by Greg Dragon
“I’m no nugget, Riyah. What type of credits do they lay on you for a bit of your love in this place?”
As she answered, Rafian missed it as he spotted what he was looking for. A large brute—who seemed out of place in the saloon—kept glancing in his direction as he and Riyah spoke. Either the brute wanted Riyah as badly as he did, or he was her “manager.” Rafian suspected the latter, and, turning back to the beauty, he thought about what his next move should be.
“Price sounds fine, lady; how about you show me what Talula has to offer?”
Smiling that toothy smile of hers, Riyah replied, “I want to see what YOU have to offer, outsider. I will be right back. Let me run to the little girls’ room, and we can head out once I return.”
As she swayed her hips off towards the saloon’s hole, Rafian crossed the room behind her, trying to mask his intentions as best he could. As they stepped into the bathroom lobby area, the brute pursued—as Rafian knew he would—so he slid a knife into the palm of his hand and held it close to his body. Time crawled by, seeming like eons as he let the calm settle within as he neared the women’s bathroom door. Some pretty Carians were leaving. Their hair was adorned with jewels, and they were wearing scented clothing that accented their supple, voluptuous bodies, causing the passion in Rafian to rise again.
The lobby emptied conveniently, and he paused outside the bathroom door as the brute approached for the usual robbing and easy money. Rafian drove the knife under his exposed chin to pierce the man’s brain, withdrew his blade, and in a matter of seconds slit his throat and buried the knife hilt deep into his solar plexus. The dead man collapsed into him, and Rafian grabbed him and shoved his body into a nearby closet.
Things were really bumping in the saloon, and the band’s loud melody and the fortunate timing made killing the pimp almost symphonic. Rafian’s original plan had been to possibly scare the man into letting him have Riyah, but he knew the empty lobby was a sign. At least he thought it was a sign.
Rafian checked for blood on his person and secured his mood. Then he stepped into the women’s bathroom, where Riyah was waiting, smoking a cigarette and looking at herself in the mirror. Apparently this was the usual activity for beauty and the beast. The lobby had not cleared by accident, since she was waiting for the murdering brute to come in and deliver money from Rafian’s corpse.
She played it cool as he entered, but her puzzled expression was an open book.
“What’s the matter, baby? I would think you didn’t expect me,” Rafian mocked, smiling widely as if he were being genuine.
“I told you I have an urge, lady. It got crazy as I waited out there for you. Solteks came and took this big guy away, so I slipped in here during the entire bustle. I was lucky they didn’t see me.”
He let the lie sink in and examined her reactions. As expected, she believed what he had told her.
“Remember, it’s a hundred credits, right?” she asked, smiling back, and Rafian placed the money he had slipped from the pimp’s pockets onto the counter.
“You paid, so we can do whatever you want,” she said as she inhaled the smoke with a seductive, demonic glaze over her eyes. “So, should we go find a room?” she asked.
But Rafian was no longer talking. Taking her hand into his, he guided her into a stall and locked it. Riyah complied as he pressed her up above the toilet and made love to her, hard. It was not to punish her with sex, as that would be too easy. It also was not a tactic he was a big fan of. He wanted a good time. It was what he had wanted all along, before the brute and his nymph’s attempt at a trick. Riyah moaned in pleasure and surprise as she was filled from minute to minute, their lovemaking taking the better part of an hour. There seemed to be no end to Rafian’s lust, and she wondered if an eternity of this was worth the credits that he had given her. When he was finished, she was worn through and smiling. He seemed surprisingly energetic and not at all embarrassed at the many times people had come in, hearing and knowing what was going on. He had sparked something within her, and she was grateful that her abusive boss had been taken away. This outsider was mysterious and sexy, and she wanted to see more of him even if credits were no longer involved.
Smiling and thanking her for the good time, Rafian exited the saloon, rented a hotel room a few blocks down the road, and slept peacefully for the first time in a long time. He was bothered by his loss of Memory. His past was a dark cloud, and his only Memory was of a voice giving him instructions to survive and wait for a sign.
