by Reiter
“I see them all laid out in the back alley! They’re not dead, but not a one of ‘em is moving.”
As Nulaki counted his respectable mound of credits, the tavern master put his left forward hand on top of Nulaki’s. “You agreed to no guns,” he said. “Bralkians may not have much, but we do have honor.”
“You presume that those of us with different blood are without it,” Nulaki replied sharply, clearly communicating that he did not appreciate the implication. “Crossing guns and blades off my list left room for a regular cornucopia of applications.” Nulaki grabbed the hand of the tavern master at the wrist and gave a sharp thrust with his index and middle fingers. The tavern master lost feeling in the left side of his body. As he started to fall, a hand thrust from Nulaki struck his shoulder and the large Bralkian was able to recover his stance, though not all of the feeling had returned immediately. “Including nerve strikes!” Nulaki smiles before shaking his head. “But that’s not what I used on them.”
“What did you use?” the waitress asked.
“Leave the man be!” the tavern master barked as he slid a tall glass of a mixed drink reportedly very popular among the Fazerian down the bar. Nulaki nodded and chuckled as he returned to his count.
The front door of the establishment burst open and seven Bralkians came in with weapons drawn, but pointed at the ground. They were led in by a female Terran wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and an armoured duster coat, both of the same sandy brown color. She carried several guns about her person; none of which were drawn. She made a quick survey of the tavern customers and kept looking around as she walked directly, and without mishap, to Nulaki.
“Conadier,” she said softly. “You have my catch?”
“Check the back alley, my dear,” Nulaki said just before downing half of his drink. The woman made a slight hand gesture and two of the Bralkian who had entered with her moved to the back door. One stood guard as the other opened the door. He looked outside and then came back into the tavern, looking at the woman before he nodded.
The woman reached to the underside of her waist belt and produced a currency card. She placed it on the bar next to Nulaki as she removed her hat. Long gray hair fell to her shoulders and she gestured to the rest of her men. Several of them took out restraints and quickly moved out of the back door. “It’s always a pleasure doing business with a professional.”
“I thought we agreed this makes us even,” Nulaki said, looking at the card. “You don’t owe me anything, remember? I owed you.”
“I know, Connie,” the woman smiled as she took the seat next to him. “And that must have been driving you up a wall all this time.”
“Seventeen months, eleven days…” Nulaki looked at his wrist-com. “… six hours and fifteen minutes – but who’s counting? And you’re on time, by the way. Much appreciated.”
“The least I can do,” she replied. “And so’s this,” she added, sliding the card closer to Nulaki. “Just please tell me you’re not on this rock just to repay a silly debt. We’re better friends than that.”
“Don’t break your back sticking your chest out so much,” Nulaki returned. “I knew I was going to be in the area, so I called you just to say ‘hi’. You mentioned that you needed help with some work… some work that needed to be handled in a manner we both know you don’t necessarily excel in demonstrating. You know, soft! I thought to myself that it was kismet. I could handle my business and some of yours with one stop. And we are better friends than that.
“Your son is looking good these days,” he said, changing the subject.
“Four for five on a quick draw nowadays,” the woman replied.
“Range?”
“Fifty meters.”
“Well, don’t worry; when he starts walking he’ll get more accurate.” The woman laughed and leaned over on Nulaki who was quick to wrap his arm around her shoulders. “It was my pleasure,” he whispered into her ear.
“Take the damn card, Connie” she insisted. “Even with what’s on there, I’m clearing fifty-thou with this haul.”
“Clearing?!” Nulaki exclaimed. The woman nodded and Nulaki deftly swiped up the card. “My sense of fair play only goes so far.” The two laughed as Nulaki gave the woman’s shoulders an extra squeeze. “It’s good to see you again, Rebanya.”
“Good to be seen, Connie,” the Shootist said as she slowly got up from her stool. “I’d love to stay and chat the night away–”
“Again!” Nulaki inserted.
“Yes, again. But I’ve got to get this haul off to Mathari before the witching hour.”
