Hero

by Cheryl Brooks

  "But we like to make people jump," Orlat said, suddenly appearing behind Slurlek. "It's fun."

  She could understand the appeal, but it was bound to get old eventually. "Yes, but you guys probably don't even notice it, do you?"

  "True," Slurlek said. "Happens too often."

  "Have to wait for offworlders to come around," Orlat added.

  "So, how did you know where we were?" Micayla asked. "Obviously you didn't track us through the snow." The wind had already obscured their trail from the ship, piling it into sloping drifts behind them.

  "Trade secret," Orlat replied. "Can't tell you everything."

  "I suppose not," Micayla reluctantly agreed. "It's just that I know where Grekkor is now--or where he'll be when we get there." Frowning, she added, "It's hard to explain, but we may not need you guys after all."

  Orlat looked hurt--at least, Micayla thought he did, though with Neriks it was difficult to tell. "Not even for moral support?"

  "Well, maybe for that, but not much more." She paused for a moment remembering her earlier thought that these men could just as easily have been working for Grekkor and had been sent back to capture them and turn them in for the bounty. "Didn't rat on us, did you?"

  It might have been a Terran figure of speech, but Orlat obviously understood it. "To Grekkor?" he scoffed. "Like we'd ever work for someone like him. That is one scary son of a leckler."

  "What the devil is a leckler?" Trag asked.

  Orlat's upper lip clicked into an expression of distaste. "A flat, slimy thing that lives in ponds," he replied. "Not a nice thing to be."

  Trag nodded. "Just checking."

  "So the buildings are like that for fashion?" Micayla asked. "Kind of expensive, isn't it?"

  "Terribly," agreed Slurlek. "It's a measure of high status to have a house that can be completely cloaked. Not everyone aspires to that, though. Far as I'm concerned it's a waste of credits."

  "Well, you certainly wouldn't need to put up curtains," Micayla mused as she studied the buildings. "Some people would see that as an advantage. On the other hand--" She broke off as another thought struck her. "Hey, do you have any idea why our comlinks still don't work? I figured you two were jamming the ship, but why don't they work now?"

  "It's the snow," Slurlek said, shaking his head sadly. "Messes up everything on this planet. Something about the shape of the dust particles in the atmosphere that alters the crystalline nature of the flakes. Most signals are distorted by it. We can make things disappear but can't get decent reception in a snowstorm--well, some things work, like beacons and such, but nothing very complex can get through."

  "Nobody's perfect," Trag said with a shrug. "So the snow's different from that on other worlds? I'd have thought snow was the same everywhere."

  "Not here," Slurlek said. "Lots of things are different here--and some things are too much the same."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Every life form on this planet has black scales and white eyes," Slurlek replied. "The birds, the other land animals, the fish--everything except the plants."

  "Whew! Talk about your lack of biodiversity!" Micayla exclaimed. "Can they all disappear?"

  "Nope, only us bipeds can do that," Orlat said smugly.

  "What about lecklers?" Trag asked.

  "Flat, slimy, with black scales and white eyes," Orlat replied. "We just wish they could disappear."

  "Must have missed that chapter in the book," Trag muttered.

  "You never read the book," Micayla reminded him.

  "What?" Orlat said.

  "Never mind," said Micayla. "We've got to keep moving if we want to get to Grekkor in time."

  "In time for what?" Orlat asked.

  "In time for him to meet his destiny," Trag said grimly.

  "Destiny?" Slurlek echoed.

  "Just deserts, perhaps?" Micayla suggested.

  "Yeah, all of that," said Trag. "Oh, and just to be sure, which way is it to the Palace Hotel?"

  Micayla, Orlat, and Slurlek each pointed in the same direction at once.

  "Well, at least you all agree," said Trag. "How far?"

  "Might get there by midday," Slurlek said. "It's a big city."

  "And catch him just sitting down to lunch," said Trag. "Perfect. Nice, crowded restaurant--you do have restaurants here, don't you?"

  "Of course we do," Slurlek said stiffly. "What kind of planet do you think this is?"

