StarFlight: The Prism Baronies (Beyond the Outer Rim Book 2)

by Reiter

  “I have to say, I am most eager to know what the sixth teleport will–” Dungias’ fist connected with Raza’s chin and spun him around as he was carried into the wall. He slid to the floor, groaning into unconsciousness. Qarvosia swallowed hard as the Traveler turned to look at her.

  “I wish you well, Qarvosia Saito,” Dungias said, giving the woman a nod of his head. “If you have need of me, remember I am Z, First Mate under Captain JoJo Starblazer aboard the Xara-Mansura. Provided your request does not go against her agenda, I am yours.” The woman smiled, nodding in delight.

  “I knew you had a girl waiting back home,” she chuckled. “Why double-cross Raza?”

  “You mean before he could double-cross me?” Dungias asked and Qarvosia laughed, clapping once before she pointed at the Traveler.

  “I don’t know what star brought you my way, but I’ll never be able to say ‘thank you’ enough.” A small dot of light sparked to life behind the woman. “And you know the name… if you need, you call me and I’m yours! If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll call me for the right reason.”

  Dungias squinted before he approached the woman. He took a gentle hold of her face and kissed her on the mouth. She rose up on her toes and took a firm hold of his hands. When their lips parted, Dungias smiled. “I might one day be so inclined.” He tapped the wrist device and stepped back from the woman. “Now you have the means to make that call or receive mine.” Qarvosia blinked her eyes rapidly before turning to walk through the aperture. The light faded and Dungias walked over to Raza to punch him once more. The way his body moved before the blow landed told the others that Dungias was not simply going out of his way to be hurtful.

  “That guy’s got one hell of a chin!” Ephaliun commented.

  “Let us get to work,” Dungias ordered. “We do not have much time, but we only need to get the Kulri-Kraythe space-worthy. The full repairs will not go as quickly; we will be about the business of getting out of Ardrian Space and back to the Captain.”

  “It’s a good thing we’ve got time,” Rahneece added. “Because it’s going to take a bit of it to get this bird flying right. Anyone have an idea how we get this thing to break the mo-sphere?”

  “If it were simple, someone else would be doing it,” Teela said as she stated to gather tools. “Trust the man…”

  “Trust the plan,” Ephaliun finished, patting Rahneece on the shoulder.

  The young woman took her time turning to look at her teacher. “Sorry.”

  “No, you are not,” Dungias argued. “You are Rahneece, and that will suffice. If you look for perfection, you will waste your time. If you believe in perfection properly, it will find you!”

  “Is it a bad sign when I start to get those?” Rahneece asked of the others. Dungias’ eyes flared with pride before he started to get to work. Alpha still felt heavy on his side, but he could feel warmth returning to its form.

  “No, not a bad sign,” the Traveler whispered. “Fate and Stars, you have both made your moves. But neither of you will keep me from her!

  “Hold true, Jocasta. I will be at your side… soon!”

  Action indeed is the sole medium of expression for ethics.

  Jane Addams

  (Rims Time: XII-4203.27)

  The Cobra-Nine rocketed away from the Corridor Station, taking the long course toward the spacedock, but Nulaki had his reasons. He set the auto-pilot feature and sat back in his chair. The thrusters fired, bringing his ship to its final turn; Nulaki took out his last Z-rolled cigaro and lit it. As smokers went, Nulaki was not a tried-and-true aficionado, but he knew a good blend when he tasted it.

  “If Z ever wants to retire to the quiet life, it wouldn’t take much for me to warm up to the idea of a start-up,” he said after blowing out the first drag. “Yes sir, steal the right property… set Z up with his own smoking house… we would just sit back and count the credits, smoking away the overhead… until JoJo showed up to loot us and kill me!”

  As the console receded into the cockpit, Nulaki crossed his legs at the sight of the Terran Triangle coming into view. The giant planet and two of the moons in its orbit were considered the cradle of Terran life in the Rims. Nulaki had not been born there, nor was it the place where he was weaned. But it was the first planetary system he visited when he had completed his training. “Exactly!” Nulaki said softly as he smiled. “No matter how far I roam, you will always be home, baby. Always! Gods, you can feel the MajiK from here.”