“Fidriss Mathari is footing the cred on this run?” Nulaki asked. “You’ve come up, old woman.”
“Hey, watch the old stuff, bug-boy. I’m fast enough to punch your clock!”
Nulaki laughed as he nodded, rubbing his jaw. “Let’s not relive that. I was drunk and you were lucky.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Connie. But I’ve got to be going; I’m out of the bonus at zero-hundred hours, one minute Imperial.”
“That’s fifteen minutes from now,” Nulaki said, looking at his wrist-com.
“Tell me about it,” Rebanya said, hitting a few buttons on her brace-com. “Stay low, Connie.”
“Always,” he said, lifting up his glass as Rebanya and her men hauled Hurjukk and company out the front door.
“Isn’t that interesting,” Nulaki thought as he finished his drink. “She’s moving, but she’s not rushing. That means Fidriss Mathari is within a fifteen-minute air-car ride from here. Very interesting!”
“Okay boys, load them up,” Rebanya directed, tucking in her hair before donning her hat. She then took out her gloves. As a rule of habit, she reached for the left one first, but dropped both as she spun and fell. Her right shoulder hit the ground with grazing burns on her left shoulder, and her hat flew away from her head. Both her left hand and right hand blasters were out and smoking, and two bodies were falling from their perches. “Cover!” she yelled as she rolled. She heard the boom of the shoulder-mounted launcher and her body was peppered by falling dirt after the blast.
“Desmar,” she thought as she threw her body into a second roll, a faster roll, and the second blast was even closer than the last. The shockwave lifted her from the ground and threw her a meter before she returned to it, still rolling.
“Hey, Reb!” Desmar Toller called from the alley at the end of the block as he quickly reloaded the launcher. “Is it me, or are you getting faster the older you get?!”
“Once bitten,” Rebanya replied as she reached a point of cover. “Not like you to sacrifice two pawns like that though.”
“Looks like we’ve both had some good times since our last meeting,” Desmar replied. “Say, Reb, you don’t mind if one of my guys borrows your hauler, do you?”
“Sure,” Rebanya replied in a calm and collected tone. “… just send them on out.” She could hear her least favorite Ardrian, and she could tell he was using a box to send sound waves in several directions. She could not zero his exact location, only the general direction.
“Rebanya!” Nulaki cried as he came out of the tavern.
“Stay out of this, Connie,” Rebanya quickly said. “This is between me and a fellow Facilitator.”
“Using ordnance?!”
“You’d be surprised what you can get a license for these days,” Rebanya answered, trying to locate her men. Her catch had been loaded to the hauler; their job was done and there was no sign of them. By the sounds of the footfalls around her, the licensed mercenary estimated that Desmar had brought at least four more people with him. They already had her surrounded and outgunned. The mistakes the two dead men made had quickly registered on the others and they were choosing very strong points of cover and crossfire. “And this is not looking good, old girl,” she whispered. “A good run is better than a bad stand.”
“So let me get this straight,” Nulaki spoke up, “you do all the work and then he swoops in, steals the bodies and picks up
the fee?”
“Connie, back off!” Rebanya yelled.
“Yeah, Connie, back the hell off!” Desmar shouted… but there was no reverberation in his voice and Rebanya smiled as she set her eyes on his location. “What the hell happened to the sonics?”
Rebanya reached to her belt and activated her personal force field as her smile flashed brighter. “I love that damn thief!” she whispered before she jumped from her point of cover.
“This is going to be good,” Nulaki thought, pocketing his jammer and leaning against the doorframe of the tavern. Looking at Rebanya’s gray hair and thinking she was too old to do what she did was most often the last mistake anyone facing the Shootist ever made. She was Darkbred, the name given to Terrans when even they did not know what they were. Rebanya would always proudly admit she was a Mutt, and further warn that there was no telling which strain of blood would bubble to the surface and handle any given moment.
