“This is a joke, right?” K’Tran asked at Jesse’s approach. “Someone down in the lobby is having some fun with us?” He gestured over his shoulder at what passed for a bed. “I’m not sleeping in that. . . that petri dish. And no offense to my roommate, but I’m certainly not sharing a bed with him. I doubt he’d even fit through the doorway.”
Morogo gave a noncommittal shrug.
Kym approached from further down the corridor. “This is a joke, right?” Kym said. “This is some kind of joke hotel?”
She peeked past K’Tran and Morogo and grimaced. “Okay, my room isn’t quite that bad. Where the bed is supposed to be are what look like a pair of parallel bars and a fishing net.”
“I think whoever used our room last had a cookout in there. It reeks of fried quuntas.” Podo offered.
Everyone looked to Jesse. I hate when they do that. I know that as Captain, I’m expected to have all the answers, but how they expect me to account for this is beyond me. He sighed, and held up a hand. “I’ll go talk to the desk clerk again.”
The clerk they had dealt with upon arrival was gone by the time they made it back to the lobby. A relations drone stood in the clerks’ stead. It looked up at them as they approached, and while it favored them with the fixed expression on its face, its tone of voice was cheerful in excess. “Good afternoon, gentlebeings. How may I serve you?”
Jesse stopped in front of the clerk while the others crowded around him. He tried to keep his tone as pleasant as the drone’s. “We’re experiencing some slight problems with our lodgings.”
The drone asked for their names and then accessed their accounts on the computer terminal. “Here we are. Three Royal Nakabayashi suites. What may I ask is the problem?” It canted its head slightly to one side in a questioning manner.
From behind him, Jesse heard Podo whisper, “They call those suites?” Jesse waved back at him to keep quiet.
“Well, for one thing, the sleeping arrangements are all wrong. We need beds. Beds for humanoid use.”
The drone scanned the computer monitor. “There is nothing logged about any special sleeping needs. Unless you specifically request in advance humanoid sleep equipment, the bedding from the previous occupants is left in place.” the drone replied, looking up at him with a fixed, vacant expression.
“Well they just won’t do at all. How long will it take to get some more suitable beds in there? We’ve had a long journey and we’d really like to get some rest.”
“Certainly, Sir. We can have new bedding for you in,” the drone consulted the screen again. “Four to six hours.”
Jesse heard the collective groan from the others around him. “Is there any way you could speed up the process?” he asked. He cursed the managers for putting a drone at the desk. If it were a sentient being, he might be able to slip it a few credits. No harm in asking, though.
“I’m sorry, Sir. The new bedding units must be taken out of storage and then decontaminated for your protection. Four hours is the minimum processing time. To attempt to shortcut the process would be risking the health of you and your party from possible biological contaminants that your species may be susceptible to. Confederation regulations specifically state that—”
He cut the drone off by clamping a hand over its vocal slot. “I understand about your regulations. We’ll wait for you to process the beds. That’s fine. We’ll just do some sightseeing, or something. You have my comm frequency on record. Just contact us when the rooms are done.” Podo nudged him from behind. “Oh, and have housekeeping fumigate suite four-two-one.”
“Of course, Sir,” the clerk replied as Jesse released it. The overtly pleasant tone was starting to grate on his nerves now. “We at the Imperial thank you for your patience and understanding. We would like to thank you for choosing the Imperial for your lodging needs. If there is anything you could possibly need to make your stay at the Imperial more pleasant, please do not hesitate to ask.”
Jesse turned and led the others away. The drone was still prattling on, long after they were out of earshot.
* * *
Welcome to the Valhalla Intra-city Database, Mr. Sweeny. How may we serve you?
Raychel was finding things were working out far better for her than she could have hoped. She had made her way into the employee housing section of Valhalla City with relative ease and found the building Sweeny had lived in without incident. Dressed as she was in her stolen safari guide uniform, no one within the complex even spared her a second look, despite the garments poor fit.
