“The very same.” El nodded. “It tastes foul, by the way. Like perfume.”
“How did you get a hold of it?” Cassandra asked. El blushed.
Now is certainly not the time that I want to reveal to the crew my academy training and connections. “Let’s just say that I have some friends in high places,” he said mysteriously.
“Fat lot of good it’s done you so far,” Val muttered. “Maximillus Merriman is a disgraced noble, and he hankered for a case of the rose wine that he can no longer find a supply of,” the Duergar said drolly. “The captain managed to acquire a case for him, somehow, and we delivered it here to Maximillus, only to find out that the rose wine in question was almost three hundred years out of date.”
“It was like vinegar.” El winced. “But Max should really have been more specific about how he wanted it to be drinkable.”
“Right.” Cassandra looked, bewildered, from captain to gunner. “And do you guys do a lot of this sort of stuff, then?”
“What sort of stuff?” El raised his eyebrows. “Daring escapes? Risking life and limb? Illicit merchandise?” I really must check what Trader Hogan reckons is worth ten thousand credits, he reminded himself.
“Well, I was under the impression that you were the fastest and the best independent traders this side of the galaxy…” Cassandra said with a crestfallen look. “I didn’t know you spent quite so much time running away and smuggling out of date wine.”
“We are the best independent traders this side of the galaxy!” El said proudly, before something in his brain kicked him. Hey, wait a minute… “How could you know anything about our reputation?” he said slowly, his eyebrows settling into a steady line. “We just met you what, a few hours ago?”
“Well…” It was Cassandra’s turn to look uncomfortable. “The Mercury Blade is kind of a one-off vessel. As soon as I realized which boat I was hitching a ride on, it was pretty obvious to work out who you were.”
“Oh. It was?” Val said in surprise.
The Duergar, as tough and as loyal as they are, are not exactly a people designed for subterfuge and piracy. El sighed, before clearing his throat and continuing. “Well, now you know who we are, and what we are. Is that a problem? You still want our services?”
“I want a ride back to Charylla,” Cassandra pointed out dolefully. “Or maybe I don’t, now. My superior might be pulverized space-dust about now.”
“They will be if they stay at the Traders’ Belt,” El said. “Now, we should make ourselves known to our hosts, and get hidden inside that for a while…” He said the last words breezily, slyly noting that Cassandra appeared relieved when he didn’t press her with more questions about who she was or what she had stolen.
The captain didn’t want to appear too eager, after all, because whatever it was that would cause an Armcore battle group to cross the galaxy and attack a treaty non-aligned territory was sure to be worth lots and lots of money.
“Outbound message, all frequencies.” El stood at the ship’s wheel. “The Mercury Blade hailing the Merriman’s Court. Immediate assistance required,” El said and set the message to continually loop until Merriman showed itself.
Meanwhile, he set the Mercury on as slow and stable automatic flight into the nebula as possible before joining his crew in the hold. He kept a note of where this ‘Cassandra Milan’ was at all times, as he inspected the damage reports and talked to Irie. Val had unceremoniously collapsed onto a large pile of canvas, webbing, and kitbags in the corner of the hold, falling into that deep sleep that only he could do at the drop of the hat. Mister Nosbert had appeared and was curled up at his side. El didn’t mind—the nap or the cat. He knew that the Duergar would jump up ready to fight or work at the drop of a spanner.
His engineer, however, was a different question.
“This is total madness, Captain,” Irie snapped, waving at the flat screen in front of her with its many warning signs blaring. “Look. The warp engine needs work, and the front and port paneling all need a heck of a lot of repair work. We’re lucky that we didn’t get one more hit from those bruisers. One more intercept missile might have blown our water unit, or our air processors…”
“Okay, you got all the time you need.” El shrugged, turning slightly so he could see where the archaeologist was. She was leaning against the porthole window looking tired, but she had taken the sandy-grey robe off and packed it by the weapons chair she had just been utilizing. Would whatever she stole be in there? El wondered.
“Captain? Are you even paying any attention to me?” Irie snapped.