  A flashing gold light made Nulaki smile even more brightly. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned forward and opened a channel. “Talk to me, Tehdi!”

  “You sound like you’re in good spirits,” Tehdi said, sounding slightly pressed.

  “And you sound like you’ve got nothing but bad news,” Nulaki replied. “I can’t tell you how bad the timing is right now. I’m on final approach to the Triangle!”

  “You’re here already?!” Tehdi exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting you for another five days!”

  “Then hang up and call back in one hundred and twenty-five hours!” Nulaki snapped.

  “Why did you have to go and cross things up with the Imperial Angels?!” Tehdi asked.

  “The what?!”

  “The White Shroud!” Tehdi shouted.

  “Oh… them… right. I keep forgetting they merged a while back. I didn’t cross things up with those guys,” Nulaki said dismissively. “They made a big grab, took some Black Assassins, and I was caught up in the pile. You know I’m not a man to be caught for too long.” Nulaki took another drag of his cigaro, intent on enjoying the moment. “By the way, how many more color-type assassins are there? ‘Cuz it’s starting to get ridiculous! Next thing you know there’ll be Mauve Assassins, and Chartreuse Assassins… ugh, and the dreaded Brown Assassins!” Nulaki laughed at his own joke.

  “While you’re laughing it up, try to hear this: Angels are tight with the Magistrates. There’s a system-wide bulletin out on you!”

  “Like that’s news, Tehdi,” Nulaki sighed. “What level is it this time? Did I get bumped up to an eight?!”

  “You’re not hearing me, Nulaki!” Tehdi stressed. “You’re a Level One bulletin!” The smile fell away from Nulaki’s mouth. “Dalberri told a Garrison House that I fenced for you, and they almost nabbed me for questioning!”

  “He what?!” Nulaki asked in a tone of voice that could only be described as cold and cruel.

  There were rules to the many games of the nefarious. They were all unwritten, but once you achieved a certain status, you were expected to at least know them. That way, when you crossed the line, you knew why you were being slashed across the throat. One of those rules was the limit of actions one could take against a fence. After all, they were the lifeblood of the industry; the means through which many of the nefarious masters touched the essence of legitimacy. The Terran Triangle was definitely a guild-enforced territory, even if the guilds were not necessarily getting along. Nulaki opened his screen to the Grid and started checking the boards. The only exception to the unwritten rule was a system-wide assault on the person in question. It was more likely that Nulaki would miss a flip than Tehdi being found in such a position, but it was worth checking out.

  “No, I didn’t say that,” Tehdi stammered, realizing he had said too much already. “What I meant to say is that I have ‘reason to believe’ that it was Dalberri who sent word to the Garrison House.”

  “Uh-huh,” Nulaki said as he brought up the relevant information. “Was it Borski or Meryl who brought it to you?”

  “Borski or Meryl?!” Tehdi snapped. “No, it was Ja–” Tehdi covered his mouth, but again he had been undone.

  “Jayterras,” Nulaki finished. “He doesn’t deal in ‘reason to believe’, Tehdi! Old, retired Mercenaries don’t play those kinds of games! Hell, there aren’t that many old, retired Mercenaries! That might speak to why Jay deals in the manner that he chooses.” Nulaki nodded as he could find no posted bulletin allowing for action agai
nst Tehdi. The notice of his good standing in the Tri-Guild was still on the main screen.

  It took a certain level of artistic approach to be able to successfully conduct business with three often-warring guilds at the same time. Tehdi was one of five fences who could lay claim to that feat, and the only one who dared to live in the Triangle, the headquarters for the Interplanetary Amalgamation Magistrates!

  “Nulaki, you need to think about this,” Tehdi pleaded as Nulaki posted a notice of the transgression, requesting permission to take matters into his own hands. “You need to think this through!”

