After consulting with the surly hotel staff – the afternoon clerk a Sheshen apparently under the influence of powerful narcotics – he doled out a small sum of their funds to each of the crew, enough to buy a drinks and perhaps a warm meal.
* * * * *
As Darryl Knoles and Emil Juey, the Tengri’s custodian, had wanted to venture out for a few rounds of the local brew, Taz had been appointed as their escort. At the last minute, he had managed to persuade Kaiden Karell to join them on their visit to a local watering hole.
It was a single story locale, attached to the outside of one of the city’s towering skyscrapers, its walls lined with oval tables of tarnished metal. The place was half-packed with surly patrons, nearly half of whom were Banthalo. The rest were an assortment of freakish beings from all corners of the galaxy. A dimly lit bar near the back wall was being tended to by an elderly lavender-skinned male with a scrawny frame, a tall reddish Mohawk, and a nervous twitch. In the center of the room a shallow pit housed a large holographic projector which displayed a series of action-filled shots of what looked like some sort of brutal athletics competition.
The four Terrans had grabbed an empty table near the bar and Taz immediately went and bought the first round of drinks, returning with stout metallic containers filled to the brim with a fizzy, opaque orange liquid.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming here,” Kaiden professed.
“Would you rather hang around your sleazy hotel room? Because if you would, I’d be more than willing to keep you company,” Taz leered, shooting her a suggestive wink.
A roar of applause erupted, saving Kaiden from replying. The cheerers were a group of Banthalo customers on the opposite side of the bar wearing what looked like grease-stained overalls, their attention fixed on the holographic display, where an intensely muscular member of their race with a missing eye had just pummeled his opponent, an emaciated contestant with four long tentacles protruding from his face, into a bloody pulp. Darryl peered at the image with great interest. It was the first time Taz had seen the gruff cook display even a fraction of interest in anything at all. The one-eyed contestant proceeded to rummage through the possessions of his hapless victim, tearing apart his clothing as if searching for something in particular. He finally stopped short as he produced a shiny medallion on a silver chain, holding it high in the air in defiance before quickly turning to scan his surroundings, apparently making sure he wasn’t being watched. The muscular alien pocketed his newfound bauble and reclaimed a savage-looking serrated blade which lay next to the bloody body before scampering off.
“Charming sport,” Kaiden remarked sarcastically, burying her face in her drink, which had a sweet aroma, reminding her of spiced mead.
Despite her athletic form and her interest in physical development, the curvaceous brunette was not one for acts of violence.
“I guess you’d rather have your sport with the captain,” Taz jeered, catching Emil’s eye in the hope of sharing a smirk, but the older man offered only an awkward smile.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kaiden demanded, her expression fading into one of feigned disgust.
“Nothing,” Taz replied sullenly. “But you can’t pretend you haven’t noticed how he looks at you.”
“No differently than the rest of you perverts do!” Kaiden snapped.
“Well if you’re not his, then what say you and me-” Taz began, but he was abruptly cut off.
“His?” Kaiden bellowed. “Did your tank on the Alamo have a glitch? Because that might explain your stupidity!”
“Oh come on. You can’t dress the way you do and not expect us to look!” Taz chuckled. “Prancing around in your tight little outfits. It’s almost as if you want us to-”
He was again cut short, this time by an open-handed slap across the face.
“You know what, I think I’m gonna go someplace where the women are more sociable,” Taz snarled. “Maybe find me one of those blue chicks.”
“You can’t leave,” Kaiden snapped. “You’re our escort!”
“The hotel is less than a hundred meters away,” Taz protested as he pushed his stool back. “If you get scared you can always go crying back to the captain. I’m sure he’d like that.”
He looked sternly into Kaiden’s eyes for a moment before snatching up his drink, downing the rest of it in one long gulp, slamming the empty tankard on the table and storming out through the door.
“Screw him!” Kaiden burst out, slamming her drink down as well, making a mess as nearly half of it slopped onto the table.
