The Leghk Sector
Ux brought the terrain vehicle to a halt near the still-flashing strobe and slipped the transmission into a humming neutral. Hal, Ux and Arella had driven out from the Moor to pick up what the G�Nunk had left in exchange for the platinum florin � hopefully a case with the Lowar map key.
�Let�s bring every non-native shred of material aboard,� said Arella, tromping down the ladder from the cockpit to the cargo hold. �Bodies, weapons, equipment � everything. The map key is small, about the size of a wallet. I don�t want to take a chance of missing it in the sand.�
�Sure,� said Hal. He pulled a handheld computer from the gear locker and slid program disk into the data port. �But I want to scan everything for booby traps first. The G�Nunk like to leave little presents.�
�Right,� said Arella. The three star flyers donned their excursion equipment and Ux punched up a command on the wall console. A second later the hatch seal cracked and the ramp lowered to the ground. Hal led the way, down into the churning sand, running his handheld over the target area.
Two hours� labor and no explosions later, the last of the debris, bodies, ammunition casings and equipment were collected on the deck of the terrain vehicle. Arella pulled off her breathing assist mask and rubbed her face. There was no sign of a package left in exchange for the case of florin, which was long gone.
�This doesn�t make any sense,� said Hal. �The G�Nunk are nasty beasts, but they have a code. I�ve just never heard of anything like this.� The three stood in the cargo bay looking at the debris. Arella hit few keys on the wall panel.
�Grix, Arella, over,� she said, waiting for a response from the bridge of the Moor. None came. �Lovely,� she said. �Are we sure there�s nothing left out there?�
Ux buzzed something. A moment later, the hopelessly outdated translation software on the terrain vehicle followed through: �Positive.�
�We�ve swept it three times, with two different scanners and four times with the on-board computer,� said Hal. The three of them sat in silence for another long minute. Then, slowly, Hal stood up.
�Where are their weapons?� he said.
�What do you mean?� said Arella. �The G�Nunk who grabbed the case of florin probably took them back to the ship.�
�No way,� said Hal. �Anything associated with defeat is considered horrifically unclean to the G�Nunk. They wouldn�t have touched the weapons. No way in hell. Not weapons from their own dead. Never.�
�So who did?� said Ux. Nobody had an answer.
�Let�s get back to the ship,� said Arella. �Something�s not right here.� The party climbed back to the cockpit and headed for the landing site. Arella keyed the radio. �Bridge, this is Arella, over.�
There was no response.
Arth
Two days earlier.
Biggs Hilsfar was midway through a sea story.
�And so the bum in the airlock says � and this guy�s half in the bag � �if you don�t give the converter fluid to the monkey, I�m going to pull this handle and let Rigg figure out who owes who 600 large�,� said Biggs.
He was sitting with five of his friends from the old days, mostly 4620 veterans. They were in a dim corner booth, their table covered with empty glasses and ashtrays. A small crowd had gathered, caught up in the story.
�And so what does Grix say?� Biggs continued, �He says, �whom, buddy, it�s who owes 600 large to whom � not who.�� The crowd groaned. �Great, right? Do you say this to the guy with his hand on the airlock release? Well, Grix does and I figure we�re all going to get the chilly vacuum treatment...�
The story was mostly true, with just enough exaggeration to round it out and only a few bald-faced lies to make it great. Biggs was sure to get a blurb in the society pages, though he didn�t really need it, because he�d been seen all over the place in the last month. And that was the plan.
A few hours later, Biggs stepped out onto the bustling sidewalks of Palmetto Boulevard and started looking for a cab. It wasn�t a cab that pulled up, though � it was a black limousine with dark tinted windows. The front passenger seat opened and a man in a gray overcoat stepped out.
�Mister Hilsfar?� said the man. Biggs nodded. �My employer would like a minute of your time,� said the man, opening the rear door of the limousine.
�Sure,� said Biggs. �I�m going to ride off in a black limousine? So they can find me washed up on the beach next week? Who the hell are you?�
�My name is Harris Bale, Mister Hilsfar, but that�s not important. You�re in no danger. Besides � �
Biggs cut him off. �Right. I�d be dead already. Nice line.� He looked at the limo, and then turned to the impeccably dressed bouncer with the earpiece standing at the door to Club Zoho. �Mike, if I go missing tonight, you�ll know who I went with, right?�
Mike�s gold tooth gleamed when he smiled. �Already got make, model and year, Biggs. And those are off-world embassy tags.�
�You�re a gem, Mike,� said Biggs, tucking a few crisp bills into the man�s pocket. Then he ducked into the limo.