  “I never do,” Nulaki said before closing the channel. He crushed the end of the cigaro against the console as it rose back to its normal position. Two like consoles came up on the left and right. The last of the Z modifications, the consoles functioned like his belt, filled with holding pockets. Nulaki opened another channel as he received a link request from Tehdi. He ignored it, donning a wig of long, brown, highlighted hair. It was secured just before he inserted brown contact lenses and jabbed his fingers at the neck to make his throat pop. His transmission request was received and Nulaki grinned at the handsome face of a fair-haired wonder that looked to be too pestered to receive a summons.

  “You are calling an officer of the Terran Triangle Magistrates using a scrambled li–” the man looked into his screen and saw Nulaki looking back at him. “Oh shit! It’s you!”

  “Good to see you too, Stowbridge,” Nulaki said clearly, but his voice was much lower and scratchy. “What’s shaking?”

  “Look… I can’t,” the officer said as he looked around to see if anyone was witnessing the event. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I just can’t!”

  “I’m seconds from receiving guild permission to take White Action on a wayward fence.”

  “You won’t get that clearance,” Stowbridge whispered. “Things are tight around here right now. Have been for a few days now. Things are kinda shaky in the Inner Rim.”

  “Do I look like I give a Kot about the Inner Rim, Sershun?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Hezra!” the Lieutenant pressed. “You damn well better! If there are ripples in the Empire, they always reach the Triangle!”

  “Damn,” Nulaki whispered, looking at the response to his request. A hold had been placed for the entire Triangle region. “Did they really just send me a ‘don’t touch’ message?!” he posed to himself, ignoring the warnings of Lieutenant Stowbridge. “And I thought they knew me!

  “I hear you, Stowbridge,” he finally said, cutting the man off. “Looks like I’ll have to seek out my satisfaction through another means.”

  “See that you do, Hezra Bishop,” the officer said before disconnecting the line.

  “He’s going to report me, I know that,” Nulaki said softly. “The real question is to whom he’ll be making that call to… Maggots or the Fang. Cops or killers, looks like the Triangle is going to enjoy me more than I can enjoy it this time around.

  “Of course, Scarab, you could always fold your sails and ride out the rough waters,” he considered, disengaging the auto-pilot. “Fences don’t name-drop other fences to the Maggots! That’s just one of the rules.

  “Can’t help thinking this is personal,” Nulaki thought. “I pulled out of a deal where Dalberri was trying to screw me over. That’s how I met Tehdi in the first place. But that was years ago… Who am I kidding? It just took that fat freak this long to figure out who I went to!” Nulaki turned his ship to Glory. When there was work to be done, especially the sort that neither side of the line wanted to have done, it was always easier to smuggle oneself in from one of the moons than to go directly to Vastion itself.

  ** b *** t *** o *** r **

  K’Jolun Threlzurk walked into the courtyard, feeling somewhat relieved to be off the streets. Hiding in plain sight had its ebbs and flows. He was harder to spot in a crowd, but then again, the same could be said for the people he was trying to avoid. He felt like the street was crowded with the wrong sort of people. He was still walking with a slight limp, and he wondered if he would ever fully recover from the gift Patra had given him on the evening they met. If nothing else, the combination of Pharaoh and Cleopatra made a rather effective tandem, and rather clever dodgers to boot.

  It had been a very interesting chase for K’Jolun and Gru, racing after two children through the shadows of the city. It was as if the young duo shared a rapport, almost instinctually knowing what the other was going to do and when they were going to do it. K’Jolun had been duped into making an attempt to grab Pharaoh – which was much more difficult than it should have been – and when he finally did get a hold of the young boy, Patra had swung a section of pipe into his shin. K’Jolun fell down the stairway he had been ascending and Gru grabbed Patra, only to have Phay place a charging drop kick to his head and left shoulder. An hour later the two Temple Warriors had opted to use stunners to bring the two of them down, and it took more than five shots before they finally had them. It would have taken more, but Patra would not abandon her brother and she had tried to drag his unconscious body to safety.

  The following day – after Pharaoh finally awakened, allowing Patra to calm down – the questions had been asked. It had been hours before they received any answers, and it was difficult to consider them of worth. Gru had tried his best to keep the pressure up, but it had been clear to K’Jolun that they would not give up anything.

