by Reiter
“Stand up, man!” Dungias whispered, but his intensity did not need volume to be understood and Hunro did as he was told. Siekor was also quick to get up, though he favored his wounded hand. Dungias looked at both men intently. “Mr. Dugger, kindly return Mr. Siekor’s weapon to his holster. I did not issue that weapon or the weapons belt, so I can understand that there may be some difficulty with the device.
“Gentlemen, I am not given to speeches,” Dungias said, placing his left fist on his hip. “We have already shared an exchange, and I think I have made my point very clear. I do not care what you think of me; I do not need your personal acknowledgement or your friendship. But as a functionality of the Captain’s ship and crew, you will, at all times, demonstrate the utmost respect for that woman! Need I remind you that without her order you would still be slaves? We will continue now, and if there is anything in the way of fortunate circumstance, we will happen across a medical technician of some capacity.
“And, no, Hunro Junthan, I do not care that you are Darkbred and that Madame Feldi was a less than savory guardian; just as I am not moved, Willis Dereek Siekor, that you are Vohlbred and at one time attended the Forge with the hopes of graduating near the top of your class. However, it seems very likely that your supposed best friend, Naldeln, was the party who orchestrated your downfall and eventual expulsion from the Imperial Academy. Continuing to count him among your close and trusted friends will not yield you the second chance you desperately seek but never voice.
“What you should both concern yourselves with is what you will do with the second chance you were given the moment you stepped out of those restraints and out of the Slaver cages! End of the lecture, and the last of my passive approach to creating the optimum crew for my Captain.” Dungias turned and resumed his trekking of Nulaki. Ephaliun stood there with lifted eyebrows and his arms folded.
“Uh… I can’t say whether or not he’s a patient man,” the young man shared. “… none of us have ever pressed it to verify… but the first time I ever saw the man fight, he took on… and took out… eight men at the same time. One was gladiator.” Ephaliun looked at his brace-com and shook his head. “… and it only took him a few seconds longer than the fight and speech he just gave you two. Just something to think about.” The young student of the Black Scarab turned to follow the First Mate of the Xara-Mansura, and Siekor looked at Hunro.
“Well, one of us needs to say it. Was he right about you?” Siekor asked the large bleeding man. Hunro nodded and Siekor looked at the white-haired alien. “Me too; every bit of it! Guess what one of the classes was at the Forge. How to be sensitive to mental probes. There’s not a computer that can access Imperial records around for days, and I didn’t feel a damn thing in my head! Do what you want, Soft Bone, but I’ll be damned if I go straight up against that thing again.” The more slender of the two men walked at a quicker gait to catch up with the First Mate. Hunro looked around and quickly weighed his options. He did not like the alien man in the least. His history being unveiled in the fashion it was had not made matters between them cozier. But Hunro had been a Gunner’s Mate long enough to know the difference between someone awarded the First Officer status and someone who was First Officer with every move they made. If any action was to be taken against the Captain, the one they called Z would have to be dealt with first. That was a proposition that seemed to Hunro to be highly unlikely in the one-on-one capacity. He wiped his face of some of the blood and breathed through his mouth as he started to follow Siekor.
Ephaliun caught up with Dungias and looked up briefly at the man.
“What is it, Dugger?” Dungias asked.
“Nothing, sir,” he quickly answered.
“Please, call me Z.”
“You got it, Z. That was pretty impressive back there.”
“And now you wish to be my shadow coddler?” Dungias inquired. “It is a trait I have observed you demonstrating on two previous occasions. When it seemed that Cupid was the voice of the group, you positioned yourself in close proximity to him. Once Nulaki earned your admiration, you did the same with him. Mr. Conadier has, to his credit, yoked the best advantage from that relationship. And now that you have had your discussions with Tank and Tolip, you seek another icon to hide behind.”
“All I did was give you a compliment!” Ephaliun argued.
“All you did was insult my intelligence by failing to engage your own,” Dungias replied. “Note: you did not respond well to the chat shared with your fellow crewmen who were speaking to you on your behalf. Second note: when Cutter was placed in her position, you did no such maneuvering, and likewise with the Captain, there is only distance. Conclusion: you are a budding misogynist and ableist.”
“I’m a what?!”
“You distrust and dislike females, and you discriminate against the disabled,” Dungias clarified. He noticed that Ephaliun stopped and that his hand went to his hip. Dungias stopped walking, but he did not turn to face the young man. “You also have difficulty in receiving criticism.”
“And you don’t?”
“That depends, Dugger,” Dungias said as he slowly turned. “Is the criticism offered to me accurate? For the purposes of this discussion, let us presume it is. What then would a negative reaction indicate? My distaste for the one offering me truth, or the shortcoming within myself that I had failed to reconcile? Truth of self is perhaps the most difficult to manage; I have yet to encounter anything more difficult.”
“When was the last time you had to deal with a truth of self, Z?”
“I was dealing with one about the same time you were taken into indentured status, Dugger,” Dungias said softly as the other two men were closing the gap. Ephaliun looked up at Z, astonished. “And let me say one other thing, when your mind is one of your greatest possessions, coming to the conclusion that you are wrong is not a simple process. I do not envy you there. But I do envy one thing: the family you have gathered around you, pulling for you the way that they are. And like it or not, that does include the Captain.” Dungias walked away and Ephaliun stood there as Hunro and Siekor walked by him.
“At last,” Dungias said as he came to the edge of the township. He approached a brothel and looked at the building. Given the time of day, there was only one woman on the front porch and she looked to be the proprietress of the establishment. She was reclined in a chair, enjoying a glass of wine.
“At last what?” Siekor asked and Dungias looked over his shoulder. “Sir!” Siekor quickly added. “At last what, sir?”
“We have arrived,” Dungias said, waiting for Ephaliun to catch up.
“Uhm, sir, could we look for the med-tech you mentioned first if we’re going to do business here?” Siekor asked, looking somewhat anxious.
“We’re not here for that kind of business,” Ephaliun said before looking at Dungias. “You found another way down.”
“Siekor, tell me how I did it?” Dungias tasked. He waited only for a moment as Siekor looked around and stammered. Dungias then asked the same of Hunro. He received the same reaction and answer. Dungias then turned to young Ephaliun. “You’ve been in the company of the crafty-minded. Can you tell me how I did it?”
Ephaliun looked at the building and the one neighboring it. “Yeah, I can,” he said as he looked down the street. “All of the buildings are mounted on long-legged stands, probably to anchor themselves into the ground. Things must get pretty stormy around here. And all of these buildings,” he said pointing down the street. “… they use that underside to store things. All of them… except for the brothel; it’s skirted with reinforced planks that are built down into the ground. No one is meant to go under that building… and you probably can’t, because there’s a stairway down.”
“Well done. Perhaps there is a reason why so many are making an effort for you,” Dungias said as he approached the building.
“Is he ever serious?” Siekor asked. “This guy’s a laugh-a-minute!”
“Excuse me, Miss,” Dungias said to t
he woman who had failed her attempt to look as if she had not noticed the four men.
“You’re too late for last night and too early for tonight, darlin’,” the woman said in soft, scratchy voice. “Typical timing for a man. We’re closed!”
“And that rise in her voice was not for our benefit,” Dungias thought, feeling soft footfalls through the ground. “Three… no, four men have been alerted to our presence.
“We are not seeking companionship,” Dungias said, stepping up on the porch. “We need a discrete entry into the city below.” Dungias leaned forward to whisper to the woman. “I have been told that women possess intuition. I know of several who substantiate the supposition. I wonder where you will fall in that regard.
“No,” Dungias shifted his body to stay in front of the woman as she started to look at those who were with him. “I am all you need to consider for the four you will soon need to replace. Yes four,” Dungias said, softly tapping the woman’s chin with his finger. “The fifth is still with… the snoring portly woman. You are probably right to think that they are in love.”
“Stand down,” the woman commanded. “We’re good out here.”
“Intuition indeed,” Dungias said, standing up straight.
“I’ve got someone who can take a look at your men,” the woman offered. “Sandthrunn’s not the sort of place you want to walk around in with wounded men. Blood in the water, so to speak.”
Dungias nodded toward the woman. “We are paying customers.”
It took all of thirty-five minutes for the still-inebriated Healer to restore Hunro and Siekor, and to his word, Dungias paid the man for his talents and the woman for her intuition. She led the four men deeper into the house, entering her office. Without being told, Dungias approached the fireplace and felt along the right side of the wall next to it before pushing on a stone. The fireplace spun around revealing a small chamber that the woman and the four men entered. It spun again and the group was brought to a small room with a slender spiral stairway starting in the far corner. The woman ushered the foursome to the stairs and Dungias quickly started down. In his fifth step, he reached to his shoulders, tapping once. His cloak fell over his back and he pulled the hood over his head.
“Mr. Dugger, would you mind being the face for this little entourage?”
“Permission to take that position, sir,” Siekor said before Ephaliun could respond.
“The call is yours, Dugger,” Dungias advised.
Ephaliun took only a moment, coming to the quick conclusion that if the call was indeed his to make, the First Mate had no misgivings about Siekor taking the task. “Okay,” he said softly. “… eventually we have to see what they can do besides bleed and get shot.” Dungias was glad to be in the front of the group so that his facial expression could not be read. A slight smile found his lips from the swagger Ephaliun had assumed, but it slowly faded as Dungias took note of how long they walked down the stairs.
After a descent of some fifty meters, the stairway opened out to a huge platform. Three men in glowing armour looked up at the four coming down. Suddenly they heard the proprietress of the brothel saying that four were coming down and should be allowed passage. Dungias could feel the passing EnerJa: augmented sonics which carried the woman’s voice. No, there was little technology allowed, but the people of the planet of Gulmurr had found replacements. The four passed by the guards to another stairway. This one was wide enough for all four men to walk abreast and was cut into the stone. The simple torchlight seemed to be absorbed and reflected by the stone, giving the entire stairway an orange hue. They descended again, taking an over fifty-meter descent.
Dungias reached the bottom of the stairway and stepped aside. Siekor took the front and Hunro was gestured to follow. Dungias was at the rear as they stepped out into another establishment of ill repute. This one, however, was not closed for business and the four had to make their way through the guests and paramours, eventually finding an exit that led out to a wide and stone-paved street.
Sandthrunn was nothing short of magnificent! Dungias’ earlier approximation had only accounted for half the city. Carved out of the bedrock, the markings of the Delman were more than prevalent to any eye that could recognize them. Dungias had read about the race, called Gwearlyn in some regions and Dwarves in others; they were master craftsmen, and the Traveler could feel the ages they had invested in making this place, each cut of stone and chip into the rock. It was truly a throne in the sands.
“Indeed,” Dungias said as he looked around, sending directions to Siekor’s wrist-com. The young man started up the street and made several turns, quickening his walking pace. The four of them were at a jog before Dungias signaled Siekor to take to an alley and stop midway down. Touching Alpha, Dungias lifted all four of them to the roof of the building. A man that each of them remembered from the brothel happened by, looked into the alley and ran down the street obviously looking for the party of four.
“Had she sent no one, I would have been disappointed,” Dungias muttered.
“And she might have had to answer to someone,” Siekor added. “The way down that we took didn’t strike me as one for public use. I just hope we haven’t crossed up a guild or something.”
“Agreed. And now that we are indeed on our own,” Dungias said as he started toward the opposite end of the roof. “… let us be about the business of finding our dear Mr. Conadier.”
Looking back you realize that a very special person passed briefly through your life – and it was you. It is not too late to find that person again.
Robert Brault
(Rims Time: XII-4202.02)
There was silence and stillness, but only because anxiety kept everyone from moving and most from talking. Mel felt he had to say something, break the silence, or risk going utterly insane from the waiting.
“This is going to go down as the craziest idea in history,” he whispered to Jocasta whose face lit up with a smile.
“Only until the next one, Tank,” she replied. “I’m surprised Tolip went for it.”
“I’m sure she had her misgivings up to the point where Cutter put her stamp of approval on it,” Mel pointed out. “After she put her credits into the mix, that shipment was sealed and marked sent!”
“I didn’t know Annsura put her thing down like that,” Jocasta remarked.
“After Z’s training and mind-works, we all kind of dropped what happened in the hangar,” Mel informed. “… but those two did a major reversal! They’re like best friends now.”
“Well, they’ve survived their clash and the potential stink of liking the same guy,” Jocasta stated.
“You didn’t buy her crap about Cupid either, eh?”
“Not for a second!” Jocasta said as she looked around to make certain their plan would not be interrupted by some unforeseen circumstance. “If anything, it was Cupid acting like a butthead that slowed Tolip’s approach, but she was definitely feeling him.” Mel chuckled at the insight and awareness of his Captain. “Still, to give that up for Cutter says a lot! It takes something like a familial bond to do that.”
“I think that Silnee just feels relieved with Annsura around,” Mel reflected. “She’s always been the self-appointed big sister of the rest of us. With Annsura stepping up to Cutter, Silnee was able to step back and actually get into what makes Silnee tick. Now that she’s piloting, I don’t think she wants to ever go back to being a leader-type.”
“That’s too bad,” Jocasta weighed. “I thought she had a strong knack for it.
“A better knack than she has for stick and rudder anyway,” Jocasta thought.
“You and me both,” Mel returned before his brace-com gave a soft beep. “They’re making their run!” Jocasta closed her eyes for a moment and steadied herself.
“Please, please, please let this work,” she prayed though she had no deity to send her prayers. “If I break Z’s latest projects and take him back corpses, there will be hell to pay. I just know it!”
“This is all because I thought that Princess was a cool name, isn’t it?” Silnee muttered as she walked beside Pristacia.
“Will you let that go and get your head right, please?!” Pristacia shot back, forming a slight smile and a look of wonder on her face. The two young women walked up to the mine, but neither of them were noticed until Pristacia shrieked, putting her hands to her mouth.
“Oh… my… stars!” Pristacia gasped as she pointed at the closest Djinn. “Ginger, look! I told you we would see deities on this trip!”
“Humans!” one Djinn proclaimed as his eyes flared white for a moment. “You are forbid–”
“A moment, brother spirit,” the Djinn furthest away from the entry into the mines called out as legs formed where colored vapors had been. He took long and powerful strides to stand in front of Pristacia. “Before we cast these mortals away, let us inquire as to what brings them before us.”
“Oh, my name is Hope and this is my friend, Ginger,” Pristacia said as she approached three steps only to withdraw one. The Djinn to whom she was speaking advanced two strides and Jocasta smiled, shaking her head.
“What the hell did Z teach her?!” she thought. “She hasn’t even laid the hook and she’s drawing him closer. Sure hope the info Satithe was able to dig up was accurate about these things.”
“We’re supposed to be at Oasis City,” Pristacia stated. “But we got tired of the Imperials always throwing their weight around. So we–” the Djinn lifted his hand for Pristacia to stop talking.
“I don’t need my MajiKs to know you stink of duplicity, woman,” the Djinn said, just before losing his smile and smacking Pristacia to the ground.
“Shit!” Jocasta said, drawing her blaster. “This is a bust!”
“No!” Pristacia cried, holding up her hand toward the Djinn. “Please, wait!” Jocasta knew Pristacia was talking to her Captain across the open channel, and that Captain had a decision to make.