  "I dunno," said Trag. "You've got weird snow, no biodiversity, the buildings are mostly invisible, and the planet spins backwards." He tapped his chin as though giving this careful thought. "Screwed up?"

  "Well, you've got that right," Orlat admitted. "But we do have restaurants--and pretty good food in most of them." He paused for a moment, considering. "Well, you might not think so, but--"

  "Doesn't matter," said Trag. "We've got our own food anyway."

  "Might be best to get to him before the big reception," Micayla agreed. "And a restaurant would be a great place to do it--lots of people around to hear him confess."

  Trag nodded. "Security won't be as tight either. I'll bet even a leckler couldn't squeeze past the guards at that hotel."

  "You've obviously never dealt with lecklers before," Orlat pointed out. "They can squeeze past anything."

  "I didn't mean that literally," Trag said with a withering glance. "Come on, then. Let's get going."

  The snowfall picked up again and as they journeyed through the city, the reason for the lack of snow on the streets became clear.

  Micayla stifled a shriek as a giant scaly worm with brush-like teeth emerged from a hole on the side of the road and vacuumed everything within its reach. Then it disappeared back inside the hole and the lid snapped shut.

  "What the devil is that?" Trag exclaimed.

  "Snow sucker," Orlat replied. "Just ignore them."

  Trag figured that they were yet another reason why there weren't many people out on the streets, aside from the late hour, for the only warning the snow suckers gave was a soft beep whenever they were about to pop out. Trag had to pull Micayla out of the way more than once and shuddered to think where the thing would have spewed her out--if, indeed, it ever did. He also found out the hard way that the streetlights weren't actually hovering; they were set on poles, cloaked poles.

  "Why would anyone do crap like that?" he said after he'd run into the second one. "It makes no sense whatsoever!"

  Orlat shrugged. "I thought it was a stupid idea too, but nobody asked me. The city planners thought it would be cool to have the lights there with no visible means of support."

  "Well, I hate to tell them this, but the technology for hoverlights does exist," Micayla said. "We have them on Earth."

  "Must be where they got the idea," Orlat said. "Too bad they didn't think to buy any of them."

  "Probably wouldn't work in the snow," Trag commented. "Hey, if I end up with a concussion, you guys just drag me along behind you, okay?"

  "Sure," said Slurlek. "No problem, but if you look for those little round shadows on the pavement, you can avoid them."

  "Important safety tip." Micayla chuckled.

  They tried their comstones at various intervals but still got no reply from Jack. Trag was beginning to doubt that they were even on the planet yet, but Micayla was fairly certain they were just out of range.

  Trag would have preferred to carry Micayla after rescuing her from a snow sucker the second time, but figured she'd fuss at him for trying. It was still something he wanted to do, though. His protective instincts kicked in every time she slipped or hesitated and he wondered if it would be like that all the time or just while she was pregnant. If it was constant, she was bound to get pissed at him eventually.

  Slurlek and Orlat were chattering away to Micayla, but Trag kept his thoughts to himself. The question of where they would go and what they would do after this adventure was plaguing him mightily. He went over in his mind all the planets he'd been to and couldn't come up with a single world he wa
nted to live on--and not so much himself as his children. He wanted them to grow up on a world as they could play outside without him having to worry about them every second of the day and night. A world like Zetith had been. Not remembering his homeworld would have been a blessing at this point, he decided, because then he wouldn't be so choosy. Even though he'd never been there, Earth was his first choice, but there were other worlds with similar climates--Terra Minor was one that came to mind, particularly because it hadn't been colonized for long and wasn't densely populated. Plus, if his information from Bonnie and Lynx was correct, it was a good place to raise children.

  Jack and her shipmates didn't seem to mind having their children grow up on a starship, but Trag had misgivings and wondered if Micayla was having similar thoughts. Granted, Jack and Tisana's kids had seen more of the galaxy, but there was a lot to be said for a nice home with green trees to climb.

  Then there was Darconia. It wasn't as out of the question now as it had been in the past, but a desert world was no place for Zetithians either. He knew there were verdant spots on Darconia, but living among reptiles wasn't such a great idea--certainly not the place for them to find mates when they grew up, as he knew from personal experience.