  What had been a stroke of genius was when they had separated the two. It was only because of the young Templeman’s upbringing that he had recognized the action the children had taken before they were pulled apart.

  “A life lock?!” K’Jolun had thought, shocked to see the feat performed outside of a dojo. It was an exercise using Chi to enable one to see through the eyes of another, hear through another’s ears, feel through another’s body. It was something K’Jolun had practiced with his siblings when he was Patra’s age. He remembered taking longer than the two had been given, and he also recalled that he had only mastered one sense: sight. These two had bridged themselves in a two-way connection which meant that whatever was said around Phay, Patra could hear… even if it was Phay doing the talking. “What are supposed students of the Northern Temple doing using Chi?” he had pondered. Aside from his skill with the Martial Arts, K’Jolun had been told to forget the lessons of the dojo and dedicate himself to ThoughtWill. It had been at that point that K’Jolun told Gru that they needed to release the children, taking them to a facility that cared for orphans and children without a guardian. During the drive to the facility, K’Jolun had revealed what he had seen; giving his promise that he would not tell anyone about the matter.

  “I simply want to know how you came to be able to do this,” K’Jolun had said.

  “Adleon taught us,” Patra had revealed. Her brother looked at her for a moment and when she looked back, their brief stare ended with Phay looking away and Patra explaining what she had meant.

  The Z-Files! Two days of instruction in meditation and Phay shared the lessons he had received from Adleon Veej.

  “That’s not the half of it,” K’Jolun pondered, closing the gate door behind him. “It hasn’t even been ten days since we started learning from the Z-Files. The advancements we’ve made, and we’re not even halfway through the introduction! If only we could have reached Adleon sooner.

  “Mind on your work, K’Jolun,” the young man whispered, chastising himself. “We did get two of his students, and damn if they don’t make the rest of us look lame! They’re aptly named, even if it was just a draw of a lot, or some social worker giving them some level of artistic flourish.”

  “Is that you, Cage?” a voice called out from the trees.

  “It is at that, B-Drake,” K’Jolun replied. He had become quite used to people not wanting to pronounce his first name, twisting it to Cage.

  “You talkin’ to yourself again?” B-Drake thought, looking away from the young man.

  “Well, B, I would talk to you, but what good would
that do me?”

  “What?”

  “See what I mean? How are you doing, Stanlus?”

  “Stan’s not up here,” B-Drake informed. K’Jolun came to a quick stop.

  “Where is he?”

  “Gru sent him out for cigaros.”

  “Where’s his replacement?”

  “Gru didn’t send one,” B-Drake answered. K’Jolun walked off at a quicker pace. “Take it easy, man. The market is just down the avenue!”

  “So are a number of other things!” K’Jolun muttered as he entered the apartment building.

  “No!” he said in a tone that was harsher than his normal speaking voice. He held out his hand, commanding the homeless people who lived on the first floor to stop before they could begin their approach. He did not have time to receive their gratitude or their pleading.

  “Young Master,” one old man came forward anyway, reaching out for the young man.

  “Excuse me, sir,” K’Jolun said softly as he tried to walk around the slender elderly man.

  “Wait, young Master,” the old man pleaded as K’Jolun pulled free of his grasp.

  “Sir, I simply don’t have the time to–” K’Jolun’s body shook when the man made a second attempt to take hold of his arm. Surprised at the show of strength, K’Jolun stopped, looking at the man.

  “Make the time, you little Kot!” the man muttered, his green-gray eyes staring deeply into K’Jolun’s before the old man started laughing.

  “Excuse me?!” K’Jolun said, using his free hand to grasp the forearm of the older man. He applied pressure at the nerve, the way he had been instructed by his father, and forced the strange man to release him.

  “That’s the problem with young people,” the old man said as he stepped back, “… always rushing about. Never stop to watch the grass grow… or read the writing on the wall!” The man looked down at his arm and snorted a laugh. He was rather impressed with the technique of the grip and the way it had been applied. “Not a bad nerve pinch, though!”