"Well, that's good," I said and popped the treacly treat into my mouth.
Kimili ate her roll in two bites and then plucked another off the tray.
"It is, believe me," D'Llorros said gravely.
I believed him. I knew of a couple of men who had had their throats ripped out by Kimili's claws for being foolish enough to pet her unsolicited.
D'Llorros drew deeply from one of the hookah's pipes and loosed a plume of plum-tinted smoke with a gratified exhalation. "It is customary on Kunth for partners to clear the air between them of any misunderstandings, concerns or grievances before settling a business matter," he said.
"I ain't got none, bossman" I said, picking up my pipe.
"Barring any of the previous, this ceremony is used to draw partners into a more intimate relationship by allowing each to ask questions of the other."
"Quaint custom," I said and drew a heady draught of the local hash.
Kimili and Bolts picked up their pipes.
"Whoa there, Bolts," I said. "Won't the hash wreak havoc on your circuits?"
"Only my organic nervous system will be affected by the hashish," Bolts responded. "But the effect will not be so great that my Syntheuron Network will not be able to compensate."
"Well, why bother then?"
"Master D'Llorros desires that I become more sociable," Bolts said and puffed on his pipe. He then flashed me a very simian-like smile as he exhaled through his nose slits.
"And a fine job you're doing, Bolts," I said and took another hit.
The cyborg nodded in thanks and helped himself to a small dollop of frosted chocolate.
"Traditionally, the guest first queries his host," D'Llorros said and took another sip of his tea.
"Okay," I said exhaling. I waited several moments, allowing myself to sink deeper into the couch, luxuriating in first warm ripples of the hash high washing over me. "I’ve always wanted to know how Kimili and you met. What’s your story?"
"I rescued her from a slaver when she was a kitten," D'Llorros answered. "It was back on Kunth, a long time ago."
"Why did you want to save her?" I asked, knowing full well it wasn't because of any moral objection he had to slavery.
"I didn't," D'Llorros answered. "That slaver was a family enemy. She killed my father and mother when I was a boy. She would've killed me too, but I was fortunate enough to escape the ambush. I hid and waited, waited and plotted and waited some more. I waited for fifteen years before I was able to exact vengeance.
"Kimili was an unexpected..." D'Llorros paused looking for the right word as he scanned the contents of the dessert tray. He picked up a pyramid shaped piece of caramel. "An unexpected treat," he said with a smile and then popped the dessert into his mouth.
I turned to the Bengaling. "And you Kimili, you've worked for him ever since?"
"Jacques gave me a choice when he killed my mistress," Kimili answered in a velvet-soft voice, exhaling twin streams of purple smoke from her black button nose. "He said I could go my own way or I could follow him. No one had ever offered me a choice before. I have followed him since."
I nodded, genuinely impressed by their relationship. I took another hit from the hookah.
"And Bolts?" I asked after a long exhale. "The Psion horde their technology pretty jealously. How did you two end up together?"
"The cyborgs are half human," D'Llorros answered and took another hit himself. He continued as he exhaled. "Their flesh and blood half is as susceptible to a generous offer as you or I would be."
"So you purchased Bolts? I've never heard of anyone buying a Psion before."
"It was a rare opportunity I was fortunate enough to take advantage of."
"I see," I said. "And you Bolts, you don't mind having been bought and sold?"
"I was slated for recycling when Master D'Llorros purchased me," Bolts responded in his staid monotone, exhaling thin purple clouds of smoke through his slits. "The transaction has allowed me to continue functioning past my expiration date. I find that I am grateful for that."
"A cyborg that feels gratitude? That's got to be the hash talking," I said.
"This is good, Fritz, us talking like cheery good, old friends, no?" D'Llorros asked picking up a candied date off the dessert tray.
"Sure."
"Now we have a question or two for you."
"Shoot."
D'Llorros ate the date in two, almost dainty bites, licked his fingertips and had another drink. He put the glass down and sat back, spreading his massive arms, wide across the back of the couch. "We have never heard of anyone escaping from a Psion prison planet, Fritz," he said at last.
