by Lisa Lace
“Abez’s,” Mor reminds me, clearing his throat with a cough. The amount of smoke in the air is borderline hazardous. It's a nice mix of cooking meat, sex, and drugs—distinctly Vezdan.
“That works out wonderfully, doesn’t it?” The bar is only a few streets away. I convince myself I can smell the liquor when I inhale, but maybe it’s just the piss.
The buildings on Vezda are packed together, but they rise high, casting long dark shadows over the landscape.
It’s so dingy and dark here, and not just because only the darker side of the planet maintains habitable temperatures. There’s a grime in the air itself. But with that grime comes freedom.
I push back the long hair from my face. We push through the cramped streets, turning to walk through an alley to bypass the masses of people. Dinner time is approaching, and the predators are getting hungry.
“We're running late, Orien.” Mor stares at the smooth black band wrapped around his thick wrist. I stole the watch from an aristocrat and gave it to Mor for his birthday long ago.
I shrug. “He'll wait for us. He doesn’t have a choice.”
“We shouldn’t have stopped for the drinks.”
“We definitely needed to stop for those. Come on, we're celebrating! You act like we're going to a funeral.”
But it’s not just Mor. Something's wrong.
My body grows rigid. I stop walking. There should be a few stragglers walking behind us, but there's nobody. The long alley is empty.
Someone's following us.
Mor’s hands fall on my shoulders, and he pulls me behind him.
A black arrow flies through the air, whining as it passes through the place where I stood a moment ago. Another comes whizzing by, but I'm ready for this one. I lurch to the side, reaching out my hand and snatching the arrow out of mid-air. The projectile burns my palm.
I take a second to inspect it. Yellow liquid drips from the tip. It's probably poisoned; hopefully, just with a sedative. I'm worth more alive than dead.
“This is not going to be fun.” I grit my teeth.
The arrow looks like it's from Baroma. Probably another bounty hunter—a colleague, so to speak—but we won't know for sure until they’re dead.
I lean against the wall, the alcoholic buzz kicking in just as the sedative oozes through my brain. Standing suddenly feels like work. But if I—we—want to stay free, I’m gonna have to get my head back in the game, and fast.
“Orien, I've found him. He’s about a hundred yards above us, on the roof of the building to the left.”
A dark figure stands on the top of a black concrete building. I can barely make out him nocking the next arrow and aiming at my head. I twist and dodge as it comes sailing toward me, but my feet buckle, and I lose my balance.
I do a face-plant into the dirty stone road. The tip of the arrow slices through the top of my leather jacket.
Mor's blaster is already drawn, and he's ready to fire. The metal hilt shines in the fading evening sun. He squeezes the trigger, firing green shots at the target. The shadowy figure jumps back.
“On a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you right now?” demands Mor.
I press my hand to my lips as I give myself an emergency sobriety test and attempt to recite the Baromenian laws of conduct. I manage to get through the first two before I stumble. “I would say—” Another arrow passes by my head; I don't bother flinching. “If one is sober and ten is passed out, I’m a solid six. Maybe a five.”
Mor curses under his breath and fires a barrage from his blaster. “Deal with it! We don’t have time to play around.”
We crouch behind a row of trash cans filled with rotting food and garbage. I wince and try to blink, cursing my metabolism—and my poor life choices. “I'll figure out something.” Behind the haze of alcohol, the glimmering of a plan is starting to materialize in my head.
Before Mor can interrupt, I zig-zag down the alleyway, relying on my knowledge of the streets and the combat training I’ve endured since childhood. Two arrows streak past me and miss. Fast, light steps, memorized maneuvers—even this much liquor can’t dull my edge.
I hear Mor’s heavy strides behind me, his gigantic boots striking the pavement. Now, that’s a disappointment—if I were a little more sober, he’d totally be eating my dust.
“Orien, where are you going?”