Sweeny’s apartment was a wretched mess, reeking with the scent of cigar smoke, stale alcohol, and unwashed clothing. Doesn’t matter to me. Could smell like animal dung for all I care. Won’t be staying long.
She wanted nothing more than to take her time in the shower, luxuriating in the first hot water she had experienced in years, but she knew she ran the risk of being discovered. From her first survey of the apartment, Sweeny either had a wife or a girlfriend, judging by the woman’s clothing she found in one closet. She didn’t know if or when Mrs. Sweeny would return, so it was best to do what she needed and get out. Fortunately, the clothes she found were just about the right size and would have fit her perfectly, had she not lost so much weight during her time in the mines.
Now clean and dressed comfortably, she settled in front of the computer terminal and began her search for Arigh Boke’s whereabouts.
* * *
The customs vehicle slowed to a stop in front of the maintenance shed on the outskirts of Valhalla. Behind the controls, Julian Godfrey surveyed the area for any sign of observers. Certain there was no one around that could be watching, he pulled his vehicle under the cover of a pair of trees on the side of the building and slipped from behind the controls. Another surreptitious look around, and he entered through a side door.
As the door closed behind him, Godfrey was enveloped in total darkness, but easily navigated his way down the stairs where a steel door made further passage impossible. The illuminated key panel next to the door threw off just enough light to make its numbers visible. Punching in the proper sequence, the door slid open and he entered into darkness once more.
“Godfrey, Julian T.,” he called out to the darkness. “Password: obsidian.”
He was momentarily blinded as lights clicked on all around him. Along with the lights, he heard the click of a weapon being set back on safety. A whisper-frail voice purred into his ear so close, the warmth of the breath made him jump. “Welcome back, Jules. It is agrrreable to see you again.”
Godfrey took a few steps to the side, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the hulking Raakshasi as the cramped corridor would allow. “Hello, Vixta,” he replied dryly. “I need to see Rhasti right away.”
Vixta pretended she didn’t hear him, licking at one massive paw and grooming her orange fur behind her ears, while giving him her most seductive glare. Her purrs were bordering on ecstatic moans.
Godfrey sighed. He failed to grasp exactly why Vixta had decided that he interested her for a mate. The more he resisted, the harder she tried to seduce him. Godfrey wanted none of it. He wasn’t even sure if a mating between a human and a Raakshasi would produce little more than a severely scarred—and possibly crippled—human.
“Vixta, please,” Godfrey implored. “I to have speak to Rhasti immediately. It is very important.”
Vixta halted her grooming, a stricken look crossing her cat-like features. “Verrry well.” She shouldered her weapon and started down the corridor. “He is in the command centerrr.”
Godfrey followed, not too closely, until the corridor emptied out into a circular room about twenty meters in diameter. What Vixta dubbed the “command center” was filled with computer consoles, sleeping units, spare parts from several types of vehicles, and approximately two dozen of the scruffiest beings Godfrey had ever seen.
Vixta lead him through the chaos to a bank of computers on the far side of the room. Stretched out in a chair in fr
ont of the monitors was a skeletal figure, nearly two meters tall. Rhasti Averdemnaccium ’s limbs looked far too frail to support his weight when standing. He had no nose to speak of, merely a pair of flaps in the center of a face covered with fine, cream-colored fur and piercing, yellow feline eyes.
The Mandasi favored Godfrey with the barest hint of a smile. “Godfrey, I take it you have something important for us. It’s rare that you set foot in our humble domain.” Rhasti’s voice was whisper quiet, yet, it seemed that it could carry across the room if Rhasti wished it to.
Godfrey reached into a pocket and pulled out a data card, handing it to Rhasti. “I think I found a way to tap into the central computer system and get those supplies we need.”