The hash high evaporated suddenly and the world imploded upon me in sickening slow motion.
"Or should I call you by your real name, Gaelic?" D'Llorros continued, his thick lips curling into a smile. "Gaelic of Commune Arkum. Gaelic of Aurelius."
I was exposed. D'Llorros had suddenly summoned up a past I spent a score of years burying under the false identity of Fritz Landsenson. The very earth beneath me seemed to crumble.
4
I felt at once naked and trapped.
"So you know about that?" I asked, speaking slowly, forcing myself to remain calm, meeting their scrutiny with my own levelled gaze. I wondered which of them I might manage to shoot in what would undoubtedly be a futile and, most probably, fatal attempt at escape.
D'Llorros nodded, picked up his pipe and gestured towards Bolts.
"Of course," I said. “So you still have access to the Psion DataCore?”
“I have limited access to the DataCore when I can tap into a Series Three node,” Bolts answered. “I make it a point to update my files every year when the Psion freighter GBX 341 visits.”
D'Llorros smiled and leaned towards me. "We've known since practically the beginning of our partnership, Gaelic. But do not worry, my friend. We've not shared this information with anyone and neither shall we. We are only making you aware of it now so that we might deepen our trust in each other as we move forward in our relationship."
"Well, thank you for that," I said, feeling only the slightest receding of that trepidation known exclusively to unmasked frauds and convicts on the run.
"You can thank us by sharing the details of your escape," D'Llorros reiterated as he leaned back and crossed his legs. "We would really love to hear about it, Gaelic of Arkum."
"Looking back, it was a simple plan," I answered. "Gamma Six, the prison planet, was being terraformed at the time."
"Gamma Six is still in the process of terraformation," Bolts chimed in. "The project is expected to be completed in forty-eight years, four months and eleven days."
"Thanks for the update, Bolts," I quipped. "At the time we prisoners were used to aid their heavy machines with the tectonic sculpting. We were basically miners hauling rocks for fifteen hours a day in conditions that were... inhumane to say the least. Well, after my first few years there I noticed that a Psion transport ship arrived every six months with supplies and fresh prisoners, and that a smaller corporate vessel from the Psion's Federation partners arrived every four months with a couple of engineers who nosed about for two or three days checking on the project's progress. Roughly once a year their visits overlapped. My plan entailed convincing the bulk of my fellow prisoners to storm the transport while five of us broke away from the main group and hijacked the Fed ship. It was a long shot... but, I had to try something to get off that miserable rock."
"And it worked." It was D'Llorros turn to nod appreciatively.
"Yes," I said with a sigh and then took another drag. I dropped my head back and expelled the jet of smoke at the overhead fan.
"I do not understand," Bolts said. "The transport had a battleborg protecting it. It was highly unlikely that even the seven hundred and thirty-three of your fellow prisoners who stormed the transport could have overcome it and taken the ship."
"The prisoners knew that many of them would die in the effort. But they were desperate to get off
the planet. We all were desperate."
"But even if they succeeded in commandeering the vessel," Bolts protested further. "They could not expect to get far before the ship's computer executed the self-destruct option standard on every Psion vessel."
"The five of us in the inner circle convinced them that we could disable the ship's self-destruct."
"Could you disable it?" D'Llorros asked.
I shook my head.
"Of course they could not," Bolts said. "To even attempt it would trigger the self-destruct. The only question is why his fellow prisoners would believe such a preposterous boast?"
"Because they were desperate men," Kimili answered.
I nodded gravely and took yet another drag.
Jacques D’Llorros uncrossed his legs and sat forward. "I am most impressed, Gaelic Arkum of Aurelius," he said, slapping his thigh.
Kimili nodded approvingly at my side. Her eyelids, I noticed, were at half-mast. She put down her pipe and reached for her drink. My own head swam again in a lazy swirl of purple bliss which was finally loosening the knot of tension in my gut.
