on getting off first when the ladies tried to push past them. Shuffling slowly with their all-concealing locks dragging along the floor, Micayla was about to rip their hair out in frustration before they finally got out of the way. "Rude little rats, aren't they?" she observed.

  "Can't stand them," Windura agreed. Glancing around, she read: "Level Ten, section thirty. Great. This is one of the docking rings. The station dead-ends here. Sections twenty-eight and twenty-nine are that way," she said, pointing to the right. "Come on," she said, motioning for Micayla to follow. "We've got to keep moving. This is where we were headed to start with, so maybe we'll be safe. Lots of people here."

  "What about trying to find a guard?"

  "Against those two? You don't know who we're up against, do you?"

  Micayla shook her head.

  "That was Rutger Grekkor," Windura said. "He's the head of the Commerce Consortium--has an interest in all sorts of things: jewelry, building materials, pharmaceuticals, food processing, you name it. His official record is clean, but rumor has it that he heads up the biggest ring of drug smugglers in the galaxy."

  "Oh, great," Micayla groaned. "He's probably got henchmen all over this station. And did you hear what he said?"

  "Yeah, I heard. You are in deep shit, my friend."

  "Well, what about you? You heard what he said too. You're a witness. He said he had 'killed all those cats.' You realize what that means, don't you? He killed off everyone on my planet!"

  "Looks like I'm in deep, deep shit right along with you."

  Micayla took a hasty breath. "I know next to no one on this station and certainly nobody who works down here. Is there anyone you can trust?"

  Windura looked uncomfortable. "Well, there's you... and the, um, hookers."