Rhasti twirled the card in his fingers once before inserting it into a slot in front of him. He was silent as he read the information that scrolled across one of the four monitors that rested on the desk.“Military-grade procurement drone. Not bad. Old model, but if it’s still in active use, it may have the necessary upgrades needed to slip into Boke’s systems.”
Godfrey allowed himself a satisfied smile, which, to his dismay, caught Vixta’s attention. The Raakshasi gave him a toothy smile in return, beginning to purr loudly. As before, he took a cautious step away, closer to Rhasti’s chair.
“We’ve got a red flag here,” Rhasti spoke up, thankfully diverting Godfrey’s attention from Vixta. “Says here the drone is registered with a bounty hunting team.”
Godfrey was confused. “So?”
“So, for all we know, they’re here at Boke’s request, to help him search us out.”
“Boke’s got so many goons in his little arrrmy, why would he botherrr to brrring in outsiderrrs?” Vixta inquired.
Rhasti gave her the look of a patient father explaining something to a slow-witted child. “Come on, Vix. We all know Boke pays well for brawn, not brains. That walking bulkhead that leads his security team is the only real threat to our operation.”
Giving Rhasti a pained look, Vixta turned on her heel and began walking off, but not before giving Godfrey a playful flick of her tail under his nose. A seductive move, at least to members of her own race. In Godfrey’s case, it only caused him to sneeze violently.
Rhasti fixed his feline eyes on Godfrey. “What’s the security status of their ship?”
“Minimal,” Godfrey answered. “Her hatch is locked, with a SKR series guard drone on duty outside, but that seems to be it. It appears that they really are just here on holiday.”
Rhasti grinned and launched himself out of his seat. The fine hairs atop his head were brushing the ceiling. Godfrey had to crane his neck to keep eye contact. “We’ll go tonight. No sense in waiting. I’ll get a team together and we’ll see you back here at 2200 hours.”
Godfrey nearly choked. “I’m going with you?”
“You know the port better than any of us. You can get in and out without attracting suspicion.” Rhasti slipped an arm around Godfrey’s shoulder; a friendly gesture, but with a bit more force than necessary to make it known that it was anything but. “Besides, it’s time you started taking a little more risk around here. After all, we’re all part of the same team.”
With a slap on the back just hard enough to throw him off-balance, Rhasti turned and moved further into the command center, disappearing amongst the shadows and banks of consoles.
The pebble of trepidation Godfrey had felt in the pit of his stomach had morphed into a small asteroid, and he began to wonder if his involvement in this movement was going to be more trouble than he had initially planned on.
In fact, he was absolutely certain of it.
Chapter Seven
The receptionist on the vid screen was one of the more human looking Datalore series of androne. While its facial features could convey a wide array of human emotions and facial gestures, the pale pink synthetic skin still looked too artificial to fool anyone as to its cybernetic status. It smiled with programmed politeness at the video receiver on its end and spoke in soothing, measured tones. “Thank you for calling the Boke Corporation. How may I help you?”
Raychel had lowered the lights in the apartment to try and disguise her features and did the best she could to make her voice sound more mature than it was. She probably looked just as artificial to the androne as it did to her. “I have to set up an appointment with Mister Boke as soon as possible,” she said. “I have information for his eyes only.”
“I am sorry, Miss,” the sympathy in the androne’s tone was almost convincing, “but Mister Boke’s schedule is quite full for today. He is at his island retreat until 1400 hours, after which he is entertaining business guests at the White Star. If you were to tell me what your business is about, I may be able to get you an appointment for early tomor—”
Raychel clicked off the monitor, her head spinning. No way, she thought. There’s no way it could be that easy. For the drone to so casually announce Boke’s whereabouts, meant only one of two things. First, the drone was setting her up. It must have taken notice of her mysterious appearance on the monitor, surmised that something was wrong, correlated with the news of the escape from the mines, deduced that she was one of the fugitives and was trying to lead her into a trap. Raychel dismissed that option almost immediately.
