A moment later, he returned to his quarters, making certain that all of his security measures had properly engaged behind him. They had. He triple-checked them again anyway and then turned on his heel and strode off again, taking full advantage of his elongated legs and hoping a fierce scowl would keep the staff and the other guests out of his way. It worked well. It was very rare for Sirrys ban Irtuus bon Alaamac to actually leave his quarters. Much of the staff did not even know he was one of them and most of the guests had never seen a troll. One small gnomish child actually started crying as he fixed his gaze upon her. He spent a moment feeling bad about that and then continued on his way.
He made two wrong turns on the way to Rhundi’s office. Once, embarrassed, he had to stop and ask one of the Corvix-clan goblins what the right way to go was. However, eventually he found his destination.
Rhundi’s secretary Gorrim was sitting behind an oversized–for him, anyway–old-style desk in the lobby outside her office. The gnome’s strawberry-colored fur rustled violently and he got to his feet. “I told you she was busy,” he barked. His voice was just as deep in person.
“I told you that this was important,” Irtuus-bon said.
“And I told you it didn’t matter,” Gorrim responded, putting himself in between Irtuus-bon and Rhundi’s door. This was a brave, if somewhat pointless, gesture. Irtuus-bon in his current form was more than twice Gorrim’s height. “You don’t get to see her until she’s interested in seeing you. I’m not losing my job over you getting spooked by something.”
Irtuus-bon looked around the room, spotting a hook on the ceiling that a light fixture was suspended from. He unhooked the light fixture, setting it carefully on Gorrim’s desk, then reached down and grabbed Gorrim by the back of his coat.
“Hey. HEY!” the gnome shrieked, losing all composure and a surprising amount of the bass in his voice. He continued to protest and try to twist out of Irtuus-bon’s grip as the troll lifted him high off the ground and hooked him to the ceiling by his belt.
“I will free you when I emerge, if you have not managed to do so yourself,” Irtuus-bon said, trying to sound reasonable. “I apologize for your inconvenience.”
“SECURITY!” Gorrim bellowed.
Irtuus-bon winced. He hadn’t thought this through properly. Security getting involved could be troublesome, and if Rhundi’s office was not properly soundproofed…
The door between the lobby and the office slammed open.
“Put. Him. The fuck down. Now.”
She was pointing a gun at him. It seemed like Rhundi was always pointing a gun at him. The fierce look on her face contrasted oddly with the pleasant green color she’d highlighted her fur with. He unhooked the gnome from the ceiling and put him back in his chair, then reattached the light fixture. He then collapsed back into his smallest, widest size.
“Sirrys is sorry,” he said. “But the gnome would not let us see you. We have news. Important news. And he would not listen!”
Rhundi waved the troll off, holstering the gun and walking over to her secretary.
“You’re okay?”
Gorrim was trying his best to keep his fur flat and calm, and was brushing dust and ceiling plaster off of his clothes. “I’ll be fine. Just embarrassed.”
“Next time shoot him,” Rhundi said. “Let him in afterwards, but shoot him.”
“I want that in writing,” Gorrim replied, sounding somewhat incredulous.
“Pull the security footage,” she said. “That’s as close as you’re going to get.”
Gorrim’s eyes widened. “Why isn’t security here yet? Shouldn’t this room be full of angry strong people by now?”
Rhundi laughed. “You yell ‘security’ in my office, and it notifies me,” she said. “Anything I can’t handle would probably have killed you before more than a syllable of that word got out of your mouth. Hit the panic button under your desk if I’m not around, remember?”
The gnome sighed and lowered his head. “My apologies, mistress.”
“You’re forgiven,” Rhundi responded. “But seriously. Next time just shoot him. Anywhere but the head. He’s harder to fix if you shoot him in the head.”
“I don’t want to be shot,” Sirrys whined.
Gorrim nodded.
“You, in my office,” Rhundi commanded, pointing at Sirrys. “And I want Irtuus-bon back. You’d better be a meter taller by the time I’m seated.” She walked into her office in front of the troll. The troll turned to glance apologetically at Gorrim–a gesture that the gnome resolutely ignored–and stretched to his usual height upon entering the office.
