by Greg Dragon
“When we find Vray and squeeze him, he will give up all of his co-conspirators and whatever lizard is in on the deal. I don’t see anyone involved with this getting out, even if it takes us fifty years to find them,” Cilas promised. “I hope you’re right and we get the mission on Vray, but for now I’m worried for Admiral Hal and the crew of the Scythe. They managed to get us, Star. They got inside.”
“May be time to make some examples for future Vrays, don’t you think?” Alwyn Star gripped his shoulder with a vicelike grip, his eyes flashing their wicked intent. “Do they all get to have a comfortable stasis cell, where they can drag out the process until their hearing? Hundreds, no thousands, have lost their lives for this man, and the snakes within our Alliance who bought into it. If you happen to, I don’t know, find him dead, would anybody mourn his passing?”
“We’ll see how it plays out,” Cilas offered, alarmed at how brazenly this commander was sanctioning murder despite the orders to detain him.
“For the Alliance,” Star said, his shoulders sagging, as he physically came down from his earlier excitement from plotting justice.
“For the Alliance,” Cilas repeated the phrase, happy to have found a knowledgeable colleague with as much passion for the conflict as he had.
33
A slender hand, pale and warm, caressed the smooth back muscles of William Vray, millionaire, mogul, and former Basce City council recently retired. He was seated on the edge of the bed, staring out at the endless rows of algae farms through the large glass walls of his bedroom. His thoughts were on the deal of a lifetime going to schtill, all because he outsmarted himself hiring an amateur to transport those Alliance coordinates.
Had she succeeded, he wouldn’t be living on one of his properties; he would be on a yacht above Louine, licking cream-flavored urka dust off bountiful blue fingertips. Now he was a fugitive, stuck inside a glass tube pretending it was a world, and no matter how much he stared out at his wealth he couldn’t help but feel like a prisoner.
What made things worse was the news cycle. They were using his actual name, accusing him of being involved with the fires in the tenements. As if he would have anything to do with that wretched blight on an otherwise futuristic city. The thought of the blue-haired smuggler having something to do with it haunted his every thought. Oh how he had wanted to press her when she asked for three times his offer, but greed had won out and he had decided to go along with the fleecing.
Had he known it would end up with Sunveil’s vaults emptied of all their recorded correspondence, he would have taken everything he wanted and tossed her corpse out onto the rooftops of those tenements. If time was but another dimension to manipulate like interstellar travel, he would give an arm to return to that evening, lure her in, and snuff her out.
Months of planning, ruined, and for what? Sunveil’s committee keeping records and playing lords of the slums in their fancy compound. He had been warned off doing business with spice dealers, grifters, and pimps, but he wouldn’t be where he was, even in a place such as this one, if he hadn’t dirtied his hands for the extra credits.
What is wrong with me, I’m losing my grip, he thought, feeling the warmth of that tiny hand on his back helping to push some of that anger down into the furnace that was his stomach. He was technically ruined, having crossed a line they all swore not to cross. Interfering with the war, becoming accused of being a traitor, not just to Basce City and Genese, but to every human being across the entire galaxy.
“With flowing robes and bearing arms they lift me up to praise me, all so my actions are on display for all to humiliate me,” he quoted.
“That’s beautifully morose,” said the Arisani woman, her face barely visible beneath the sheets. “What does it mean?”
Vray glanced back at her, struggling but determined not to reveal to her the cauldron in his bowels singeing his insides. He was no stranger to sharing his bed with women, but they usually were paid for and gone before he opened his eyes. Minoru E’lune being here now was due to the stress of the last few days, and that thyping dress that barely concealed anything on her tall, slender shape, he had to admit.
He fought back against the fear that she’d seen the news feeds and would share his whereabouts as soon as she left the property. Perhaps she’d already done so, and there were agents on the way to make an arrest. Stop with the paranoia, councilman, he scolded himself. This is your world. You paid for it with your own credits. It wasn’t an exaggeration; he held the most stakes in the station, so technically as majority owner it was his.