“Huh?” El had to admit that it was hard to, given that with the loss of her robe, Cassandra had revealed that her tunic was sleeveless, showing firm, athletic shoulders and arms, with skin that looked smooth and almost as pale as her hair.
“Captain?” Irie snapped again. “Really. I don’t even know why I bother sometimes.”
“What? Right. The damage.” El’s focus returned.
“Yeah, the damage—and now you’re taking us through an active nebula. You know what nebulas are, right? Star factories. That’s right. This place is pregnant with mega-thermic quantum reactions, and you’re taking a damaged, limping, warp-engine-controlled spaceship and driving it straight through it.”
“I’ve set the computer, we’re going to avoid any patches of volatile reactions,” El said. “And Merriman’s been keeping himself hidden inside here somehow for years.”
“Maybe you can ask him,” Cassandra said, her sudden interjection surprising them both. El saw that she was now somehow on the other side of the hold and wearing her robes. When did she cross my peripheral vision? he thought in annoyance.
“What do you mean?” the captain asked.
Cassandra was pointing out of the porthole on this side, at a large, gaudy freighter powering itself toward them out of the swamp of colors.
The Merriman was large. Almost as large as that battle cruiser had been, El thought, and it also hadn’t changed one bit. If not a battle cruiser, then the long oblong Merriman, studded with its many domed windows, must have been a pleasure cruiser by definition. It was also painted a gaudy orange-gold with deep, velvety purple flashes and intersections, although the color was starting to fade, crack, and peel in many places, thanks to the constant buffeting of the Bruno Nebula’s storm winds.
On the thing’s pronounced snout, El and the others could see the rows of archway-windows gleaming in the subatomic storm, and the powerful flood lights that flared from the front carapace like torches leading the way. The Merriman swam toward them at a snail’s pace, gently turning in space until its nose was adjacent to the Mercury.
BWARP! An alarm rang through the cockpit of El’s ship.
Incoming message! Accept/Reject?
“Well, I’d better make my introductions…” El sighed miserably, racing up the metal stairs to tap on the flight console.
“Ah, my dear Eliard!” erupted a cultured, vacillating voice that swooned from a deep baritone to a high nasal whine. In the background, the captain could swear that he heard a tinkle of glass and the strains of the latest synth music. “Such a pleasant surprise to see the Mercury in my nebula again, although I do remember telling you that if I were ever to see you again that I would grill your hide with photon cannons.”
“It’s not your nebula, Max,” El said out of habit, before he heard Irie hissing at him to at least be respectful. The engineer mouthed the word ‘repairs’ at him in a very over-dramatic way.
“Oh, but it is, Eliard, it is! Now, did you want to turn around and crawl back to where you came from, or did you want to tell me how deeply sorry you are, and how much you missed me, so much so that you just had to fly back into harm’s way to see my face once again?”
Eliard’s lip curled into a wolfish growl. “Over my dead body…” he started to say, before Irie mounted the stairs to the cockpit and prodded him sharply in the small of the back.
“Do it!” she hissed. “I need time to work on t
he Mercury, and we all need a place to hide out until we can figure out what we’re going to do!”
El looked from his irate engineer to the large bulk of the pleasure cruiser outside. It was so close now that he could swear he could actually see tiny, tooth-pick figures past the windows. “Fine,” the captain said miserably, before turning back to the console.
“Max! What a pleasure it is to hear you,” he said through a tight, rictus grin. “I was hoping that we could chat…”
“Eliard, please. Don’t try to weasel out of it. I want to hear you say sorry, and how much you missed me.”
Behind him, El heard Irie start to snigger.
“I missed you,” El said in a deadpan voice.
“And?” a purr of satisfaction from the other ship.
“And I am sincerely sorry about that case of rose wine,” El added.
“There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it? What was it they used to say at the academy? Gold thread binds the strongest, wasn’t it?”
“That’s not true,” the Duergar said, deep in thought. “Poly-steel is a far stronger substance…” But no one was listening to Val, they were listening to the words of the disgraced Merriman.