I point to my head, intending to show him that I have a plan. Instead, I trip over my feet and slam into a woman with violet skin. She screams and throws her arms out in front of her. I put my hands on her shoulders to brace her, and our eyes meet.
“Sorry. I think your beauty must have knocked me senseless.”
Her eyes sparkle.
Before she can say anything, Mor yanks me away. “Give it up, you recidivist.”
“Big words from a big man,” I taunt him but stumble. “Would’ve worked on me!”
“Everything works on you.”
“Including sedatives,” I counter grimly. I shake my head, back in the game.
The arrows have stopped. I hope it means our attacker has lost track of us.
We come to a split in the road. Should we turn right or left? Before Mor can ask, I pick the left path, based on nothing more than instinct.
We're approaching the really bad parts of town. It's a place I only visit if I'm forced to.
Skinny children lean up against the porch of an old plasteel shack. The sounds of a fight breaking out echo through the street.
We take cover in an enthusiastically cheering crowd, hoping to stay lost.
A body covered in green blood flies through the air and lands in front of me. Our eyes meet, and I flash him a smile. Mor crashes in, knocking the beaten man out of my path the way a bodyguard is supposed to.
The crowd divides around us, parting to make way for Mor’s one-man wall, and I hide in his wake. On the verge of seeing double, I’m glad that one of us is less than totally compromised.
To our right, a shadowy figure appears at the top of a building. Their back is to us, but I can tell they’re searching the crowd, trying to figure out where we went.
We've managed to successfully loop behind the person. Looking for us on the streets is like searching for a needle in a haystack. Now to complete the reversal. They’ll literally never see us coming.
My hands latch onto the rough concrete side of the building in front of me, and I start to climb the wall.
I'm too slow. Mor is already several yards ahead of me. His massive arms swing up and pull his heavy weight with ease. I clench my jaw as I place my feet against the wall, searching for a better hold. I make a mental note not to scale buildings when I'm drunk.
Mor is rapidly increasing the distance between us; then he disappears onto the roof.
I take a second to look back down toward the ground—no sign of the lavender cutie I ran into earlier, though. The building seems taller now that when I was looking up from the ground, but I manage to hoist myself to the top. The crowd lets out a cheer when I make it.
The air is cooler up on top of the barren roof, and it smells a lot better than the ground. It's a good place for assassins. I wipe the sweat from my brow and look around.
“We've got you now.” Before I can say another word, Mor unleashes three blaster shots straight into our attacker’s head. The crowd lets out a roar of excitement when blue blood gushes over the edge of the building. The body falls limply to the rooftop.
I didn’t even get a chance to look at their face. “Mor, I thought I told you to wait!”
“I did wait. You were here, weren't you?”
“We might have gotten some information out of him.” I wipe the blood from my face with my jacket sleeve. Mor is already kneeling down and examining the body.
He presses the black band on his wrist, and a blue light scans the body. “Not getting any hits from the main database—not that one—nope, not that one either.” A holographic interface over his face flickers as he looks through it and frowns at me. He returns
to scrolling intently, hunting for information on the webs.
Time to do this the old-fashioned way. I start to search the assassin's pockets. “It's too bad you blew his brains out. I could have talked to him. I'm a people person.”
“Only in the sense that people want to kill you.”
“Why would anyone want to murder me?” I shoot him an innocent look, but he doesn’t laugh. We both know there’s an enormous bounty on my head, and exactly why. I grimly resume my work, lightly feeling for hidden pockets and compartments in the corpse’s clothing.
Then I find exactly what I’m looking for. “Here we go.” I pull out a small piece of paper. “Would you look at that? It must be a high-security operation if they're avoiding electronics.” I unfold it and start reading aloud.
“You...you have be—no, wait. Let me start over. You have been—”
Mor snatches the paper out of my hand. “You can’t even see the words, can you? How much did you drink?”
“I can still walk on my own,” I defend myself—making a point of clearly articulating the words.
