“Dork,” Nifan said with a dose of disdain. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your ... company?”
“Madam Nifan,” Dork said, trying and failing to sound proper. “I bring you informants.”
“Informants?” Nifan raked a skeptical gaze over the group. “And what could these filthy drifters possibly offer me?”
“That depends on what you have to offer us,” Zoey said.
Nifan hurled a visual dagger at Zoey. “Do not mistake your standing position for the higher ground. It would behoove you to know where you are and to whom you speak.”
“You are a trafficker of information, are you not?”
“I prefer the term politician.”
“I prefer the term blackmailing bitch.”
Dork gasped as only a walrus could. Max, Ross, and Perra all turned stunned gazes to Zoey, now locked into a staring contest with Nifan. Without breaking eye contact, Zoey lowered her mask and hood, revealing deep orange skin, a scaly blue neck, and choppy black hair. Nifan raised her chin and puckered her smoky gray lips, sideswiped by an unexpected intrigue. Dispelling the tension, she sighed and swung an open palm across the table.
“Won’t you and your companions have a seat?”
She sipped her steaming cup of tea, eyeing her guests as they settled around the milky marble table. Ross entered the circular booth first and shuffled around to Nifan’s side, close enough to smell her pungent perfume, but far enough away to remain conscious. Max followed, then Perra. Zoey filled the aisle seat across from Nifan. Dork, without a viable seat, stood by himself and awaited instructions.
“Go wait by the bar,” Nifan said without making eye contact.
“Yes, madam,” Dork said, then bowed and waddled away.
Nifan watched over her shoulder as Dork tested the structural integrity of a barstool. “Silly creature,” she said before returning her attention to Zoey. “So, how did you become entangled with it?”
“He tried to shake us down for credits. We turned the tables for information. He brought us here, to you.”
“Does he know who you are?”
“No. I don’t credit street cons with an overabundance of intelligence. Him even less so.”
Nifan chuckled. “I would not discount your reputation here, especially within these walls. I dare say The Omen is the most distinguished guest the Spigot has ever seen.”
“An empty compliment considering the clientele.”
“Indeed.” Nifan smirked, then eyed the group one by one. “So who are your companions?”
Zoey turned to the masked faces sitting beside her. Starting with Perra, she pointed her way down the line. “This one is Not, that one is Your, and the last one is Business. He’s a feisty one.”
Ross winked.
Nifan grinned as she studied Zoey’s face. “Fair enough. Speaking of business, it seems we may have some to discuss. You are looking for information. What kind?”
“We are looking for the identities and whereabouts of specific residents.”
“Hmm, must be higher profiles if you are sitting here. Who?”
“The disgraced members of the Suth’ra.”
Nifan leaned back in the booth, her ashy face taut with a toothy grin. “Unfortunately for you, that is some expensive information.”
“Only if you actually have it.”
“Oh yes, I have it. There are three of them. All three live in the perilous lower core. One is insane, in the purest sense of the word. One is guarded and nomadic, call him retired. The third continues his research inside a hidden laboratory.”
“Where?”
“Silly girl, that’s the expensive part. What do you offer in payment?”
“What do you want?” Zoey struggled to maintain her poker face.
Nifan extended an arm draped in silky green cloth and tapped a fingertip on the table. “In this place, if you do not know what you have to offer, then you have nothing to offer.”
Max’s puzzled eyes followed the verbal tennis match, now resting in Zoey’s court. Perra’s hands fidgeted atop her lap as she scanned the room for advantageous positions. Ross decided to kill time by testing the booth’s scratch resistance, of which it had none. Zoey and Nifan stared into each other’s hardened eyes in cold silence. Their motionless bodies mirrored each other, facing off like coiled cobras ready to strike. Sensing weakness, Nifan allowed a sly smirk to creep across her face. She leaned forward and folded her hands on the table. Her confident glare bathed Zoey in intellectual dominance, forcing beads of sweat to leak from her brow. With a subtle nod, Nifan summoned a rakish suit stretched around a pillar of muscle. Lifting itself from a wall, it began trudging towards the table. Zoey slipped a hand under her cloak and around the handle of her plasma gun.