“And so, all is forgotten! Come on board, tell me what has been happening out there in the wild and dangerous territories while you’ve been away!”
“Thank you, Max. Initiating docking protocol, over and out,” El said hurriedly, closing the line of communication between the two vessels. He imagined that he could almost hear the sarcastic laughter of the other man from here.
“Dear space-gods, that guy is annoying,” El muttered, ignoring everyone else as he started to pilot the ship toward the nearest bay doors, which were opening with a hiss of gases to receive them.
“You two know each other then?” Cassandra asked, and even with his back turned to her, he could feel the archaeologist’s smirk.
“Well, I told you about the deal we had before, didn’t I?” El said defensively.
“What was that he said about the academy?” she asked lightly. “He didn’t mean Trevalyn, did he?”
“The guy’s insane. I have no idea what he’s talking about half the time,” El said hurriedly as the Mercury turned and a magnetic clamp unfolded from the glaring light above to clamp onto their carriage. With a thump and a shake, they started to rise into the belly of the Merriman cruiser.
“And that weird phrase… ‘Gold thread binds the strongest.’ Where have I heard that before?” Cassandra said idly.
“Anywhere? The Coalition is a big place, lady…” El said, his eyes blinking as they adjusted to the light and the bay doors beneath them thumped back into place. They were in a hanger that was big enough for three other small vessels like the Mercury, with a walkway halfway up the wall and a window gallery on the other side. El waited for the pressurization sign to slowly fill back up to normal.
“No, isn’t that a noble house saying?” the archaeologist mused. “It means that nobles have got to stick together, right?”
“I wouldn’t know.” El cleared his throat and turned at last to see Irie still glaring at him. “Right, everyone. Personal weapons at the ready, but personal weapons only. That means no bringing the Judge, Val.”
“Aw. You always find a way to suck the fun out of life,” the gunner mumbled, setting the large ion rifle down and instead slapping a heavy blaster to his hip holster. When everyone was suitably armed—Cassandra had her own weapon, El was glad to see—they moved to the ladder up to the porthole in the ceiling, and from there, out into the Merriman proper.
9
Old Friends, Old Enemies
“Eliard! Blessings of the Court upon you!” called out the small, rotund figure of Maximillus Merriman as he approached them. He looked exactly the same as when El had last seen him, with maybe a couple of extra pounds.
He still looks like he’s trying to live in the glory days of the Imperial Coalition, the captain thought with a sigh. He wore golden robes that sashayed along the floor at his ankles, and underneath were the orange and purple house colors of his brocade coat, frilled tunic, and trousers. He was surrounded by a guard of considerably taller men and women, all of whom were as thin as Merriman was short and wearing as little as he was wearing a lot.
“Hi, Max,” El said, looking deeply uncomfortable.
The entourage met the crew of the Mercury on the walkway, as the sounds of the loading gear wound down to a static hum of electronic machinery.
“Blessings of the Court?” Cassandra muttered behind the captain, earning a nudge from Irie. “Ow! What was that for?” the archeologist exclaimed, before their spat was overridden by the abundant personality of the small man in front of them all.
“Hi, Max!” The noble beamed. “Always so droll, always so unassuming. You’re just like your father, you know, young Eliard.”
“I’m nothing like my father,” El snapped, before blushing a deep crimson.
“I knew it. El is… Ow!” Another sharp elbow stopped Cassandra from talking.
“And who do we have here? I see Val Pathok, of course! They still tell stories about you on Dur, you know.” Max inclined his head, earning a noble, misty-eyed look from the grey-blue-skinned gunner. “And Irie Hanson, ah yes, do you still have that mech-warrior of yours? What was it called again?” The man flicked his white-gloved fingers at her like he was teasing the words from thin air.
“The Babe Ruth, sir,” Irie said sharply. “And yeah, he’ll be ready just as soon as I get around to it.”
“Ah yes, back in the tournament courts, I hope.” Max smiled, his eyes flicking to Cassandra. “And this is…?”
“A new recruit,” El said.
“Cassandra Milan, archaeologist,” she said at the same time, before there was a pause between the two groups.