Her second thought was that it was possible that the drone was not as sophisticated as its makers had promised and had innocently slipped up with the casual announcement of Boke’s plans for the evening. She prayed that she was right on this one.
Accessing the inter-city database again, Raychel called up the map of Valhalla, locating the White Star with ease, since it was the largest, most luxurious resort in the city. Even visitors who were not booked there flooded its halls just to gawk at the lavish spectacle of it. Getting in would be no problem.
Assassination, however, would be another problem. She could hardly hope that the old adage of “If looks could kill,” was true, no matter how withering a glare she sent in Boke’s direction. She began to scrounge around the apartment once more for a weapon. Seeing that the former occupant was a hunter by trade, Raychel figured there would be a better than average chance of finding something that would suit her needs.
Her search took longer than she expected, but paid off nonetheless. In the back of the bedroom closet she found a section of wall that had been cut out and rather sloppily repaired. Pressing inward on one corner, the slab of drywall popped free, revealing a hidden storage area. Inside were several billfolds and identification chits. I guess big game hunting wasn’t the only thing that paid off for Sweeny, Raychel thought as she reached further into the secret cache. Her hand came to rest on something cold and metallic.
Pulling it free, she had indeed found what she was looking for. The weapon was compact enough to conceal easily under clothing, yet looked more than powerful enough to do the job it was made for. The weapon was Harkonian in make, judging from the script that was etched into the butt of the gun. Probably black market surplus from the war, she deduced.
Checking the weapon over, she saw that its power pack was fully charged, and breathed a sigh of relief. Perfect.
She considered trying to use one of the I.D. chits, then thought better of it. It was almost a certainty that they were reported stolen by now, and attempting to use it would only get her caught before she could carry out her plan. Can’t let that happen.
Feeling as though she had risked enough time in the apartment already, Raychel hastily replaced the piece of wall over the hidden compartment. She grabbed a jacket from the closet, and slipped the gun into one pocket. Shutting the lights, she peeked surreptitiously out the door, making certain that the corridor was devoid of anyone who might spot her.
Only after she was safely out of the building, did she dare to breathe easier. So far, everything was going as well as could be expected. She started to allow herself to believe that perhaps she would indeed pull this off.
She boarded one of the free-access trams made available to employees that
would shuttle her off to the main part of the city, where her destiny awaited her.
* * *
“The White Star Resort and Casino is the largest public structure in Valhalla City,” Podo read aloud from a resort brochure transmitted on his datapad. “Boasting over 3,500 guest suites with every amenity available for all species.”
K’Tran scoffed at the statement. “Yeah, if you don’t mind clearing out your credit limit for a bag of sun-dried goort-berries.”
Despite his sarcasm, the others knew that he was just as awed as the rest of them as they gawked up at the massive Lannon tree that grew up through the twenty-five story lobby atrium. Skywalks jutted from the tower’s interior walkways at several levels and wrapped around the massive trunk, allowing guests to wander through its boughs like denizens of some ancient tree city.
“The centerpiece of the White Star is the 4,000 year old Lannon tree that the main tower is built around,” Podo continued his narration. “The designers of the building could not bring themselves to destroy the great tree when the land was being cleared for construction. The interior of the hotel was redesigned to accommodate this piece of Utopian natural history and beauty.”
“Also accommodates Utopian commerce.” Kym observed. “Never seen so many souvenir shops in one place.”
“Okay guys, let’s cut the sarcasm.” Jesse said. “We could always head back to the Imperial early.” He grinned at the chorus of non-committal groans that issued from the group. Despite their grousing about the touristy nature of Valhalla City, he knew they were just as awestruck as every other being around them. The White Star was as impressive a structure as any of them had seen in their travels, as evidenced by their pausing in unison to watch quietly as the monorail that connected the hotel to the rest of the city glided past on the track above.
The Starhawk Chronicles: Rest and Wreck-reation Page 4