Juey and Knoles exchanged looks in worried silence as Kaiden continued to brood.
“Why are we sitting here by ourselves?” asked Emil.
“What do you mean?” Kaiden growled.
“I mean, we should try to talk to some of these… people,” he suggested, gesturing towards the group of Banthalo sports fans.
“Are you insane?” she snapped. “First of all, we don’t speak their language. Second, they don’t exactly look friendly.”
“Oh come on,” the custodian argued. “I used to do this all the time back on Sol. The big scary ones usually just want to tell tall tales about all the messed up things they’ve done. It’s good fun.”
“You can go hit on the ugly green aliens by yourself,” Kaiden spat out, drawing a grin from the otherwise stern-faced cook.
“Fine, sit here by yourself and sulk,” Emil conceded. “What about you Darryl? Are you scared too?”
Knoles downed his drink in one go, letting out a long belch as he got up from his chair. The odd pair navigated through the bar, timidly approaching the group of four cheering Banthalo patrons. The smallest of the four was the first to notice them. He threw his drink on the table as they drew near, spilling a fair amount of its contents over the Banthalo next to him.
“Chosey role i, junko?” the short alien growled in his guttural tongue, puffing out his chest in a sign of territorial dominance.
The Banthalo was as ugly as they came, with cracked greenish lips and raggedy ears flopping on the side of his oversized head, his squinting black eyes bearing down upon Emil, causing the Terran to avert his gaze. The thug’s breath smelled like it held almost as much alcohol as an entire flask of spirits, and his tight-fitting, grease-stained clothing was covered in spilled drink.
“We Terrans,” Emil attempted to explain, using hand gestures to compensate for his lack of language skills. “We… drink with you?”
The aggressive creature thrust his face within a hairsbreadth of the quivering custodian, sniffing his shirt and standing on his toes to look the Terran straight in the eye.
“U sempi gesto labronos repari lon nochi role,” he sniggered to his companions as he turned back to the table, drawing a disgruntled chuckle.
The largest of the Banthalo, a hulking giant of a creature nearly the size of Jago, waved the two men over to join them before hailing the barkeep, ordering a round of drinks. Cautiously Emil and Knoles took to a pair of empty seats at the table, their backs towards the door in case they needed to leave in a hurry.
A slightly deformed specimen to their left held a large knife and was busy scraping the dirt from under his short claws. The lavender-skinned barkeep returned momentarily with a tray of shot glasses which he laid to rest at the center of the table, fidgeting as he returned to the bar.
“Repari, Gaian junko. Nochi cirtaki verti chomo i ina sono sivisaney,” the large Banthalo declared, grabbing one of the glasses and raising it into the air.
The others quickly followed suit, and waited for their guests to do the same. Apprehensively, Emil and Knoles took a slight whiff before raising their glasses in turn.
“Merito ro huno,” the Banthalo all shouted in unison before downing their drinks in one quick swallow, slamming the empty glasses on the table.
The two Terrans, not wanting to upset their new companions, were only slightly behind them. The clear liquid burned the inside of their throats as it slid down,
leaving a bitter aftertaste. Emil cringed in disgust, but Darryl only twitched slightly. The little Banthalo cackled like a sniveling hyena at the Terrans’ discomfort, looking towards the larger one for recognition.
“Ina juda rigale muardi, mapo gorre massos ile tevere,” the malformed individual growled, pointing in the direction where Kaiden sat by herself in silence, eyeing them suspiciously.
“Aloro,” the large one retorted, grabbing another glass from the tray.
Emil was less than enthusiastic about sampling the disgusting drink again, but felt uneasy about disappointing their hosts, and so reached out and took another glass from the still well-stocked tray. Darryl snatched a glass and swallowed his drink before everyone else, drawing nods of approval from the others.