  If only Zetith still existed! He imagined taking Micayla home to a world where they both belonged and would be welcomed. Too bad there wasn't another planet quite like it in the galaxy--at least none that he'd seen or heard tell of--and the fact that there wasn't made settling down somewhere else seem second best. Then it occurred to him that as long as Micayla was with him, it truly didn't matter. Home was wherever she was, whether it was Earth, Darconia, or even--though he didn't care much for the idea--Nerik.

  Chapter 26

  Grekkor leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully sipping his wine. The trio of Neriks sitting across the table from him disgusted him excessively, but then Neriks always had. In his mind, they were even more hideous than Norludians, though most people would have disagreed. Neriks were notoriously treacherous creatures; he'd hired a number of them in the past and knew from experience that they couldn't be trusted. Having to deal with them at all went against his better judgment, but they possessed a technology that no one else could duplicate--and since they made you pay through the nose for it as it was, it wouldn't do to tick them off, especially these three, who were all high-ranking officials. Ilegret was the sklarth of Rechred, which, if Grekkor understood correctly, was a post similar to that of mayor. Tularnek, whom he had met before, was the local Consortium representative, and Narelna was the government agent in charge of approving the sale of starships--not easy men to get together. It had taken several hours of diligence on Worrell's part to arrange this particular meeting.

  "My dear Ilegret," he said pleasantly. "What delightful wine you have here. Is it produced locally?" It tasted worse than pond water, but Grekkor wasn't about to say so.

  "Why, yes," the elderly Nerik replied. "It comes from a vineyard not far from the city. This is said to be the best vintage in a century."

  Grekkor suspected that Ilegret could have made this judgment himself, for he appeared to be quite old. His scales were ragged and snagged the smooth fabric of his tunic at the shoulders and he had the foulest breath of any being Grekkor had yet encountered. Of course, that might have had more to do with the Nerik cuisine than age. Everything on Grekkor's plate tasted as bad as the wine--and some of it appeared to be moving.

  Just how the denizens of Rechred would welcome him, Grekkor hadn't been certain. So far as he could tell, the news that the two women from Orleon Station possessed hadn't traveled. He could only hope that Worrell was wrong and that they wouldn't be believed if they ever told anyone--especially since all efforts to track them down had failed. Still, he was certain that this plan to donate large sums to charity was a good one. It never hurt to boost public relations, particularly in his line of business, and a positive image was imperative to allow him to maintain control of the Consortium. He'd seen others booted out of power on a whim, let alone the charges that those two women were capable of leveling at him.

  "This plan you have," Tularnek began, diverting Grekkor from his thoughts, "I still don't understand why you chose Nerik for that particular honor."

  Tularnek may have appeared to be a fool on the surface, but Grekkor knew better. Smiling disarmingly, Grekkor shook his head. "I chose Nerik because of its unique position in the Consortium. It is centrally located and has the potential for becoming one of the richest planets in the sector. I'm sure there are many here now who would benefit from these charities."

  "Are you insinuating that we are a poor, underdeveloped world?" Tularnek said, his scales flattening to a dull sheen.

  Grekkor laughed softly and waved his hand as though it would erase the notion from Tularnek's mind. "I would never be so unkind. This world has vast resources. I am merely attempting to aid you in tapping into them."

  "We come to the point now," Narelna said, his enormous white eyes veiled by half-shut lids. "Our cloaking technology. You would have us sell it at more, ah, competitive prices, shall we say?"

  "It would enable you to sell more ships," Grekkor said, inclining his head in assent.

  "Meaning to yourself?" the Nerik suggested.

  "Come now, Narelna," Ilegret said, his scales ruffling with laughter. "Do not antagonize our guest. He will purchase the ships he requires at the normal cost." Turning to Grekkor, he added, "That is why you are here, is it not?"

  Grekkor had to hand it to the old Nerik; he didn't miss much. "Perhaps," Grekkor said cautiously. "But first we must finish with the more altruistic business at hand."