Every Cel-toc was coded to be loyal to him, from the dockhands at the starport to the pleasure models walking his gardens. This was his fortress, and despite having to stay put for a few years, there would be a time soon in the future when he could return to Basce City. Until then, why not enjoy the time with the senator, whose cruiser was stationed at his port getting repairs? She was generous and submissive, everything he wanted in a mate, and then there was more; she was Arisani, exotic to a Genesian for multiple reasons. He was winning, and though it didn’t feel much like it now, he hoped sometime soon in the future he could feel some appreciation for his success.
“William?” Minoru’s thick accent cut through his thoughts, sounding genuinely concerned as she sat herself up behind him and placed her other hand on his abdomen. He could feel her naked breasts pressed against his back as she pulled him into her, kiss-nibbling him gently on the neck.
“It’s an old Louine poem, translated badly,” he said, realizing that she had been waiting while he sat there brooding. It made him feel exposed. “Somewhat appropriate for the way I’ve been feeling.” He turned around to face her, fingers finding her long silver hair, and then he placed a kiss on her plump, blue-tinted lips. This was pleasant, this was … happiness? How could he neglect the time with this beauty to stress rewriting history?
He felt himself growing from her proximity, and the thoughts of worry, sorrow, and rage subsided quickly, replaced with carnal urges. He wanted her now more than ever, and not just to get a few minutes of pleasure leading up to that majestic release, but to use her as a distraction for as long as she wanted to stay with him. Surely the property, the servant Cel-tocs, and all the amenities measured up to the privileged life she enjoyed as an Arisani ambassador.
She decoded the kiss, worming herself around to his front, long legs wrapped about his waist, with her arms resting on his shoulders, clasped behind his neck. Once again, she welcomed him, wrapping every part of her about him, whispering commands in his ear using Arisani words he would never understand. Gasps turned to moans, then growls, obscene commands as she took the reins, assuming control.
Despite the performance and the fantastic feedback it solicited, he couldn’t shake his fears, and what should have been a brief dance of happiness became a lengthy chore with no end. He just couldn’t finish, and he was spent, exhaustion forcing him to stop, followed by the disappointment of having failed her and himself in the attempt.
For several long moments they lay in each other’s heat, embraced, backs to the soft but firm mattress, staring up at the lights recessed in the ceiling. He wondered what was going through Minoru’s mind. She wasn’t the type to let things lie; that he had picked up back when they merely flirted and spoke on mundane things like shipping cargo on and off the station. He chanced a glance at her, and caught her staring with what appeared to be concern on her smooth, milky-white visage.
“Oh, tell me what’s wrong, William,” she urged. “You’ve obviously got something on your mind you can barely resist, and it’s been eating at you since you woke up. Was it a nightmare?”
He turned to stare into her large, almond-shaped eyes, trying to read the setup if this was it. Arisani faces were always the hardest to read, even for someone who had lived with them. Still, she seemed genuinely concerned, her warm hand resting on his cheek, complicating his feelings. “Just something I saw on the news feeds from back home. I’m sure
you’ve seen it,” he said.
“I’m afraid not. What was it?” She sat up suddenly. “Was it the Geralos?”
“Even if it was, why would you care?” Vray snapped at her suddenly. He was irritable, and he knew it, but couldn’t check his tone or his words as he kept saying them. “At least your people are distinct enough not to be mistaken for Vestalians. Genesians are rounded up and eaten with the rest of the freeloaders, so we have no choice but to join the Alliance.”
“I’ll have you know, I have family in the Alliance. I grew up on Ilerance Station, not Arisani. Nice attitude, Councilman. Was all of the tact, charm and wit from last night just an act?” She stuck in the barb before scooting herself to the side of the bed to quickly get dressed.
He grabbed her hand. “Don’t run off. That all came out in a way I didn’t intend it,” he quickly said, unwilling to release her until she’d given him the time to explain.