Emil hesitantly held the glass up to his lips, closing his eyes in anticipation of the foul taste. Get it over with, he tried to persuade himself. He finally opened his mouth wide and threw back the shot, swallowing it as quickly as possible, hoping that somehow it would taste less foul than before.
Almost at once, he started screaming. His insides were on fire. His digestive tract was in excruciating agony, as if he’d swallowed a bundle of barbed wire. He nearly overturned the table as he jumped back to his feet, knocking over his chair, both hands gripping his throat in a vain attempt to quiet the insurmountable pain, but there was nothing he could do. His insides were already being dissolved by the carefully-disguised, highly-concentrated acid. As blood came rushing into his mouth, he keeled over, his vision fading as he heard the hysterical laughter from his hosts.
As Emil kicked feebly one last time and finally lay still, Knoles instinctively grabbed the knife out of the hands of the malformed Banthalo. As he rose to his feet, he pointed the heavy blade at the group, hoping to deter them as he made his escape. The Banthalos’ laughter subsided, replaced by a silence filled with scornful looks and sneers. As Knoles slowly started backing up, making his way towards the exit, the largest one gave a quick flick of his hand, and they all jumped the terrified Terran at once, using their brute strength to overbear him.
The last thing Knoles saw was their leader’s fist as it came crashing down on his terrified face.
* * * * *
“Come with me,” whispered a soft voice from behind her while Kaiden watched, horrified, as the Banthalo jumped the retreating Knoles. “Quickly!”
It was another one of the lavender-skins, though this individual’s was more of a bluish grey tone, as were his slender, human-like features. He wore an emerald cloak wrapped around his body, with a cowl hiding the top portion of his face. As he stood by Kaiden’s side with his hand outstretched, she felt compelled to reach out and grab hold. Before she knew it, the two of them were racing towards the door.
“Wait, what about the others?” she gasped as they escaped to the streets.
“Your friends are already dead,” the cloaked figured stated, dragging her into a nearby alley. “You should not have come here,” he reprimanded as he drew back his hood, revealing a gentle face, his huge azure eyes gleaming with innocence.
He looked so human, and yet so alien at the same time. His lips were a dark shade of blue with a hint of purple, and the single strip of hair that ran along the centre of his scalp was as black as night, roughly brushed to one side. Instead of a nose, his forehead merged gradually with his lower face forming a smooth nasal ridge running all the way down to his mouth, with three pairs of slitted nostrils running its length.
“What… what happened? Why did they…” she sobbed, suddenly realizing what she’d witnessed.
“It is a game to them,” her rescuer revealed. “They call it ‘Brut Banthal’. A most distasteful game of chance.”
“A… a game?” she stammered.
“I am saddened that luck did not favor your friend on this night,” the lavender-skinned man sighed. “As for the other, he threatened them. You must never threaten a Banthalo unless numbers are in your favor. Even then, you would be wise to do so with caution.”
“I hate this place! I hate this whole entire planet,” she cried, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.
“You are not alone,” he assured her. “This is a world where people come to test their luck. They squander away all of their wealth on games of chance, all of which are rigged. Many lose not only their credits, but their fare home as well. Now they’re stuck here, indebted to one crime lord or another.”
She wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeves, thankful to have found an honest soul in a sea of villainy.
“Ever since their planet’s atmosphere was bombarded with the poison which now covers its surface, the Sheshen have been fighting each other for power, each generation becoming more corrupt than the one before it. It is a sad fate.”
“Could… could you escort me back to my… hotel?” Kaiden ventured, looking up nervously at her rescuer. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He smiled gently, reaching up to gently brush her hair from her eyes.
“How can I deny one in such pain?” he whispered, taking her hand and leading her out of the alleyway.
* * * * *
Knoles awoke to the sound of a roaring motor. His head was throbbing with pain as he lay on the cold, uneven floor, a feeling that was deeply disconcerting as he realized that he wasn’t in his warm bed. How had he ended up lying on a stone floor? As he tried to move, he found that his hands were bound in chains. His momentary confusion was quickly replaced with abject panic.