"It is precisely that sort of initiative, courage and cunning which makes you such a valued member of our partnership, Gaelic," D'Llorros said. "I have every confidence you will prove more than worthy of our next venture."
"About that," I said.
"War is coming, Gaelic."
"So I've heard, but…"
"And in war there are many opportunities for great profit," D'Llorros plowed on. "I need you to take your Strumpet back to Calypso and pick up another load of armaments. This shipment is to be delivered to planet Dane. Bolts will give you the details. From Dane we'll need you to fly to…"
"I'm sorry bossman but, no can do," I said.
D'Llorros head cocked ever so slightly to the side. "Dane will not bend to the Federation without a fight. They desire extra weapons and ammunition, as much as possible and as soon as possible. Thanks to this threat of war, you stand to make ten times what you have just made on this last haul. It is a princely sum, no?"
"Yes, it is," I nodded appreciatively and, knowing his reputation for being able to go from sanguine to truculent in a single bound, I was quick to share what I had hoped to keep to myself. "I'm dying, Jacques."
"Dying?"
"Yes," I said. "My ship's computer estimates I've got thirty to ninety days left. It is twenty days to Calypso at the Strumpet's top speed. It's another… what, thirty-five, maybe forty days from Calypso to Dane?"
"Thirty-seven point seven-two five Galactic Standard Days," Bolts offered.
"So you see, I could very well die in transit between the two," I continued. "And even if I don’t die outright, in another few weeks, the bio-enhancers which I've been regularly jacked up on will quit working for me. Without their help my condition will quickly deteriorate, leaving me bed-bound, useless to anyone. I hate to disappoint you, bossman but it's preferable, I think, to failing you. If you send me on this new venture of yours, I'm bound to fail you."
Jacques D'Llorros regarded me with a brooding expression. Never taking his eyes off of me, he made a small gesture with his hand at Bolts.
The cyborg stood and walked over to me. He stood stock still, scanning me for nearly a minute before extending his hand, palm up. "Your hand, please."
I placed my hand in his. Bolts used the thumbnail of his other hand to slice a small slit in the pad of my thumb. He then squeezed out a fat drop of blood which he smeared against his thumbnail. He held up his thumb to his scanner ring for another long minute.
"Transuranic Cancer," Bolts pronounced at last.
"That's right," I said, staring daggers into his scanner ring. "Those hand-me-down hazmat suits you Psion provided us prisoners with were a little threadbare."
"Your attempt to elicit feelings of guilt from me cannot succeed, Gaelic of Commune Arkum," Bolts said. "It was your own Federation that sold you to the Psion Collective when you refused to identify your partners in crime."
"That's because I'm not a rat, tin man," I said, yanking my hand out of his.
Unfazed by my small outburst, the cyborg continued "Additionally, I must inform you that the prognosis of your ship's computer is an optimistic one. My more thorough powers of analysis estimate your life expectancy to range between thirty and sixty-five days."
"Thanks for the second opinion, Doctor Bolts."
"You are welcome, Gaelic of Aurelius."
"Well, this is most unfortunate, most sad," D'Llorros said slowly, his brooding expression melting away. "This news saddens me, my friend. Truly it does."
"We can divert the Jackalope to pick up the arms," Bolts interjected. "Mr. Smiley needs only tag and drop the necrotics he is currently carrying. We can retrieve them from space later."
"Make it happen," D'Llorros said.
"Instructions are being sent," Bolts responded.
"Good," D'Llorros said and summoned one of his servants over. He whispered some short instruction into her ear and she left the drawing room. The Kunthian then turned back to me. "Is there anything that we can do for you, Gaelic?"
"Thanks for the offer, bossman," I answered. "But there really isn't anything anyone can do. I'm as resigned to my fate as I can be, I guess. We all got to go sometime, don't we?"
"What will you do with the time you have left?" D'Llorros asked.
"I was going to spend a week holed up at Merry Myra's and then take the Strumpet back out."
"Where would you go?" D'Llorros brow furrowed.
I shrugged. "I think I’ll aim the Strumpet at the galaxy's core and fly her straight into that great big hellish plasmoid at its center."