“I am sure whatever this is about is very important to you,” Rhundi said. “You have less than two minutes to explain why it is important to me.”
Irtuus-bon didn’t speak, holding out the chip instead. Rhundi took it, sliding it into a port on her desk console. The troll looked around the office. He had always approved of its functional design. Little was in the room that did not need to be there. There was even an overstuffed chair that had clearly been placed there for someone of his height.
He sat down in the large chair. “This footage was recorded today from one of the news sites in dwarfspace. It’ll likely be everywhere soon if it’s not suppressed, but I thought it should be brought to you as quickly as possible. Your … secretary would not allow me to speak with you, so I brought it … personally.”
Rhundi nodded curtly, suddenly all business. The feed report was about the war on Khkk. It had been escalated from a minor regional conflict to a very nearly global struggle. Nearby planets were beginning to struggle with refugees which they could neither communicate with nor ethically turn away. And, most worrying: the Benevolence, generally not much of a presence in ogrespace, had announced that they were officially discussing the formation of a “delegation” to investigate and possibly quell the conflict.
“That’s not good,” Rhundi said. “And all of this started with a train robbery?”
“I suspect that we will discover it goes much deeper than that,” Irtuus-bon said. “It may still be that … your husband and his associate’s presence at the war’s flashpoint was a coincidence. But they stole an artifact, did they not? The Benevolence always have nested motives, always. We must be very careful in this.”
“I need to bring them in, don’t I?”
“I may wish to examine the artifact,” Irtuus-bon said. “A detailed scan should be sufficient, however.”
Rhundi nodded. “I think I’m glad Gorrim didn’t shoot you. At least not this time. Stay up for a while. I’ll get in touch with the boys and get back to you with the scan.”
Irtuus-bon stood to leave, wondering why Rhundi had suggested he stay up. He almost never slept.
Twelve
Grond grunted as he slammed the last pallet into place in the Nameless’ cargo hold. He had felt the need for some exercise after a day of being pinned down in the ship, and the job of restocking and reorganizing the cargo bay had beckoned at him. It took longer to do it himself than it would with Brazel’s help, but it was a bit more enjoyable and certainly a better workout.
WE HAVE VISITORS, Namey announced.
Grond didn’t bother responding. The announcement had been over the internal speakers, not the comm, and Brazel would no doubt be asking questions himself.
DWARVES, the ship responded. ALL FEMALES. THERE ARE FIVE OF THEM. IF THEY ARE CARRYING ANY WEAPONS, THEY ARE CONCEALED. SHALL I LET THEM IN?
“Cargo bay or the front airlock?” Grond asked over the comm.
“Front airlock,” Brazel responded, both to Grond and the ship. This was probably the right decision. The entrance was tighter and they had the dwarves in a bottleneck if the situation went south. Grond grabbed two of his pistols on his way to meet the dwarves, holstering them in what he hoped looked like a reasonably unthreatening manner.
Brazel met him at the front airlock. The gnome nodded at him and then opened both airlock doors.
Four of the dwarves wer
e dressed in what looked like standard-issue guard gear. The fifth was Smashes-the-Stars. She was wearing comfortable-looking civilian clothes, much less formal than what she’d been wearing the last time they saw her. The guards remained by the outer airlock door, standing in a straight line. Smashes-the-Stars smoothed her beard and approached.
“Your presence has been requested,” she said.
Brazel and Grond exchanged a look.
“By who?” Brazel asked.
“The person in charge of this place,” Smashes-the-Stars said. “Concerning the artifact you found, your pay for the last job, and perhaps some additional work as well.”
“Might want to discuss those things in a different order,” Brazel said. Smashes-the-Stars only shrugged.
“Does the person in charge want us immediately or is our big date later tonight?” Brazel asked. The genderless nature of the word person almost guaranteed Smashes-the-Stars was talking about another elf.
