by Tom Dublin
This wasn't going to be easy.
Fifty hostages.
Fifty hostages who hadn't yet worked out that together they could most likely overpower him. And the ones who had were likely to be the do-good types who weren't prepared to sacrifice their fellow captives as they mounted an attack.
Never having used the type of gun Mildew Fester had provided, he didn't know how long the charge would last or whether the ion-pulse firing mechanism required time to reset between volleys.
Even if he managed to take out eight or nine of these pathetic little fuckers, there was every chance those following would be more successful in their attack.
While there was bound to be at least one or two of these money-hungry peasants with a lower-than-acceptable level of morality, he could only hope the overall standard of integrity remained high enough to keep him safe from reprisal.
Pussies!
"QUIET!" he roared, all too aware that chatter could easily disguise small groups of insurgents planning to overpower him.
Malfic cursed himself for not thinking of bringing another prisoner with him during the breakout. While adding an extra body to the plan would have been risky, at least he would have had someone to help corral these fools.
He forced the self-criticism from his mind. He had to concentrate; had to stand firm and ensure he stayed in charge.
The group of hostages fell silent, aside from the rasping sobs of some of the more pitiful punters.
By now the entire room was lit by the banks of flashing blue lights from the police cars in the street outside. Malfic knew there would also be armed cops ready at the rear of the building, and quite probably a team on the roof, too.
He was surrounded.
"Fuck!" he spat, taking two angry paces and turning to stomp back again. "FUCK!"
"Hey, chill out, guy!" whined one of the bargaining chips near the front of the group. "There's no need to lose your cool."
Malfic spun on him, thumbing back the hammer on his gun as his finger tightened against the trigger.
The group gasped as one. Most of them had seen this madman dispatch his partner—the guy in the green gimp suit. If this psycho was unhinged enough to kill his only ally, surely he wouldn't hesitate when it came to murdering one of the hostages.
"Don't do it," advised a calm voice from the rear of the group.
Malfic looked up to see Sergeant Barber looking right at him. The police officer shook his head slightly.
"You don't want to make things worse for yourself."
Malfic almost laughed. Worse? How could things be any fucking worse?
Still, the pig had a point. If he was to execute one of these dickless douche-flutes this early in the stand-off, he might as well go ahead and slaughter them all.
And that would leave the authorities with no reason not to storm the place and splash his brains from here to the fiery pits of Hell.
"Just stay calm," continued Barber. "I'm sure whoever has taken charge outside will be in contact soon, and you can negotiate your way out of here without anyone else getting hurt."
Maintaining eye contact with Barber, Malfic pushed the hammer back in place and slowly lowered his weapon.
Which was when the voice rang out.
"Hey, fuckwad! This is Chief of Police Bis Pargo and I'm giving you ten minutes to release those hostages before I order my men to come in there, rip your balls off, and stuff them down your goddamn throat, you hear?!"
As Malfic squinted out through the casino doors Sergeant Barber closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.
"Well, that's it," he muttered. "We're all dead."
Planet Taglen, Lymak City, Temple of Persha
Dabriel Yagash blinked as he came around, trying extremely hard to banish whoever was using the inside of his skull as a steel drum.
"He's back with us," announced a female voice.
The blurry figure of someone he didn't recognize stepped aside, allowing someone else he didn't recognize to take their place.
Where in the name of Persha was he? And who were these people?
People...
Oh my!
Dabriel's eyes snapped wide open as the memory pounded home. There had been a group of strange-looking people attacking the temple, and when he’d tried to protect the church and its holy treasures from the invaders the ugliest among them had run straight at him and knocked him over.
Panicked, he tried to jump to his feet, but only succeeded in slipping off the bench where the attackers had seated him and falling to the floor.
His eyes grew wider as he realized that his hands and feet were bound together with some type of plastic strip.
"Wh-what do you want?!" he stammered, looking from one face to another. "If you try to cause me harm the Goddess Persha will protect me!"
"Persha can kiss my crusty Yollin ass!" growled one of the interlopers.
It was the ugly one again!
"Sinner!" squealed Dabriel, struggling to wiggle toward the door on his bottom.
Another of the gang of raiders placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him still. "We're not going to hurt you," he insisted.
"I'm already hurt!" protested Dabriel, nodding to Tc'aarlat. "The ugly one hurt me!"
"Hey, