Bloodlines

by Richard Fox

  Raamin made several clicking sounds with his tongue but didn’t answer. He set the pyramid down and picked up the final piece, holding it up to his scope.

  West fought the urge to sigh. He looked over at Nunez, who was grinning and winking at the Zeis females. He seemed to sense West’s gaze and turned away from the alien women, sliding his lower lip over his upper in an effort to hide his grin. Their eyes met and West shook his head.

  “36,582,” Raamin said, setting the final pyramid down. “I wish I could do more, they are non-conflict after all, but registry numbers will have to be reassigned, cuts down on rate. Is number satisfactory?”

  “Is a very good rate,” Abendu said. “Thank you, my friend.” The alien nodded at West, grinning. “Yes?”

  “It’s satisfactory,” West said, though he wasn’t completely sure it was.

  “Excellent,” Raamin said, sweeping the pyramids back into the pouch. He pulled the draw string tight and slid the pouch inside his robes. He snapped his fingers and a servant appeared through the curtains behind him, holding out a small chip, the size of a finger.

  “You can transfer this to any account you want,” Raamin explained, taking the chip and handing it to West. “Don’t worry, DIN Compliance won’t know the difference. The accruals on that chip are untraceable. You trust Raamin, yes?”

  “Thank you,” West said, tucking the chip away.

  “Are you sure I can’t interest you in some Dalarian wine or Pindiki ale, my friends?” Raamin asked, standing. “I have best years. No better vintage. You trust Raamin.”

  “That’d be—”

  “No, thank you,” West said, interrupting Nunez and giving him a sidelong warning look. “We appreciate it, but we really do have to be going.”

  Raamin nodded, his earrings clinking together. “Of course. I understand.”

  Abendu bowed to his friend. “Yes, yes, yes, thank you again, my friend. I wonder if a finder’s fee would be appropriate.”

  Raamin glared at Abendu. “You are taaje and this doesn’t absolve you completely.”

  “No, no, no, certainly not,” Abendu said, bowing lower. “Thank you, my friend.”

  Raamin turned to West and smiled. “It was nice doing business with you.”

  “Likewise.”

  Abendu led them back out into the alley where Raamin’s security guard held the door for them. After closing the door, the sentry resumed his post, arms clasped in front of him, glaring at the Pathfinders

  “So, fair travelers,” Abendu said, taking the lead down the alley toward the main street. “I take you back to the bazaar, yes?”

  “Hold on just a minute,” West said, tapping his wrist computer. He frowned, the connection to Carson’s IR failing. A message panel read OUT OF RANGE. “That’s strange.”

  “What’s up, Sarge?” Nunez asked.

  “Computer says the Chief’s out of range. Maybe we’re getting some interference from these buildings.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Nunez said. “Chief knows how to take care of herself. I tell you want we need to do; we need to find some food.”

  Moretti nodded, rubbing his stomach. “I second that.”

  West considered the request. There wasn’t any reason to think the Chief was in any trouble as yet. It had only been fifteen minutes since he’d last spoke with her. And, if he was being honest with himself, he was hungry as well. “Abendu, know any good restaurants around here?”

  The Pindiki’s grin spread across his face. “Ah, yes, yes, yes, Blue Haven, great food, good drink. Service is good. My friend is chef there, no better food in Diasore.”

  West chuckled, shaking his head. Of course, he had a friend. “Lead the way.”

  Ten minutes later, Abendu led them into the Blue Haven, a restaurant on the outskirts of the bazaar district. A servitor droid, dressed in a haggard waiter’s uniform, greeted them and took them to a table near the back.

  “Doesn’t seem like much of a haven,” Moretti said, sliding across the bench seat along the back wall.

  “Definitely shady,” Nunez said, sliding in next to him. “Back home, you could get some great food in a place like this…if you didn’t get a side of salmonella in the process.”

  The restaurant was nearly empty, with a few patrons at the bar, a few groups sitting at tables. The wallpaper was peeling, the leather was cracked and split, and some of the tables and chairs looked like they had been repaired several times. Their own table had several long scratches across its surface. A chunk had been taken out of a corner.

  Abendu waved a dismissive hand through the air as he sat opposite them. “Is good, you trust Abendu.”

  West took a seat next to the alien. The waiter took their drink order, such as it was. They ended up taking what the waiter droid suggested for non-alcoholic drinks, not knowing anything about the drinks they ordered.

  “Is good food,” Abendu said again. “I go see my friend, tell him to give us special attention, yes?”

  Before any of them could object, Abendu slipped out of the booth. He stopped at a door along the back wall and spoke with a tall security droid. The droid held a short metal rod in one hand, with two thin prongs extending from the tips. After a moment, the droid opened the door, and Abendu turned, giving the humans one last smile before disappearing through the doorway.

  “I hope this food is better than that stuff we had on Jalaskian-Two,” Nunez said, unfolding a cloth napkin.

  Moretti shuddered. “Nothing but slimy okra and cabbage. If I never had to go back to that planet, it’ll be too soon.”

  West tapped his wrist computer; still no signal to Carson. He told himself not to worry, but the anxiety didn’t fade.

  The waiter droid returned with their drinks, glasses filled with a deep blue liquid, and asked for their order.

  West jabbed a thumb to the door by the bar. “Our friend said he was going to talk to the chef about it.”

  The droid turned its head to the indicated door, then back to its guests. “Of course, sir,” it said, nodding. It left without another word.

  Moretti held his medi-gauntlet above his glass, scanning the liquid inside. “Not poisonous…lots of glucose and some sort of amino acid that reads similar to ginger.”

  “That’s not exactly reassuring,” West said.

  “Hey,” Nunez said, glass tilted to his lips. “This isn’t half bad.”

  West lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed. A sweet, almost candy-like aroma filled his nostrils. He grunted approval, then tasted it. The liquid was sweet, thick, and creamy. He wiped a line of the drink from his upper lip and said, “Damn, that is good.”

  Two figures appeared in West’s peripheral vision, just to the right of their table. He looked up and to find two Zeis women and a man standing there, appearing slightly confused.

  “Hi,” Nunez said, smiling.

  “Can we help you?” West asked.

  One of the females bent at the waist, leaning close to examine the humans with her odd goat eyes. After a moment, she canted her head to one side and said, “I didn’t believe it at first, but I see now that they were right. The resemblance is astonishing, even with your strange-shaped eyes and lack of proper bone structure.”

  West ignored the slight and extended a hand. “Sergeant Jason West, Terra Nova Pathfinders.”

  The woman’s odd rectangular pupils flicked to West’s hand, then back again. When she made no attempt to take it, he pulled his hand back, smiling. “Guess your greetings are different.”

  She touched her forehead with the tips of her fingers, then touched West’s. “May the Brightness guide you. I am Jena.”

  Forcing himself not to recoil at her touch, West smiled. “Thank you, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “You are new to the Diasore,” Jena said, more of a statement than a question.

  Nunez chuckled. “Hell, we’re new to this whole galaxy, sweetheart.” He winked at the second female, still standing behind Jena.

  To West’s surprise,
the alien smiled and winked back. He made a mental note to arrange some extra PT for the sergeant when they got back to the Valiant. “Yes,” he said. “We’re very new here. Actually, you’re only the second species we’ve met so far.”

  “And your first stop was this place?”

  “Well, no,” West said. “We we’re brought here by someone else. A trader named Abendu.”

  Jena spit on the floor, uttering several words that West guessed were curses. “That Pindiki bastard. He is a snake.”

  “I don’t know,” Nunez said, taking another drink. When he pulled the glass away, a line of blue liquid stuck to his upper lip. “He didn’t seem too bad.”

  “He is a thief and a liar, and worse,” Jena said, lips curling into a sneer. “Trader, you say? Did he tell you what he barters in?”

  West shook his head. “No.”

  “Slaves. He is known for kidnapping young woman, especially Zeis women, and forcing them into service aboard Pindiki sex cruisers.”

  The image of those three Zeis woman back in Raamin’s shop flashed into West’s mind, a hot wave of anger flowing through his chest. “That son of a bitch.”

  “Hey,” a deep, gravelly voice said behind them.

  West turned to see two Burathi, dressed in black and brown coveralls, staring down at them. One was taller than the other, its brown fur tinged with white. The sleeves on its coveralls were rolled up past the elbow, revealing bulging, furry, muscular arms. Both were easily two heads taller than the humans at the table and the Zeis standing next to them.

  The taller Burathi sneered, “Dis Munak’s table.”

  West held up an apologetic hand. “Hey, sorry, we didn’t know this was—”

  The Burathi roared, swinging one of its large brown paws down against the side of West’s booth. Wood cracked and splintered. The force of the blow sent West flying sideways, out of the booth, onto the floor. He tucked into a ball, rolling away from the scattering wood, coming up on a knee.

  Nunez shouted several curses as he stood, flipping the table off its stand, then charging forward, ramming it into the two aliens. He pressed forward, knocking the smaller alien off its feet before the larger Burathi got its footing and stopped him cold. The Burathi ripped the table in half like it was made of paper.

  Moretti was on his feet, swinging his gauss carbine up on its harness.

  The Burathi threw the table back at Nunez. It slammed into the two Pathfinders, knocking them back against the wall.

  One of the security droids appeared next to the Burathi, holding the rod in one robotic hand. “Excuse me, sir, but—”

  The Burathi roared, grabbing the droid by the head in one massive paw and ramming it up into the ceiling. Sparks erupted from the impact, spraying in all directions, singeing the alien’s fur, sending curls of smoke rising into the air. The Burathi roared, ripping the droid free, then tossing it to the floor.

  The droid crashed into a chair, sliding across the cheap, carpeted floor, coming to a rest near one of the square structural beams that were scattered around the restaurant.

  The Burathi started for Nunez and Moretti again, wide jaws open, exposing rows of sharp, jagged teeth.

  “Hey, Yogi!” West shouted, grabbing another chair, holding it out to the side. “I’m not done with you yet!”

  The larger alien’s head snapped to the side, blazing yellow eyes locked onto West. It let out another roar, dropped to all fours, and moved toward the Pathfinder. It roared, canting its head to the side. The smell of dead fish and rotten fruit reached West, making his eyes water and stomach turn. He had to focus not to vomit.

  “Great idea, Jason,” West muttered to himself as the alien approached. He crouched down, reaching for the carbine strapped under his arm.

  Moretti pushed himself to his feet, bringing his carbine up. As the barrel came level with the Burathi, a blue goo spat out of nowhere, covering the weapon.

  Another security droid appeared, holding a snub-nosed weapon in one hand. “Discharging a projectile weapon on these premises—”

  “Count my time!” Nunez shouted, leaping through the air, landing on the Burathi’s back. He grabbed hold of the alien’s leather shirt with one hand and a clump of fur with the other. “Come on you overgrown grizzly, gimmie some!”

  “Nunez, what the hell?” West shouted.

  Munak roared, rising to stand on its back legs, twisting at the waist, trying to get at the Pathfinder. It twisted back and forth, attempting to throw Nunez off, but he held fast.

  “Sarge, I got ‘em right where I want him! Ugh!”

  The Burathi lunged backward, slamming Nunez into the wall of the restaurant. Nunez grunted and fell to the floor as the bear stepped forward again.

  “Munak mad!” the alien bellowed, flipping another table over.

  Moretti dove out of the way, then scrambled away from the second Burathi as it reached for him. A second bouncer droid appeared and drove its shock baton into the alien’s side. The bear shrieked, rising up on its back legs, as electricity arched across its body. It twisted around, connecting a backhanded blow to the droid’s midsection, sending it flying.

  The shock-rod appeared to have done something; the bear slumped down on all fours, wobbling slightly, looking confused and dazed.

  Munak pulled a blade from its belt. The thing was easily the size of a regular human sword, but in the Burathi’s hands looked more like a knife.

  What had Abendu said about these things? West asked himself, backing away as the bear-alien approached. Lots of strength, not too smart.

  West’s eyes darted to the sparking light panel hanging from the ceiling, then to the bouncer droid still lying on the ground, just a few feet behind him.

  Pulling his own tactical blade from its sheath on his vest, West muttered, “Here goes nothing.”

  He assumed a combat stance, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet, knees slightly bent, hunched over, holding the knife in a reverse grip, blade down. He lunged forward, swiping at the Munak, missing by a wide margin.

  The Burathi stepped back, growling. It canted its head to the side and smiled. “Finally,” Munak said.

  West took a step back and to the left as Munak advanced, hoping his mental map of the restaurant was accurate.

  Munak lunged forward, swinging his blade in a wide horizontal arc. West ducked back, not bothering to block the blow. The blade missed him by several inches, but he could feel the air against his face as it passed.

  “That all you got?” West shouted, taking another step back. His right shoulder brushed against the vertical beam, right where he thought it would be.

  Munak roared and charged again, bringing the knife back in a reverse swing. The Burathi’s blade slammed into the beam with a loud crack, splintering the wood, embedding three-quarters of the blade into the dark wood. The alien bellowed in frustration, trying to yank the blade free. It held fast.

  West rolled to his right, stopping next to the first fallen security droid and grabbing its shock-rod. He leapt forward and jammed it into the Burathi’s forearm.

  Blue streaks of electricity arced up and down the alien’s furry arm, singeing hair. The Burathi’s entire body trembled as the rod sent pulses of energy through its muscles. Munak’s voice cracked halfway through his painful roar, as the alien ran out of breath.

  West pulled the wand away and Munak immediately lost his grip on his sword/knife, stumping back, dazed. He shook his head, fur and loose skin flapping back and forth, and roared. Sparks from the dangling light panel arced behind him.

  “Shit,” West said, dropping the rod. He took a step back, bumping into a chair. He lifted it off the ground, holding it feet first toward the Burathi.

  “Have a seat!” West shouted, charging the alien. The chair’s legs cracked as West slammed it into the Burathi’s barrel-like chest, and with a savage cry of strength, the Pathfinder pushed.

  Munak held his ground, roaring as he planted his feet, arms reaching for the Pathfinder. West felt a presenc
e next to him, then hands joining his. Moretti gritted his teeth, grunting with the effort, as both men pushed the alien back.

  The Burathi collided with the exposed panel and electricity lashed out, arcing around the alien’s body. Sparks erupted from the mass of frayed wires and damaged photocells. Munak’s body jerked upright, back arching, limbs locked out. A painful cry died in the alien’s throat as its eyes rolled back into its head.

  Other lights flickered as the restaurant’s power grid struggled to maintain. Several surrounding panels burst, spraying shards of glass and sparks in all directions.

  Moretti put a hand on West’s shoulder. “Sarge, come on, let’s go!”

  “Where’s Nunez?” West said, pulling his attention away from the trembling alien.

  The Pathfinder was sitting on his knees, grimacing, obviously taking painful breaths. West and Moretti helped Nunez to his feet and started for the exit, passing the second Burathi, who was now more concerned with helping its companion than attacking the three humans.

  They found the three Zeis waiting for them outside the restaurant, appearing surprised that the Pathfinders walked away from the encounter.

  “You are very accomplished fighters,” Jena said.

  “Yeah,” West said, adjusting Nunez’s arm around his shoulder. “Thanks for the help.”

  “We apologize, but the Zeis have a non-aggression pact with the Burathi. Our laws would not allow us to assist you in your fight against them.”

  “Great.” West tapped his wrist comm. “Now let’s find the Chief and get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter 22

  Hale could hear the uproar before he’d even reached the chambers. The muffled shouting and cursing behind the closed doors didn’t bode well. He’d expected it, but he hadn’t thought the backlash would’ve happened so quickly.

  He opened the door and stepped into the council chambers. Several of the occupants near the back turned, saw him, and started pointing.

  “There he is!”

  “We aren’t your personal army!”

  “Who do you think you are?”

  “Where’s my home?”