“Okay then,” Ross said. “Let’s wrap this up, kitty needs to piss.”
Ross leaned over and whispered into Nifan’s ear. Her piercing gaze melted from her skull, leaving her face limp and lifeless. A shaking hand lifted to cover her slacking jaw as watering eyes lowered to the table. Cloudy tears streamed down her cheek and onto her fingers. She filled her lungs with floundering gasps, trying to maintain her composure. Rising from the booth, she turned away and dropped her face into both hands. Her body heaved with grief, but the environment and her reputation prevented an outburst of emotion. She waved off the approaching bodyguard and paused to digest the reveal. Steady and weighted breaths helped to regain a sliver of self-control. Turning back to the group, she offered a slow nod to the floor before lifting a humbled gaze to Zoey.
“His name is Hagramead Limpara, formerly known in the Suth’ra Society as Halim. His laboratory is located in the fourth tier of the lower core, section 82, service tunnel six. Look for a tarnished steel door with black rivets. Knock twice, wait, then knock twice again. Tell him that the Spigot flows.” Nifan turned and smiled at Ross. “Thank you.”
“No worries,” Ross said, then turned a nonchalant gaze to the gawking eyes of his stunned companions. “Shall we?”
Nifan returned to her seat and bowed her head while the rest of the group shuffled out the other side. Her deflated gaze fell upon the cup of tea resting on the table, now cold from neglect. A wayward finger traced the rim as her troubled mind fought for abatement. The cup rattled in its plate as Dork plopped himself at the other side of the booth, knocking Nifan out of thought. The wave of impact jostled everything in a short radius, including Nifan, provoking a huff and eye roll. Turning away from her bumbling minion, she caught a glimpse of the sling pack over Zoey’s shoulder as the group disappeared down the entrance corridor.
“Are you well, madam?” Dork said.
Nifan responded with a conniving gaze. “Send word to Lord Essien. Inform her that her prize is en route to Halim.”
CHAPTER 15
Zoey and her band of masked hoodlums clanked onto the rickety lift. She grasped the control lever and thrust it forward, causing the platform to jostle about before climbing the rusty cables. As the conveyer whined with ascent, she turned a suspicious gaze to Ross, who seemed immune to the obvious tension.
“What did you say to Nifan?” Zoey said.
“I told her what she needed to know,” Ross said.
“Which was?”
He batted an eye at Zoey. “What she needed to know.”
“Care to share?” Perra said.
“Not really.”
“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” Max said.
“Not being a dick. Just respecting Kenny’s wishes.”
“And what were those?”
Ross sighed and tossed a brief glare to Max. “Don’t give away anything you don’t have to.”
Max sneered as if debating a brick wall.
Ross glanced around at nothing in particular. “Oh, and by the way, you’re all welcome for saving your arses back there, again. Don’t thank me all at once.”
Zoey yanked the lever back, stopping the lift at their original floor. Without a word, she tromped off the teetering p
latform and pushed towards the passage leading back to the ship. Max followed with a combination of speed walking and stutter jogging. Ross swished around pedestrians with the grace of a swashbuckling pirate. Perra, nose-deep in her comdev, brought up the rear. Her inattention required several apologies as she bumped shoulders with random vagrants.
Their collective footsteps softened as they entered the rocky tunnel. Zoey soldiered down the corridor with a focused stride, shunning the glares of passing locals. Perra stopped about halfway through, her slack-jawed expression illuminated by the comdev in her hands.
“Hold up, something’s wrong,” Ross said.
The group halted and backtracked to Perra, who stood stunned and motionless.
“What’s the problem?” Zoey said.
Perra lifted a distressed face. “She did say Halim, right? H-a-l-i-m?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I thought that name sounded vaguely familiar. You and I had only heard stories growing up, but no one ever mentioned his ties to the Suth’ra. Halim, the Warlord of Draco, the military genius responsible for most of the universe’s advanced weaponry. That was his field of study. That’s why he was kicked out. Even the Suth’ra saw him as too dangerous for the greater good. That is who we are going to see.”