  "I wonder," said Narelna, "just why it is that you require ships with cloaking capability? Surely a businessman of your stature would not require that your dealings be so... covert?"

  "My business?" Grekkor echoed. "Did I say the ships were for my own personal use?"

  "No, you did not, but I wonder..."

  "You see, my dear, dear Grekkor," Ilegret said with so much emphasis on the use of Grekkor's own endearment that it sounded like a curse. "We have recently heard some rumblings about your... business."

  "Oh, and what sort of rumblings would that be?" Grekkor's tone was casual and he was certain there was a smile on his face, but a sense of danger was beginning to curl around his gut.

  "I can't be certain," Ilegret went on, "but perhaps you could elucidate--no, wait. I see they have arrived!"

  Grekkor watched as Ilegret waved a hand in greeting to someone behind him.

  "Greetings, my friends," Ilegret said warmly. "We have been advised of your visit. As the sklarth of this great city, allow me to welcome you to Rechred."

  ***

  Micayla's vision had been a true one. Until she laid eyes on him, she hadn't been sure. But there he was, sitting at a table in a restaurant that would have been considered posh by anyone's standards and sipping wine as though he hadn't a care in the world. It was all she could do to keep from screaming, "Murderer!" When she'd seen him before she hadn't realized the full extent of his crimes, but now she saw him for what he was: the one man responsible for the death not only of her family, but of her entire world. The urge to kick his blond butt all the way from Rechred to Darconia and back was overwhelming--so overwhelming, in fact, that she now found it difficult to move. To be in the presence of such consummate evil--the depth of which she could only guess at--was horrifying.

  Trag, however, had no such fear.

  Waving back to the Nerik, who seemed to know him for some strange reason, Trag stalked right up to the table where the nemesis of his world sat. He didn't need Micayla to point him out now; something in the insolent set of his shoulders told him that this was, indeed, the one. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lerotan, Hidar, and Rodan slipping in the side entrance--no doubt Jack and her crew were also somewhere nearby, though how any of them had found the right place was a mystery--but this was something he felt he needed to do on his own. Tapping his comstone, he activated th
e link to Jack and--hoping she was listening--stopped right behind Grekkor's chair.

  "I've got a bone to pick with you, Grekkor," he said, putting on his most pugnacious face. "Rumor has it that you killed a Norludian on Orleon Station and blamed two women for it. Is that right?"

  "What business is it of yours?" Grekkor said lightly, turning to face him. He might have been intending to laugh it off as a joke, but then he saw who--or what--it was that was addressing him. It was quick, but Trag caught the expression of murderous intent as it swept across Grekkor's casually amused features.

  "It means a lot to me," Trag said roundly, "because I'm going to marry one of them and I don't want her getting locked up for murder on our wedding night."

  "You're going to mate with one of them?" Grekkor's face displayed his disgust. "Which one?"

  "Why, the Zetithian, of course," Trag replied with a nod toward Micayla. Crossing his arms over his chest, he added smugly, "We're gonna be mates and we're gonna have a million pure Zetithian kittens. She may even be pregnant already; in fact, I'm pretty sure she is--and then we're gonna spread 'em across the whole fuckin' galaxy, so you can just get over it, asshole."

  The glare of pure, venomous hatred Grekkor leveled at Trag should have killed him where he stood, but Trag's taunt had the desired effect. "I will never get over it!" he shouted as he lunged to his feet. "You horrid cats all deserve to die. I destroyed your world and now I want you to die--in fact, I intend that you will die--like anyone who gets in my way, including that Norludian."

  "You're sure you mean that?" Trag taunted. "Really mean it?"

  "Yes, I mean it, and I'll increase the bounty on you just to make sure of it!" Grekkor snarled. "Ten million credits for each one of your stinking Zetithian hides!"

  Trag smiled. "Sure you don't want to soften that up a little?"

  Grekkor's handsome face was now deep red and contorted with hatred. "Twenty million for you!"

  "No, I guess you wouldn't." Trag said. Smiling, he added, "Did you get that, Jack?"