He tossed and turned, trying to wrest himself free but each tug on the chains only seemed to lessen his resolve. As his vision began to return he saw that he was lying on the floor of what appeared to be some form of large, empty storage space, a hangar or warehouse. On one side, the chain from his left wrist was bound to a thick metal pole set deeply in the floor, and on the other the chain was attached to what appeared to be a large cargo loader on heavy tracks.
He let out a brief whimper as he raised his head to look around at his surroundings. A short distance away from his feet stood the large Banthalo leader, the small cackling hyena at his side, ready to signal the driver of the vehicle that would tear him limb from limb.
“No, please!” he moaned through the pain in his head. “I’ll do anything!”
“Anzari romotoros ina!” the small one shouted, giggling with excitement.
As the heavy machine began to move, Darryl let out a horrendous scream as his bones snapped like twigs and his flesh was ripped apart, spraying the ground with blood.
Chapter 32
Hundreds of booths and stalls lined the market plaza, a large circular platform near the heart of Sheijan, selling exotic wares from all corners of the galaxy. Everything from food items and small domesticated creatures to weapons, armor and even illicit drugs could be had for the right price, though most carried trinkets of little or no value.
Doc Taylor had received permission from Captain Mitchell to journey further into the city in the hope of securing a doctor capable of restoring Reid’s badly damaged knee to working order. Marcus had been assigned to accompany them, as much to provide protection as to support their limping sniper. Given the importance of their assignment, Serena had been tasked to act as their interpreter.
They’d started out by acquiring the services of a hovercraft driver, who’d informed them in broken Terran that they would likely have trouble finding a healer capable of catering to their race. If they were to have any luck, he’d recommended that they travel to the busy market to seek further guidance.
Marcus had been rather relieved. Although Reid’s leg was indeed a priority, he wasn’t in mortal danger, and a brief trip to the market could provide them with several of the items that Captain Mitchell had ordered the crew to look out for. The highest on the list was information which could further their life in such an alien environment. Books, tomes, data disks, anything would suffice. Without more knowledge, the crew was simply too vulnerable.
A short hovercraft ride later, the four
Terrans were being assaulted by pungent aromas from a variety of sources. Everywhere they looked, merchants shouted at the top of their voices, trying to drown out their competitors as they called out prices and special offers. A particularly aggressive humanoid merchant with small spiny protrusions along the edges of his face and what looked like tentacles of knotted hair jutting out from the back of his bumpy skull waved a small pole with dangling animal carcasses in their direction, shouting at them, presumably encouraging them to come and sample his wares. He wore a tattered skirt held up by leathery straps over his shoulders, while a broad ribbon around his waist supported a series of pouches which bobbed about as he enthusiastically attempted to entice them.
Serena waved her hand to decline his offer, turning her head away in disgust at the smell of the rotting meat. If anything, this only increased the merchant’s fervor, the spiny figure dashing after them waving more wares as they tried to advance through the crowd to put more distance between them. Only when Marcus pointedly hefted his carbine did the over-eager merchant finally get the message.
Marcus turned and followed after the others, who had stopped a few meters further on, where Doc Taylor was busy sifting through a crate of used weapons being sold by a heavily-scarred and elderly Banthalo merchant, who was already engaged with another pair of customers. The medic was fascinated with a device that closely resembled a hilt of a sword.
“What does it do?” he asked the preoccupied seller, grasping the cylinder with both hands, shaking and twisting it in hopes of deciphering its use.
Without warning, a shimmering force field shot up from the unit in his hands, forming the shape of a straight blade a meter long. This was followed less than a second later by the sudden ejection of a stream of plasma from within the hilt, rapidly filling the containing force field. Startled, Taylor immediately dropped the glowing blade to the ground in a shower of sparks and hissing of venting plasma.
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 22