Zoey stood speechless in a rare moment of trepidation.
“A military genius?” Max said. “What, like a Sun Tzu or something?”
“Hardly,” Ross said. “This certifiable psycho makes Sun Tzu look like an ornery kid with a pellet gun. Halim is responsible, and I mean personally responsible, for some of the most brutal and bloody intergalactic wars the ’verse has ever seen. Wars that have resulted in more deaths than all of human history combined, millions of times over. This one guy has snuffed out entire civilizations with the apathy of extinguishing a cigarette.”
“Legend has it,” Perra said, “he once worked for the enormous Xerocan Empire that controlled a full quarter of the supercluster. Under the fog of war, he leaked secrets among the empire’s four main rivals, ensuring their mutual destructions. Trillions and trillions of innocent beings, poof, gone, all for the advancement of military strategy. Some say he was tortured and executed, others say he escaped and lives in exile, the latter being the apparent reality.”
“Nifan has to know that, right?” Max said.
“Yes,” Zoey said, staring at the tunnel wall. “That is a massive piece of leverage, one she would never give away lightly.” She turned a bewildered gaze to Ross. “So why give it to us?”
“That,” Ross said, pointing at Zoey, “is a damn good question.”
* * *
The bustling control bridge of Lord Essien’s battlecruiser halted with an abrupt silence. All eyes lifted to Essien, her arms spread across the railing of the observation deck. Using every ounce of composure to maintain said composure, she eyed the giant hologram of Dork with the bitter contempt of a wife discovering that her husband had boinked her best friend. The rigid leather of her black uniform popped across her chest as muscles tightened all over her body. Her hands paled as she squeezed the blood from her veins.
“Excuse me?” she said with a graveled voice.
Dork gulped. “Nifan says—”
“I heard you the first time you paunchy piece of shit. Put Nifan on. Right. Now.”
Dork glanced off to his side, then nodded. His glowing image crumbled into a dance of static and reformed into the silky bust of Nifan.
“Lord Essien,” Nifan said with a sigh of indifference. “What a unique ... pleasure.”
Essien narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare talk down to me after sending your dumpy lapdog to drop that bomb. You mean to tell me that Halim, the Halim, resides in that sewer of a planet?” She paused for effect, then waved an arm in dismissal. “Nevermind, don’t answer, I don’t care. What I really want to know is actually quite simple. Tell me, why oh why, did you send bitch Bryx to that madman ... with MY PROPERTY?! We had a deal!”
Nifan chuckled. “Silly girl, you know what happens when better deals come along.”
Essien’s face twisted with the flames of unbridled rage. Shadowy slits of taut skin spidered across her whitewashed complexion. Black lips receded around gnashing teeth as her silver irises pulsed under twitching eyelids. “You do know what this means.”
“Yes ... I do.” Nifan smirked before her image crumbled into nothing.
Essien heaved with anger and slammed her fists on the railing over and over. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuck!” She turned to the hard-nosed lieutenant standing beside her and punched him in the face, unleashing a tidal wave of fury that sent the poor fool tumbling over the railing and onto the control room floor. The heavy impact of armor on metal echoed around the room, producing an array of terrified faces. All eyes remained fixated on Essien as she stomped around the observation deck. “Summon all warships to our location! Prep the Rippers! Get them all here, now! If it’s war that backstabbing bitch wants, then it’s war I will bring her!” She whipped a rigid arm to the com controller, who flinched at the force of her assertion. “You! Get Jai on the com!”
* * *
A fresh bead of drool fell from the corner of Jai Ferenhal’s meaty jaw, adding to a small puddle on his pilot suit. Wet, rumbling snores bellowed from his open throat, causing cheeks to flutter with every exhale. Hollow Hold’s rusty horizon filled the viewport, but his shuttered eyes resigned themselves to a complete lack of interest. A limp hand lost its grip on the control yoke, causing the Ripper to list with a slow tilt. The neighboring pilot sneered at the intrusion before thrusting out of harm’s way. The fleet of a dozen ships reassembled, having failed to locate their target. They floated above the horizon in a triangular formation, waiting for their commander to resume consciousness.