"You are being highly irrational," Bolts said.
"Well, that's the prerogative of those of us who don't have hard drives where our hearts should be."
"At your ship's top speed the galaxy's core is approximately seventy-nine thousand years away. You will be long dead and decomposed before you get anywhere near it. Not to mention that in approximately two years your ship will have burned through its neutronium crystal. Without shields the Strumpet will be at the mercy of whatever obstacles lie between her and the core, of which there will be plenty. You have to know that there is little chance of your Strumpet ever reaching the core."
"But you admit that there is a chance."
"An infinitesimal one."
"I'll take it!"
"It is a waste of a perfectly good ship," Bolts continued to protest. "You should instead offer it up to the partnership."
"If you want the Strumpet, Bolts, you'll have to kill me first."
"Now, now Gaelic," D'Llorros intervened. "We'll not be asking you for the Strumpet. I understand that for a man like you, your ship is the only real home you have."
"Thank you, Jacques."
"Still," Kimili said. "It's sad that you should wish to go out like a bug against a zapper."
"That's not what I'm doing," I protested.
Kimili shrugged dismissively.
"I'd say the metaphor is an apt one," Bolts offered.
"It's not for us to judge how Gaelic chooses to meet his end," D'Llorros said.
The servant returned with a small, golden tray in her hand which she held before me. On the center of the tray sat a small, glass, stoppered vial. It contained no more than an ounce of a clear liquid.
"What's this?"
"A parting gift," D'Llorros answered. "It is oil extracted from the Kunthian Scarlet Lotus. It is a hallucinogenic when sniffed, but if it is drunk at that dosage, the oil makes for a gentle poison. Should the final stage of your illness prove to be as painful as I suspect it will, you need only drink the extract and the pain will end as you pass from this life on the wings of bliss."
I looked at the vial, the servant and then at D'Llorros before finally reaching out and taking the tiny bottle off the tray. "Thank you, Jacques."
Several moments of awkward silence followed. Jacques was taking it all much better than I would've expected. Feeling touched
by his gift, chagrined in fact by his generosity, I felt obliged to offer him a parting gift of my own.
I said, "Listen bossman, Mook told me that you expect the Feds to use Ramage as a forward operating base, that you expect them to start arriving soon after war is declared."
"That's right," D'Llorros agreed. "We are a fortnight from the planets Haven and Aldiss. Krestor Station and the Calabash Neutronium Crystal Foundry are little more than a week away."
Bolts added, "Control of Ramage and these other points will allow the Federation to dominate two thirds of the Open Zone's coreward space."
"I agree," I said. "You should know however, that there might be Federation forces already on Ramage."
D'Llorros' eyes widened. "Oh?"
"I have Mook looking into it." I said.
I then recounted my experience with the insurgency on Delphi. D'Llorros listened attentively. "Check with Mook," he instructed Bolts when I was done.
We waited in silence, smoking and sipping our tea while the cyborg did his thing. After a couple of minutes Bolts spoke up. "It would appear that Gaelic of Arkum's suspicions are correct."
Before I could respond, a cone of holographic light flashed from the cyborg's scanner ring. A hologram of Mook's one-eyed head formed, floating over the hookah.
"What's up everyone?" Mook asked with a grin and signature wagging of his head.
"Tell us, Mook," D'Llorros prodded the cyclopean. "What have you discovered?"
"Well, I checked the names on the manifest as well as ran face recognition scans on all the passengers that disembarked off the Olympus' shuttles. There were ninety discrepancies."
"Two platoons," I said.
"Well, that makes sense," Mook said. "Since their arrival, the ninety have split into two groups. Forty of them are still here in Koppolo. The other fifty have taken jitneys to Oroko."
"To the only other spaceport on Ramage," Kimili said.
"They'll want to secure both for the arriving fleet," I nodded and then turned back to the floating head. "Anything on the corporate sloop, Mook?"
One Last Flight: Book One Of The Holy Terran Empire Page 3