When Rafian had arrived in Dearin, Talula, he had no Memory of anything prior, yet one thought was embedded in his mind: he was to stay there until he received a mission. What the mission would be, he had no clue. Hell, he didn’t even know who he was! He thought that due to his build, skill with a gun, and stamina, he might have been a soldier of some sort, or some sort of Soltek agent. Whatever he was, he remained at the hotel for a few weeks, only leaving to visit the saloon for food, drink, and the occasional romp in the stall with Rhiya.
During the weeks that passed, Rhiya sought out Rafian daily and became attached to him in a way that even he couldn’t explain. Despite his misgivings about her, he never ran her off. He happily accepted her advances, especially since she no longer charged him for it. Their bond turned into an odd relationship, with him using her for sex and her using him for protection—and eventually room and board.
When his mission finally came, it was six weeks later, and it came by way of a traditional courier.
When Rafian opened the package, the only details were a number and a vid-phone, which he used to call his contact for mission details. A voice told him that his mission was to join and aid “the resistance,” and he was to get their attention by making a name for himself. He listened to the message while pretending to use the bathroom and quickly destroyed the phone when the voice was finished speaking.
“So, I am a Soltek agent, then,” Rafian muttered to himself as he tried to make sense of his call to espionage, the whole business of his amnesia, and awaiting missions in hotel rooms. The contact he was given for joining the resistance turned out to be a man named Corren Fox. Corren had a slight build and a crop of orange hair, which seemed to be the fashion on Talula. His face was hard, and his demeanor was that of a killer. Rafian recognized him as the same man who had shot the two pursuers six weeks back, and they became quick friends after some conversation.
Over the next couple of weeks, the men bonded through nights at the saloon, throwing back drinks, and Rafian introduced him to Riyah. Corren’s specialty was armed robbery, and he lived very well due to his success at pulling them off and flying under the radar as he did so. No one knew of Corren, but many had been killed by him.
After warming up to Rafian enough to trust him, Corren asked if they could speak business one night in the hotel room. When he arrived, Riyah answered the door to let him in, and he sat across from Rafian, staring at her hungrily as if he couldn’t help himself. Who could blame him? While at home, Riyah always wore transparent, silken, body-length robes that showed off her shapely body, despite the slight underwear beneath them.
“You want Riyah, don’t you, Corren?” Rafian asked with a sly glint in his eye, and Riyah shot him a glance that could level buildings, showing her disapproval of his suggestion.
Laughing out loud, Corren shook off the question and without breaking a sweat, started talking to Rafian. “Hey, you have training; you’ve told me yourself. Do you want to use some of that military know-how to help me rob these trade union folks? If we score, you could be on a ship off of this moon in less than a month, bro.”
Taking a sip of his vodka and thinking a bit, Rafian became annoyed as Riyah plopped down next to him. Numbing the urge to shoo her away, he looked into Corren’s blue eyes and answered, “I’ll need a piece, buddy. I have no weapons here, and you know how hard it is to get a gun through the Felitian’s watchdogs.”
As if to answer, Corren slid a pistol across the table.
Rafian picked
it up, measuring the heft and studying it. “Corren, good friend, this seems to be the beginning of a beautiful partnership!”
“Cheers!”
After a time of some drinking, laughing, and discussion, Riyah went off to bed, and the real business was discussed. The plan was to rob one of Corren’s contacts on his route the next day. Rafian was to start the transportation, and Corren would hold him up and rob him before shooting him and dumping his body in the wilderness between Dearin and Corpys. The plans were laid out over three hours, and Corren took off into the night while Rafian headed into the room to join Riyah. She was waiting in bed, lying on her side feigning sleep. When Rafian lay beside her, she sat up and powered on the lamp sitting on the bedside table next to her.
“What the hell was that?”
Rafian turned to face her as the surprise reflected across his face and the light forced him to shield his eyes.
“What are you talking about, Riyah? Are you upset with me about something?”