She hopped up, twirled, a spiral of fabric following her as she spun, resulting in her tall, slender body being wrapped in an elaborate toga-styled dress. Long, ring-adorned fingers danced behind her skull, pulling her hair back into an even more complex ponytail, and she was gone from the room in a stomping huff, sliding the door shut manually so he could hear it crashing into the grooves of the entryway.
Vray sat stunned, refusing to let it bother him. Doors could easily be replaced, and with his wealth and status, she like the rest would be the one to apologize to him when she eventually remembered her place. He heard the door click and looked up expectantly, surprised at the speed in which she emerged, which only meant she was ready to argue her position to him.
What stood before the doorway, however, was neither Arisani or attractive. It was a composite armor-adorned hulk with an automatic rifle. Several more stood behind it, and there was no sign of Minoru E’lune, though they appeared to have come from the same bathroom she had gone into. He dove for his pillows, looking for the sidearm he kept there for protection in case of something like this.
The armored man was fast, however, and anticipated his actions. One massive leap and he was on the bed, pulling Vray after him onto the floor where he placed the muzzle of the rifle against his head.
“This you?” the voice boomed, and the intruder’s free hand shot forward to reveal a holo-emitter bearing his likeness. It was from the BasPol database, not a mugshot, but a census rendering, accurate in copying his features despite being an image generated by artificial intelligence.
At first, he shook his head in the negative, thinking there was another way out of this, but the giant only became angrier, even going so far as to slap him with a backhand when he denied it. He swapped the image to an actual photograph of him in a starport exiting a shuttle, and he recognized it. This was on Basce City, taken with surveillance on the same night everything had gone south with his plans and Sunveil had put a number out on that thieving smuggler’s head. This couldn't be about that, he mused before chiding himself internally for being paranoid and ridiculous.
“Alright, alright, alright, hero, you have me, no need to rip my arm off,” he protested. The masked figure spun him around to place him in an armbar, foregoing stasis cuffs to bind his wrists in what felt like wire cutting into his skin. “Are you with the agency? BasPol? Alliance? If you let me get to my office, I can get you whatever you need, for whatever this is … this, misunderstanding,” he pleaded.
The large figure moved to face him, put a hand to one ear and swung it laterally, striking him hard on the other side of his face. The blow robbed him of his hearing from that ear and robbed his conscious for a split second, causing him to wake up feeling disoriented with four, no five figures standing over his crawling form. One of these figures was his lover, Minoru E’lune, and to his surprise she wasn’t bound or detained.
Did she? He thought, no, there was no way he had fallen for such a simple trap. A beautiful stranger on his lonely, remote station, and an ambassador to boot, one with the credentials of a mover and shaker’ he had verified this himself. Why then was she standing with the others, looking down at him suffering from that stolen blow thrown by an intruder?
The intruder pulled off his mask to reveal the hard, raw-boned features of a man born and bred for war. Low-cut blond hair covered his scalp, but for one side where the Alliance tattoo stood out prominently below what appeared to be a knife wound above his ear. This was a Marine as they were reputed, all size and rage contained in a vessel barely holding that storm at bay. That storm looked upon him as if he were the foulest bio-extraction slime. If death had a visage, it had to mirror this man’s.
Vray wracked his brain, looking for answers. Did he recognize this Marine from a deal in the past, or did he favor someone he’d conned in the past? With the way he conducted business, he would never know. “What’s this about?” he tried again, crawling backwards on his elbows and heels to get as far away from Quentin as he could.
The crawl took him to the feet of another masked man, this one much smaller than the first, but just as agitated from his profile. He reached up and removed his mask, revealing a young, pretty face with black makeup around her eyes and a shock of bright blue hair. This wasn’t a male Marine. This was the girl, the start of the problems that led him here, where he was stuck hiding out.
“Fio Doro.” His words were a curse, but her face was twisted into a mask of rage similar to the bigger man, but crueler in his intent, and he knew he was in trouble.