Her first step landed three meters out of the alley where she had posted up. Her next stride carried her another four meters as she dove forward and rolled over. Three shots had already missed her. She was not a large target, and faster than most. Her crazy agility was one of the things Nulaki liked most about her.
The day they met she had been able to keep up with him as he faced a very grim twenty-to-one situation, and Nulaki was already wounded. Nearly two minutes and dozens of twirling leaps later, he had landed with an extra wound and she had drained her third gun; two of which she had picked up from people shooting at them. From that moment, they had been good friends. He had been Lord of Honor at her first wedding and a pallbearer at her second husband’s funeral. She had twice been a constant contact to pay his bail when getting arrested had worked best into Nulaki’s plans. Over four years, they had never had a cross word between them, even when they resolved a contest over which of them was the better unarmed fighter. That day he had learned she would never be too old, and she had learned that not all people who run from fights are unable to finish them.
With her back parallel to the ground, Rebanya fired her right-hand gun, hitting the knee of a would-be sniper and he fell out of his perch directly onto the gunman beneath him.
“Oh, they gave her that one!” Nulaki frowned.
Rebanya continued to move, but threw her head toward the ground to perform a no-hand cartwheel. She fired her left-hand gun just before her feet touched ground. The blast carried through a wall, but Nulaki could hear the ripping of flesh, the scream of dire pain, and the firing of a gun from inside the boutique where the gunman had been hiding.
“That one I hadn’t seen,” Nulaki admitted. “Now fall into a back roll.” Rebanya dropped to the street and rolled forward as a mini-rocket passed behind her, hitting a parked vehicle. “Or forward if they’re using even more ordnance. The sad part is… they left their den thinking rockets and shoulder cannons would be enough to handle whatever might come their way.”
Coming out of her somersault, Rebanya jumped up, clearing almost seven meters. A rocket hissed under her and she fired both guns, one right after the other. One blast ate a hole in the wall of a sundries store. The other took the head off a man holding an empty, smoking rocket launcher. She landed just after the explosion and aimed her right-hand gun on the alley she knew Desmar had scurried to after she emerged from the alley.
“Did you forget to make a map of where you were again, Des?” Rebanya asked. “That building right there is a trade shop,” she explained. “At least, that’s what anyone walking in front of it is supposed to think. You can take that alley if you want to. I guarantee you I won’t be following you. Me and the Bralkian Guilds have an understanding: I don’t mess with them and they don’t mess with me! I wonder if you have a similar arrangement. I guess if you take that back alley, we’ll find out straight away.”
“Coming by on your right,” Nulaki said as he piloted her air-car down the street. Rebanya jumped up and landed in the back of the hauler, keeping a blaster trained on the mouth of the alley. In seconds, the Fazbred thief had accelerated her air-car to maximum velocity – just the way she liked to travel. “Which way?”
“Nulaki!” she yelled, holstering her pistols.
“You owe me, Reb!”
“Dammit,” she whispered. “I sure as hell do.” She shook her head as she closed her eyes. “The coordinates are already loaded,” she advised.
“Heads up,” Nulaki cried out as he tossed the woman’s hat back to her. Per usual, the mock draco-skin lethur had held up remarkably. She would be able to buff out the burn mark that would have been her right temple.
“Shit, now I owe him even after this run,” she thought, donning the hat.
By the time she made it up to Mathari’s lander craft, she still had one minute and seven seconds remaining to her bonus window. Fidriss applauded as she touched down in his bay. She quickly collected her currency stick and was just as fast to take her leave of his shuttle. She looked at the console of her air-car, noticing that the package she had delivered was about eighty-five kilograms heavier than it should have been. A smirk formed on her face as she shook her head.
“One hundred and eighty-eight pounds of pure, unadulterated trouble,” Rebanya thought as she set her course for her shuttle. She had had enough of Zhok-Tarr to last her for a while. Her home on the nearby moon of Evshum was calling to her. “Don’t know why you two can’t get along, Mathari… but I certainly feel for you.” It only took a moment for the Shootist to set her computer to record the telnet newsfeed for the next three hours. She did not want to see the news immediately, but she also did not want to miss out on any of the details she was sure would be, if nothing else, very entertaining.