She began to curse at him in a language he was unfamiliar with, and when she realized that he did not understand, she switched back to the common tongue. She let him know that she was hurt at his attempt to play pimp when he first introduced Corren to her.
“Are you not a prostitute?” Rafian asked with a smile on his face. “I was just trying to help you score another customer so that you can help out a bit around here.”
When the words fell out of his mouth, he instantly regretted them as he watched Riyah turn away from him to turn off the lamp, with tears falling from her eyes.
“Oh,” she said silently as she wiped her face and took a trembling deep breath. “I guess I misunderstood you and what this is.”
Memory 14 | Tyheran Flight
With blood running down his arm, Rafian VCA ducked behind the mining facility in hopes of seeing his friend Corren emerge. His brain was throbbing as the blood steadily rushed through his veins from the excitement of the previous hour. The heist had gone down flawlessly, but the two men had not accounted for their victim’s history. When the trap was sprung, they realized all too late that he was a high-ranking Felitian official. Not only was the man an official, but he was also a martyr. He had tripped a homing signal as he fell to his death, which sent the authorities in the direction of Corren and Rafian’s location for prompt retribution. When the troopers came in firing, Rafian hit the fields and escaped into the wilderness. Corren was a second too late and was gunned down by more than twenty troopers.
Rafian was getting impatient. His friend should have emerged by now. Corren would have been smart enough to wear armor, right? He thought about it and then realized the answer. To sneak into the mining facility, his friend had to make it through the detection fields and would have avoided wearing armor in order to remain invisible to the scanners. Rafian felt lonely and stupid. What was he thinking?
With much effort, he tried to recall his past, but again he was met with darkness. Being a wanted man in this galaxy was not a life he wanted. Soon there would be vids displaying info about him. Every starport would bear his likeness on their screens, and then the bounty hunters would come. His mind turned to Riyah as he ran towards a spent reactor bin outside the saloon, and by coincidence, he spotted her walking up to begin her night’s work.
“Psst! Riyah! Over here!”
Rafian motioned to the beauty, and a grin crossed her face as she ran to him. “Hey, baby, why are you out here tonight?”
Quickly Rafian grabbed her and muffled her mouth with his palm to silence her.
“We have to get out of here tonight, Riyah. Corren bit it, and I am two turns away from being shot like a dog in the streets. We crossed the Fels, and, well, your lover here is public enemy number one on some trooper’s piss list. We need to book, and I mean book fast!”
Riyah suddenly looked lost and confused. Her eyes glazed over as she slumped down by the alley wall as if depressed.
“No one makes it out of here if they’re wanted, Rafian. Maybe we can lie low for a while—you know, till they assume you’re dead or just forgotten. I can make us enough money to live on, and I can get everything you need, take care of you, and—”
Her words made Rafian even angrier. “Are you out of your damn mind? Lie low? No, no, no! We are getting out of here right now!”
Retiring to a camp outside of Dearin for the night, the two discussed their escape plans. The security on the starport was just too tight, but they both knew that renowned criminals flew in and out of there all the time. Finally they came to the conclusion that they would have to buy a small noncommercial ship from Gorda the Gangster. Gorda was the head underground official for the moon of Talula and a Hithian legend. But Rafian was wanted by the Gangster for a double cross on one of his associates, so it would take Riyah’s “persuasion” to, hopefully, garner a flight for them out of there. She seemed elated to help and spent the entire night gabbing about Yunen ruins, riverside cottages, and all of the rumors that surrounded her home planet of Tyhera—their destination.
Rafian sat back as Riyah happily told tale after tale about Veece, Apun, on Tyhera, and its beauty. It bothered him that he had no Memory of his own planet, and it bothered him that he felt guilty for Corren’s death and everything that he had done. With a mental effort, he decided to forget it, saying that today is what’s important, and he would surge forward. Having nothing to show for a forgotten past, what was the point of even remembering it? For a minute he wished he were dead, but after a while, Riyah’s sweet voice had melted into a song. She said it was a song of her homeland, and after a time, it lulled him to sleep.