“At your convenience,” Smashes-the-Stars said. “But sooner is probably better, and we’ve detailed the guards to take you where you’re going when you’re ready.”
“So they’re just gonna stand out there until we decide to leave?” Grond said. “I might be hungry or need a shower. I might be hungry for a long time, actually.”
“It was hoped that you would not choose to play games,” Smashes-the-Stars said. “Strangers aren’t generally treated well here. You will understand that we have earned the right to be a suspicious people. The guards are for your own safety.”
“I think I could take the four of them in a fight,” Grond said, grinning. “Not sure how well they can keep me safe.” The guards, certainly within earshot, didn’t react to the jab.
“They’re also showing you where to go,” Smashes-the-Stars said. “You saw what Roashan looks like from the outside. Finding your way around can be … a bit challenging.” She didn’t quite smile, but something touched her eyes.
“Fine,” Brazel said. “Give us fifteen minutes. I’m not dressed for people in charge.”
“I am,” Grond said. He was still dripping with sweat from working in the cargo hold.
“Go make some friends, then,” Brazel said, waving toward the guards. “I’ll be out in fifteen.”
“Better bet on twenty,” Grond responded.
For once, it only took twelve–and judging from Brazel’s less-than-perfect coiffure when he emerged from the Nameless, Grond suspected that the delay had been mostly due to the gnome needing to arm himself properly. The dwarves, who didn’t bother giving their names, left the hangar and led them through the station.
Roashan was … odd. The impression that it gave from the outside–that of having been grafted together from several other stations and possibly a few vehicles as well–was not lessened by walking through it. They walked through corridors and wide-open spaces, cut through what looked to have been sleeping rooms at one point that had been rudely hacked into a hallway, and passed through a few airlocks that looked to be left permanently open. The artificial gravity switched directions at least three times during the twenty-minute walk.
This place would be absolute hell to invade, Grond thought. He was willing to bet that no floor plan of the station existed anywhere, and that the place was probably quite a bit more modular than it actually looked–invasion would have to come from several different points simultaneously, into total chaos, with small hallways and a near-infinite supply of locations for ambush.
Then again, under most circumstances the Benevolence would probably prefer to simply blow the place to bits. He knew Roashan was built to run away effectively but the elf had given no indication of how capable the place was of defending itself. Hopefully well enough for us to get the hell away.
The dwarves halted in front of a pair of ornate double doors that looked wildly out of place on a space station, even one as architecturally diverse as Roashan was. Nearly every other portal they’d passed through on the way here had been automatic and either pulled up or to the sides. These were actual mechanical doors that swung into the room and had to be opened with muscle power. Grond tried to recall the last time he’d seen them on anything that had to worry about maintaining atmospheric pressure and came up with nothing.
One of the dwarves actually knocked on the door.
“Weird,” Brazel mumbled.
The doors swung inward. The room they led into had probably been some sort of common room in the past. It was dominated by a long table that was either covered with a convincing holo or actually made of wood. There was a portable holoprojector sitting in the middle of the table. The ceiling was transparent, featuring a view of the deep black outside and some of the traffic and satellites circling around Roashan.
There was an elf sitting at the head of the table. Xe looked elderly, with shoulder-length iron-gray hair, eyes of almost exactly the same color, and just a hint of wrinkles around xir eyes and lips. Xe wore a green robe embroidered with gold thread and a gold circlet set with a prominent green gem on xir head. There were multiple rings on both hands, with close-cut, even fingernails painted in gold and green. On either side of the elf sat a dwarf. One of the dwarves was Smashes-the-Stars. The other they didn’t recognize.
The other elf–Grond was forced to think of xir as their elf–was standing at the first elf’s shoulder.
Grond and Brazel split up, each heading to opposite sides of the table. Interestingly, the chairs they were heading for reshaped themselves as the two approached them. Not regular wood, then, Grond thought, settling himself into a chair that had grown more robust for him as Brazel’s elongated its legs to let the gnome sit at the high table with some dignity remaining.