“You’re taking on archaeologists, are you now, El? Is the Mercury branching out into prospecting?” Max inquired, nodding back up the walkway. “Come, talk as we walk.”
“It seems so, Max,” El said dejectedly. “Which, ah, is actually what I needed to talk to you about…”
“Oh now, no business before pleasure, you know my motto!” Max shushed him with a friendly pat on the arm as they whisked through the doors to a large lift decorated with metal statues of Olympian youths, wearing not much at all. The doors closed and there was a sensation of movement as the lift shot through the internal decks of the cruiser.
“We really only need a place to sleep, Max, and to conduct a few repairs on our ship...”
“Of course, and what’s mine is yours, as they say, but I simply insist that you guest with us for a little while. It can get so uncouth out here in the back of beyond.”
El was about to point out that Merriman himself had chosen this life but thought better of it when he noticed that each of the tall, scantily-clad guards had heavy blasters strapped to their bodies.
Ping! With a swish, the doors opened on what could only be described as a ballroom. Cassandra gasped, and Val stiffened in immediate discomfort. This was simply not the Duergar fashion, the captain thought.
The ballroom was long, with a vaulted ceiling made of several of those glass domes that El had seen on the route in, through which the incredible washes of interstellar color could be seen. On the ground, however, there were collections of many curved tables with chrome and upholstered chairs, at which sat crowds of people in varying states of inebriation. They wore robes and dresses, suits, or not much at all as the music piped the steady, constant flow of synthetic beats. In the central space, there was a dance floor with floating drone-lights strobing florescent colors as still more people swayed and danced.
“Dear heavens, Max. Do you ever stop?” El said.
“Stop, my dear boy?” Max looked at him with amusement. “The Merriman is on the eternal cruise! We travel the nebula, dancing the party away until the end of time!” He raised his voice as he said this, and the nearest of the crowd who could hear him raised their glasses and cheered.
&n
bsp; “I forgot,” El said dryly, causing Merriman to laugh as he escorted them to a table set a little apart from the others. His retinue stationed themselves around it sternly, and El saw that, even though this entire ship seemed to have been given over to the pursuit of hedonism at any cost, there was still a vein of seriousness that ran through Max’s character. That, at least, he could understand.
“Apis Mead? Ochalkan Wine?” Merriman clapped his hands as everything he described was brought to their table in seconds.
“Durish Ale,” Val grumbled.
“Ah, I think we can even accommodate you…” Another clap, and yes, a brace of bone-tankards, frothing with some bubbling sort of beverage, was set on the table before the Duergar, who licked his lips appreciatively and dove in.
Merriman beckoned one of his guards to his side, to whisper in her ear before shooing her away. “I hope you don’t mind if I select the food for you. It’s just that I have always prided myself on my taste…”
“I can see,” Cassandra scowled.
“Ah yes, Cassandra Milan, archaeologist.” Max’s eyes settled on her. “If you pardon me for saying so, but you do not, it seems, appear to fit the usual caliber of personnel that dear Eliard hangs about with.” This comment caused Irie to scowl, but even she couldn’t tell if it was an insult to El, to the crew, or to Cassandra.
“I’m only temporary.” Cassandra gave a small, tight smile. “Eliard here—” She said his name with a satisfied smirk. “—was good enough to help me out with something, and I am in a hurry to get back to my friends.”
“Your friends,” Maximillus said seriously. “That wouldn’t happen to be Bator, would it?”
“What?” Cassandra’s mouth dropped in astonishment, just as the food arrived. Before she could speak, platter upon platter of food was delivered to their table, and it was a dizzying array.
“Shush. Eat now, business later!” Maximillus laughed, spreading his hands out to indicate the side orders of shrimp, grilled fish, spiced cakes, dhal’s, sautéed vegetables, thermo-nuclear curries next to pastries and samosas, bhajis, and fragrant breads. By the time all of the silver platters had been delivered, there was hardly any room to even eat them as every inch of the table had a steaming plate of food.
Valyien Boxed Set 1 Page 7