He begins to read the letter out loud over my objections. “You have been assigned to incapacitate the criminal and murderer Orien Elvdon of House Fabia Da’zul, former prince of Baroma, and return him, unarmed, to the capital. We believe he is located somewhere in the Centaurus System. Let it be known he is lethal and highly dangerous. Proceed with great caution. Go in honor and glory. Signed, Emperor-King Krouuk Oznak, ruler of the Centaurus System, Terror of the Gruzul, Star of the Fla’a, Cudgel of the Yut’karnol—”
“You don’t have to read all the accolades.” Not like I want to be reminded of how my father’s a borderline war-criminal—albeit on the winning team and therefore a hero. Still, big, bloody wars aren’t my style. A little espionage, sure, but I’m a lover, not a fighter.
Except when I have to be a fighter, of course.
Mor stops and shoves the letter into his leather bag. “Your father is finally sending bounty hunters after you.”
I start rubbing my temples. “Typical of him to waste resources like that.”
“It was just our luck that this one was on Vezda. Many planets are orbiting the sun of this system. What are the chances he would find us here?”
I close my eyes. “He tries to act like he rules over all of Centaurus, but he only controls a minuscule portion of the galaxy.”
Mor stands. “Not that small.”
The talk of my father is starting to sober me up. “Have I mentioned I need a drink? Make that a drink and a lady.”
“Orien, what you need to do is focus. Let's finish our job and leave the planet.”
I hold my hands out in front of his face. “Mor, what are these?”
“Is this a trick question? It looks like your hands.”
“That's right. What are they doing?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Exactly.” I open and close them. “One should be holding a drink, and the other, grabbing a nice ass.”
I’m almost surprised to feel his disappointment, but it’s practically steaming off him. Mor walks to the edge of the building and looks down. “Do you need me to carry you?”
“No, I can handle myself.”
I see Mor's large back flexing as he lowers himself from the roof. I follow him, placing every step with care. No way am I busting open my skull.
The night, such as it is on this dark half of the planet, has finally come. The city burns with colorful lights and flashing signs, encouraging people to waste their money on countless pleasures. I’d love to stay and stare at the beauty of it, but I have bottles to meet, people to drink.
I find the descent goes much smoother than the climb. The crowd has dispersed, and in the cloak of the night, no one pays attention to the two large figures making their way down the side of the building.
We push through the crowds, Mor taking the lead. We're late for our appointment, but luckily, we don’t have to go far. I might not like this part of the city, but I still know it well.
The light of Abez’s bright red sign blinks overhead as we approach. A short, purple-skinned thug stands at the entrance, looking like a grumpy Paug’lan—a popular lap-creature pet known for its ugliness. Unlike the Paug’lan, though, I doubt that his smashed-in face conceals a charming personality.
He can barely turn his head to see us coming. He folds his arms when we approach, flexing his pectorals, and the veins in his neck bulge out. “Name?” His voice is rusty and raw.
“I don't have a name.”
He glances at my disarming smile and frowns but changes his attitude when he looks at my companion. The guard doesn't want to get into a fight with Mor. A growl escapes my partner’s throat.
“We're just coming through for a quick business meeting. That’s all.” I slip a hundred credits into his fat fingers.
He glances down at the money and steps out of the way.
“Thank you.” I bow slightly.
We walk down the stairs of the establishment. The place is packed with all different kinds of races. Bodies fill every corner, a sea of drunks undulating around us, lapping up against the bar and the edges of the room. Music from a band blasts over the large room. People have to shout if they want to be heard. A haze of smoke makes the air suffocating.
Mor continues to bulldoze his way through the crowd of people, but he makes sure I remain close to him. Three women sharing a long white pipe are leaning against the wall. Our eyes meet, and I grin at them. They giggle, turning to one another and whispering to themselves. Mor taps my shoulder, trying to keep me from getting distracted.