The door closed and Biggs tensed at the sight of a Thrynn sitting opposite him. It wasn�t an Arthenian Thrynn. You could always tell. Something about the eyes, Biggs thought. This particular Thrynn came from Thoss � probably on diplomatic credentials.
�It�s a pleasure to meet you, Commander,� said the Thrynn, his snake-like pronunciation stressing the S�s in each word. �Your reputation as an explorer and trader is impressive. My name is Resp.�
�What can I do for you?� said Biggs. Resp smiled.
�No pleasantries, then?� said the Thrynn. He was dressed in a dark red cloak. Biggs knew there was something about that particular piece of attire, but couldn�t place it.
�No thanks,� said Biggs.
�Very well,� said Resp. �I want the key to the Lowar map.� His eyes narrowed, studying Biggs�s reaction.
�Me too,� said Biggs. �Talk to the Humna Humna.�
�Commander, I�m well aware that you know where the key is, or at least how to get it. I imagine you�ve somehow deduced precisely which G�Nunk ship is carrying it.� Resp looked at Biggs. �I want the location of the planet. I have unlimited resources.�
�Hey, and I�d like to take them off your hands,� said Biggs. Then, thinking again, he added, �If you�ll pardon the expression.� Go to Hell.
�But there�s one problem,� said Biggs. �I don�t have the key and I don�t know how to get it. If I did, I�d be off-world hunting it down right now.�
�Commander Hilsfar, it would be best if you�d dispense with the charade and agree to do business. I can compensate you handsomely,� said Resp.
�Look. If I find it, I will do business,� Biggs said. �And you could bid on it like everybody else. I wouldn�t tangle with the G�Nunk and take the first price somebody quoted,� said Biggs. �I think your friends the Elowan would be willing to pay a nice chunk to know where those little lizards -- �
Suddenly, Biggs realized he was dealing with a hornets� nest. For half a second, the realization was plain on his face.
�Now you grasp the heart of the matter,� said Resp. There was a new coldness in his voice.
The feud between the Thrynn and the Elowan went back eons. Since their first encounters, they had been bitter enemies. The Thrynn found the notion of sentient plant life somehow revolting � insulting, even. Ironically � or maybe not � the most cherished delicacy of Thrynn cuisine was seedling fruit plucked from the head of a dead Elowan. In plain terms, Thrynn ate Elowan young. Predictably, the Elowan had developed a reciprocal hatred for the Thrynn.
�We will never allow the Elowan to harvest reptiles for their own purposes,� said Resp. �Certainly not to increase their fertility.� Resp lingered on that last word as though it made him ill to utter it. �Not from the planet in question, nor from any other.�
�Look, I know all about your problem with the Elowan, and I don�t care. I�m a highest bidder kind of guy � I don�t pick sides,� said Biggs. �I told you before, I don�t know where the key is and I don�t know where the planet is. Like I said, if I did, I'd be on my way already.�
Resp said nothing, pushing a button on his hand rest instead. The limousine pulled up to a curb on a crowded sidewalk near the waterfront. Biggs opened the door to get out.
With stunning speed, Resp pounced, grabbing Biggs by the wrist. His face � gator-like and altogether alien � was mere inches from Biggs� own.
�Do not obstruct my path,� hissed the reptilian, stuffing a small package into Biggs� hand. He held on for another flashing eternity, then released Biggs and sat calmly back. A moment later, Biggs was standing in the lights and bustle of Restoration City nightlife.
He watched the limousine slide into traffic and disappear around a corner. As he unwrapped the package, he remembered why the red cloak triggered his memory � it was a signature mark of the Thrynn internal security agency. They were called the elite guard.
The package held a book bound in leather. Biggs opened the cover to read the title page. He read it and stopped breathing.
Othello ~ the Moor of Venice.
Leghk Sector
Folia System
Planetside, Folia-4
Restoration City
Club Zoho
Folia-4
ISS The Moor of Venice
Vern sat at the navigation console, staring at the various readouts and displays. He had drawn bridge duty while the landing team had gone to pick up the map key from the exchange site. Of course, the map key wouldn�t be there. It was already tucked away on the ship.
The communications screen blinked a message. The orbital buoy shuttle had completed its latest journey down through the storm and had just reached its berth in the ship�s cargo bay. The main computer downloaded the messages from the buoy and then launched the shuttle back to orbit.
Vern hit a few keys to access the messages. There was only one, about a day old. It was from Biggs Hilsfar and flagged urgent. Vern tried to open it, but it was locked and routed to Arella�s mailbox.
That was unfortunate. He hadn�t thought it would come to this.
The radio beeped to life and a message came across. �Bridge, this is Arella, over.� Truly unfortunate.
Vern reached over and turned off the radio.
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[Curio: Pay with Florin in Amsterdam...and in Nieuw Amsterdam]