The crackling static of an incoming transmission knocked Jai out of his unwarranted nap. A few headshakes and lip smacks restored a menacing persona. The hologram image of a livid Lord Essien appeared above the console.
“Lord Ess—”
“Shut up, you incompetent twat!” Lord Essien said with a shower of saliva that the transmission technology deemed worthy of visualizing.
Jai’s lips retreated into his mouth.
“Do you have any idea of how horribly you have failed me? Any at all?”
Jai’s broadened eyes darted back and forth inside his sweating skull. “Uh—”
“Bryx slipped through. She’s inside, and as you sit there looking like an addlebrained idiot, she and the others are delivering the package to Halim.”
Jai’s brow collapsed. “Halim? The Halim?”
Essien rolled her eyes. “No, Halim the Hollow Hold gardener.”
“But I thought—”
“Don’t, you’ll hurt yourself.” Essien sighed and shook her head before returning a vengeful gaze. “Listen. It’s very simple. Bryx is there. She is taking the package to Halim. Yes, the Halim, somewhere inside that rock. I am assembling the armada and will bring all-out fucking war upon that planet in less than 30 parks. In the meantime, your job, your only job, is to FIND FUCKING BRYX!”
“I shall not fail you Lor—”
“Stop talking, you overgrown frog turd! Go! Go! Go!”
Essien’s infuriated image crumbled from view, allowing Jai’s lungs to deflate. A few slaps to the face and a shift in posture mended his focus. He established a comlink to the Ripper fleet, piecing together a hologram grid of Varokin faces.
“Bryx got through. She and the others are inside. Put marks on all MX class freighters under level four. Pick your targets, investigate, keep me informed. Lord Essien’s entire fleet will be in orbit in less than 30 parks. We have until then to acquire the package.”
“But sir,” a random minion said. “The local powers will not take kindly to Varokin Rippers entering the cave system. Lord Essien still has many enemies here.”
“I know.” Jai sighed and raked a somber gaze over the derelict planet. He gnawed his lips, then lifted a hardened chin to the mi
nion grid. “Prepare for war. Break formation. All weapons loose.”
The fleet acquired their targets, broke ranks, and sped towards the surface.
* * *
Zoey emerged from the musky corridor, followed by Ross, Max, and Perra. Beams of sunlight reflected off the tangled web of pipes and scaffolding, trapping motes of dust inside their wakes. The sharp clanks of rubber soles atop suspended metal sheets acquired a crop of onlookers once again. The group shunned the attention as best they could, opting for resolute strides as they tromped down a maze of shoddy walkways. Rounding a steaming pipe, Zoey caught the silhouette of her tiny freighter hiding behind a thin wall of haze, still resting atop the rickety landing pad. The leery eyes of locals followed their every move while adding puffs of lung smoke to the choking smog. Without incident, the group set foot onto the landing pad, allowing each to breathe a sigh of relief. As Perra stepped onto the platform, her comdev erupted with warning chirps.
“What is it?” Zoey said, stopping cold and turning to Perra.
Max, still disoriented by the rancid smell, walked into the back of Ross.
Perra fished the comdev from her pocket and checked the alert. “Shit! Ripper inbound! Move!”
The group sprinted towards the freighter about 20 meters away. Before they reached the airlock, a Ripper ship fell into a hover above the parked vessel, its tentacled arsenal spread and ready for attack. Zoey threw her arms out wide, stopping the group’s advance. The Ripper’s fiery thrusters shook the landing pad and stirred up choking clouds of dust. They squinted as the rushing exhaust assaulted their bodies and fluttered their cloaks. Several locals disappeared into shops and alleys while others looked on with mild curiosity.
“Zoey Bryx,” the minion said in a hissing voice through an external speaker. “Stand down and hold your position. Everyone place your hands upon your heads.”
Zoey paused for a moment, then turned to the group and nodded. They all complied.
“Now remove the package and place it at your feet.”
Max and the Multiverse, #1 Page 16