“I think you owe me 500 credits, Vray,” Fio Doro said, thrusting her hand out at him.
“Is that what this is all about then?” he asked. “You hire a team of thugs to collect your chips?”
“You also owe me a life. Djesu Mar, the man you had your goon Garson Sunveil murder in cold blood to keep your secret. Return him to me and I will call off my thugs, as you put it. Do that then, and my 500 credits, and we’ll hop back on our shuttle and leave.”
William Vray looked for a logical advantage in Fio Doro’s wants, barring the impossible task of resurrecting the dead. “How about 500,000 credits? You can erect a memorial, even become the next mayor of Basce City. With that many credits, you could buy your own luxury liner and retire to the stars if you wanted.”
“Since we’re making deals,” another of the infiltrators offered, pulling off his mask to show his face. This one was another hard-faced male with a similar hairstyle. Instead of glaring angrily, however, he had a calm to his demeanor that was chilling. “Over 50 civilians killed or injured in the Basce City tenements, a combined number of 1,200 more on vessels across the galaxy. All hit by the Geralos, thanks to the intelligence that you sold. How many credits do you think would cover that?”
There was no right answer and Vray knew it. These weren’t hired mercenaries, they were Alliance Special Forces, but it didn’t explain the girl. His eyes met hers. “They’re with you? You made contact with the Alliance.” His tone was accusatory but beneath it all, William Vray was impressed. Basce City was cut off from everything but the local colonies, yet this young woman somehow had found a way to reach the dreaded Alliance.
He felt his options slipping. The two men were obvious killers and one looked so cocked to explode, he could sense the end was coming. Then there were the other three masked figures behind them, armed statues watching him wallow, though he could feel the weight of their hate as they looked upon him. “If I talk, what will that win me?” he inquired of Cilas, who he assumed was the leader of this masked Alliance company.
“The more you cooperate, the more likely it is you will survive this encounter, and onto Justice Station where you will undergo a trial and pay for your defense,” Helga informed him. “For us, considering all you’ve done, we would rather take you apart slowly and let your screams lull the souls of the spacers you got killed.”
William Vray pulled himself up to his elbows, wiggling backwards against the side of the bed until he had worked his way up into a sitting position. The effort took a lot out of h
is already racing heart and distracted mind trying to calculate an escape. A splash of warm, slimy wetness struck him on his left eye, which he realized was spittle once he reached up to wipe it from his vision. Helga was pulling Fio backwards, and though they made no noise, he could see the rage on the blue-haired woman’s face. It was then that he surrendered to his helplessness. There would be no escape, and the only way to keep his life was to admit to it all, and bring down anyone involved who he personally knew.
“Let me start by saying that I don’t consider myself a traitor,” Vray said, his voice dropping in volume, revealing that even he now questioned whether or not that statement was correct. “Last year in the first cold season, I met an officer from the Alliance. He was visiting Basce City, he told me, and he wanted to set up a recruitment office with a focus on intelligence, something that an investor could profit from.”
“What was his name?” Cilas queried.
“Labi Solstice O’lan, a fellow Genesian and an Alliance lieutenant,” Vray said softly. “Labi had a lot of credits and didn’t seem busy for an Alliance officer, but we didn’t care to look into any of that. All we saw was opportunity for the city. The offices went up, paid for by our donations, with the promise that those of us who put the top percentile into the pile would be made partners in the venture. So, I bought in, and it really did pay off. We would send children to the recruitment offices, and it would earn us credits, legal credits, and so much of it.”
Helga glanced at Cilas, who in turn had been looking her way when Vray explained the business of Alliance recruitment. If any of what he said was true, it was disappointing to think that money was being exchanged for their service. Someone had been paid for them to become cadets, and the whole time in Helga’s mind, it was the parents sacrificing what little they had to win back Vestalia, even if it meant their children. Her head felt heavy, her body light as she tried to process this information.