When Rafian awoke, he was alone. The camp was neatly arranged, and a small note was tacked to his chest. Ripping it off, he read it to find that Riyah had set out to talk to Gorda. The sun was bright overhead, and he lay back to enjoy it for some time, staring up at Tyhera and wondering if he would ever touch its beautiful surface.
“Well, may the Maker bless me. If it isn’t the off-worlder!”
Rafian’s eyes lit up with shock at the sound of the voices. Feigning sleep as the footsteps approached, he recognized the clothing and boots of the four figures and knew them to be Mehlba gang members. From some run-ins and shootouts a few months back, Rafian had earned a deadly reputation among the local gangs. The chance to not only kill him but to also collect the bounty on his head was one that any Mehlba lackey would sell his own mother for.
As soon as the first Mehlba got close enough, Rafian swung his leg around, sweeping him off of his feet while launching himself into the second. Within moments, it turned into a frenzy of knives, punches, and kicks as Rafian spun and flipped through their attacks, landing blow after blow of assaults. Grabbing the wrist of an attacking Ranalos, Rafian spun behind him and stomped down on his calf to force him into a kneeling position. In one swift motion, he snapped the Ranalos’s neck and ended the spin into a tornado kick to the side of a Daltak’s neck. The two other human Mehlbas were already suffering on the ground, one from an eye stabbing and the other from an apparently broken leg. When he had all of them on the ground, Rafian reached down to retrieve a fallen pistol and shot each in the head, making sure that they were dead.
With Rafian now wanted, the situation was proving to be as annoying as he suspected. Why did I survive, and why am I able to fight like this? He silently pondered this thought over and over again. He would always lie to people when they asked about his past. He would tell them that he was once a Soltek agent. It was the only answer that would stick, but in truth, he didn’t know. At times it felt as if the world moved in slow motion and in perfect harmony when he fought, flying through the air, moving like wind, parrying attacks, and returning them.
“At least I have some talent,” he muttered to himself as he kicked a large tumble brush that had managed to get too close. “I have talent, and I have Riyah!” The last thought made him smile, but it was gone when he realized that he had sent her into the arms of a beast.
* * *
Ri
yah felt like a walking dessert, being ogled from head to toe by the criminals who inhabited Gorda’s building. It was customary to set up meetings before seeing the Gangster, but she hoped that waltzing in unannounced would show more of her urgency to leave Talula. Never before in her life had she felt as frightened as she did now, but she thought of getting one of Rafian’s rare smiles if she could succeed, and it was enough to keep her going.
“I seek audience with the honorable Gorda,” she announced to the dirty android at the entrance to Gorda’s main room.
“I am sorry, but you do not meet the description of my lord’s twelve o’clock appointment,” the android replied.
Smiling, Riyah went on. “I know, but your lord will not mind my relaying a quick message about his appointment prior to.”
The android seemed to ponder and then asked, “And what is this in reference to?”
Riyah feigned a look of horror and replied, “Your lord really needs to hear this from me; it is worth a lot of money!”
Gorda the Gangster had sliced out a nice bit of living on Talula, staying relatively hidden from the Felitian authorities. He controlled the underground with an iron fist, and his affairs were always quiet, so only criminals knew his name. His only concern in life was money and acquiring as much of it as he could swim in before he “decided” to die. Gorda was a Hithian, and like many who occupied that water planet, he appeared very much like a fish out of water. Hithians were mermen, having gills on the sides of their faces, large mouths, and orb-like eyes that blinked constantly to filter out the dry dust that occupied the atmosphere. As a Hithian he hated humans, perceiving them to be lower than his own people, both in looks and ambition.
Rafian had killed Gorda’s large pimp, who managed a few girls in the local saloons. It was good money for the Gangster, so when the pimp died, the girls’ money halted and Rafian became a marked man. All of the women who were under the pimp disappeared as well, and Gorda promptly put a mark on their heads, including Riyah’s. Luckily for her, Gorda had no idea who she was.