We come to a heavy velvet curtain separating the main space from a small private room. Another purple guard stands in front of it.
I take a deep breath. “We're here to see Tornack.”
The guard nods in understanding and pulls the curtain back, revealing a dimly lit area.
Sofas surround a black table covered with clear bottles of expensive liquor and half-filled glasses. An ashtray holds two burning cigarettes, rare items to find in the Centaurus System. Those were definitely imported from Earth, from the smell of them. I’ve only had Terran tobacco a few times; potent stuff, but not something you forget the smell of.
Tornack is wearing a three-piece silver suit. He flashes a look of acknowledgment at us with piercing green eyes. It looks like he's been busy.
Two young women sit on either side of him, kissing his neck and pulling gently on his faded red hair. He snaps his fingers, and they scurry off.
Tornack slowly bends forward, picks up one of the cigarettes, and lets out a plume of smoke. “I'm happy to see my two favorite boys. Have you really brought me the sacred gems of Cycorb? I heard you were good, but I thought you were going to die.”
I slam a large leather bag on the table. A glass falls over. I pull out a thick metal box no larger than a loaf of bread. “Sometimes, you can believe everything you hear. It’s all there. We managed to take down the two fleets transporting them. It wasn't easy.”
Tornack’s slimy eyes glint with greed. His long fingers reach for the box.
I've been waiting for this moment. I pull out a sharp knife from its sheath, and it glimmers in the dim light. “Not so fast, Tornack. We have to get paid first.”
The sharp knife pointed at his chest is enough to make him back down. Tornack snarls. Sharp fangs poke out from behind his thin lips. He nods, and the guard from the door leaves and comes back with a large sack.
Mor tears it out of his hands and starts counting the money. Plastic chips stack in neat piles before him—cash is better than an electronic transfer if you’re looking to stay under the radar. Or if you find yourself systems away from a damn bank.
“Fifty thousand credits.” He turns the bag upside down and shakes it, looking for more.
I raise my eyebrows. “Tornack, I thought we agreed on seventy-five thousand credits?”
He starts laughing at me. “You demand a lot.”
I s
mile. “Is it demanding to ask someone to honor the original terms of a contract? It’s seventy-five, or I find a new buyer. A deal's a deal.”
Tornack sighs and pulls out another bag from under the table, adding it to the pile of credits.
“See, that wasn’t too hard.” I twirl the knife between my fingers and slide it back into its sheath.
Tornack pulls the box of jewels close to his body. “You better watch yourself, Orien. It won’t be long before the Emperor has your head.” He slides a hand through his hair and walks out of the room.
Mor and I look at one another and wait to make sure no one is watching us. We make our way out of the room and get a few streets away. All the adrenaline’s cleared the alcohol from my system, but relaxing’s made me hazy again.
Finally, I can't take it anymore, and laughter erupts from my throat.
“Tornack is certainly a trusting soul.” I shake my head. “I wonder why the idea of opening the box never crossed his mind.”
Mor folds his arms. “It wouldn't have mattered. He didn't have an appraiser to verify them. How long will it take until he realizes they’re fake?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It depends on whether he's as stupid as everyone says he is. The good news is that we won’t be here to find out.” I stand, turning to face my friend. “The first round of drinks is on me.”
Emily
I stare blankly at the elegant corridor in front of me. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t this.
A robotic assistant comes over to my sphere. With silvery, insectoid limbs, I can’t help but shiver when I look their way. The same feminine voice comes from a speaker near the mouth, and I relax a little.
“Welcome to TerraMates! How can I make you more comfortable?” she asks.
I’m surprised to hear her speaking what I think is English. “How can I understand you?” I blurt out.
“One moment. I am detecting elevated heart rate and breathing. I’m going to load a familiar configuration, okay?” The blue eyes of the robot flash. As I watch, the robot’s limbs contort and readjust almost organically. In seconds, a humanoid and feminine feature stands before me.