The statue was sitting on the table in front of the two elves. The rifles and datachips were nowhere to be seen.
“No one bothered to disarm us,” Brazel said. “That is either a gesture of trust or an impressive level of arrogance. I was looking forward to seeing if you found everything.”
The elf smiled, revealing ordinary, unsharpened teeth, a detail that Brazel found oddly comforting. “Consider it trust,” xe said. “We do not believe you have any reason to resort to violence in this place. You have had ample opportunities to engage in it thus far and have not taken them.”
Brazel nodded. Grond fought off the urge to start playing with a knife. He hadn’t brought one with him, for starters, and asking to borrow one from either Brazel or one of the elves seemed a bit awkward.
“Introductions are in order, I believe,” Brazel said. “You appear to have known our names for some time. We only know one of you, and that one is not the one who has slept on our ship.”
The older elf nodded. “Smashes-the-Stars you know. The other is Smashes-the-Stars’ clanmate Glow-of-Twilight. I am Overmorrow. You have already met my child, Asper. I understand that we owe you a debt of gratitude.”
Brazel blinked. He had heard of Overmorrow. Elves frequently changed their names and this one was old enough to have done it a few times, but …
He shook his head. If this elf was the Overmorrow he would worry about that later.
“You owe us a debt of money,” Brazel said. “Gratitude is nice but doesn’t spend as well.”
“As you say,” the elf said. “But you shall receive it anyway. We were expecting certain specific items to be delivered to us. This was not among them. I can only imagine how it came to be in that box and on that train.” Xir voice was more pleasant than Asper’s. Overmorrow almost sounded as if xe was singing rather than merely having a conversation.
“I may have some information on that,” Brazel said.
“Please share,” Overmorrow said.
“Your contact on Khkk–Haakoro, the young human who you hired to mark and package the weaponry for us–apparently was able to find some additional material he thought you would be interested in. Thus the statue. He claims that the statue was sold to him and that he put it in the box because he was unable to get back in touch with anyone and could not come up
with another manner of reaching you.”
Overmorrow grew still. “And how do you know this?”
“The statue emits a signal,” Brazel said. “He was able to catch part of it and got incredibly lucky. We weren’t expecting to be tailed back home and so we didn’t take enough precautions to hide our trail. We caught him causing trouble on Arradon after following us back from Khkk. He is currently enjoying an enforced stay at my wife’s resort.”
“Our contact on Khkk was not a human,” Overmorrow said.
Fascinating, Brazel thought.
“That’s … unexpected. I have no explanation, then,” he said. “What were we supposed to steal for you?”
“Weaponry, and the plans for those weapons,” Overmorrow said. “Which, indeed, you have here. The Khkk are surprisingly talented engineers. We have been aware for some time that the Benevolence were using them to produce some advanced weaponry, and wanted to know more about what was happening. At some point we lost contact with our people on Khkk. We have begun to fear that they are lost. I know nothing of this Haakoro. We would be very interested in speaking further with your … guest.”
Brazel considered various conversational options, ranging from I’m sorry for your loss to I don’t really care but you can pay me whenever you’re done talking and decided to simply keep his mouth shut for a bit longer. He wasn’t sure exactly what game he was playing here, but the four of them clearly had something else in mind for the two of them. No use upsetting anyone just yet.
The Nameless chose that exact moment to subcomm into Brazel and Grond’s ears. RHUNDI NEEDS YOU, he said. I WOULDN’T HAVE INTERRUPTED BUT SHE SAID IT WAS IMPORTANT. SHE SORT OF SCARES ME.
“We need a moment,” Brazel said, both he and Grond standing up from the table. “Be right back.”
Thirteen
The two returned to the conference room a few minutes later, both looking substantially more aggravated than they had been when they left.
“That thing does scans, too, right?” Grond said, pointing at the holoprojector.
“It does,” confirmed Overmorrow.
“I need it,” Grond said, picking up the statue and setting it atop the projector.
The Sanctum of the Sphere: The Benevolence Archives, Vol. 2 Page 8