** b *** t *** o *** r **
Casdan Quazeki had never been so uncomfortable in his own office as when this man was present. The Minister of Affairs could feel nothing of his Imperial status looking upon the silver-haired man who paced behind the Count’s desk.
“And you were interrupted by a member of the Imperial Elite?!” he asked as he marched, his right fist cupped in his rubbing left hand.
“Y-y-yes,” Casdan stammered before wiping his brow.
“I suppose that is to be expected,” the man quickly concluded.
“It was the Dreadn–”
“Believe me when I tell you that it does not matter,” the man stated as he stopped pacing. He turned and set his hazel green eyes on the view through the large window. The offices of the Ministry were noted for their sweeping views of the city beneath the Imperial Palace. “You were told to close the doors, not close and seal them.”
“I wanted to–”
“Make sure you would be assured some measure of privacy,” the man said matter-of-factly before he sighed. “But, alas, your departure from my instructions nearly robbed you of the opportunity to act. How fortunate for me that the list of instructions was relatively simple to follow.
“You also managed to veer off-script from the wording I gave you,” the man added as his hands fell to his sides.
“It was awkward,” Casdan explained. “The words you gave me… they didn’t make sense, Mr. Veil.”
“I know,” Danavyn Veil replied, looking up at the ceiling. “You are a gifted artist, Count Quazeki. You think very quickly on your feet, making you quite useful to me.
“Tell me,” Danavyn continued, finally turning to face Casdan, “do you like the robes my people crafted for you?”
Count Quazeki smiled as he looked down at his clothes. “Yes. Very much so! These are even more comfortable than the original.”
“That’s because they’ve been altered, Cas,” the tall man advised. “You’re gaining weight and the fit of all of your clothes is beginning to slide. You might want to step up the exercise regimen… if not initiate one.” Casdan looked down at himself in surprise and frustration. He put his hand to his upper arm to take measure of its girth. “Well, I’ve certainly taken up enough of your time. You are an Imperial Minister after all. Thank you for tak
ing the meeting.”
“It was my pleasure, Mr. Veil.” Casdan stood up from his seat, starting to smile, but the frown of confusion would not be deterred. He looked to the corner of his room and then at the man who was taking his leave. “Excuse me, sir, but can you tell me why you wanted me to sound awkward?”
A full stride away from the door, a sly smile cracked across Danavyn’s face. He turned to face Casdan, still wearing it and chuckled as he glared. “Always looking to improve, aren’t we?” he asked rhetorically. “I like that about you, Casdan.
“Suffice to say that you can always read people by what they say, but you can gain just as much, if not more, by what they do not. In this case, had the Princess corrected you, that would have given me insight as to a particular personality trait. Her choosing not to correct of course denotes another.”
“And I ruined it,” Casdan reflected.
“Tut, tut,” Danavyn quickly replied, waving off the matter. “Think nothing of that and everything of the fact that you held your own with a member of the Imperial Family! Not all of us can claim to have the strength of heart and coolness of mind for such an engagement. You exceled, Count Quazeki. I congratulate you!” Opening the door, Danavyn allowed his smile to brighten as he nodded his farewell. When the door closed behind the man, Casdan breathed a sigh of relief.
Outside Count Quazeki’s office, Thanneus waited patiently, standing without leaning on anything and filing his nails. He smiled to see his boss grinning as he departed from the office. The tall man tapped his ear to close the channel he had kept open to hear the conversation. “We have an open path all the way to the hangar if we take it up to one point two two five.”
“Set the pace then,” Danavyn instructed and Thanneus nodded, increasing the speed of his walking gait. The large man’s brown eyes darted from side to side, taking in all the angles of the corridor. “The last thing I want to do right now is talk to another well-paid fool!”
“I’m surprised you explained yourself to him,” Thanneus stated. “You must be setting him up for something else.”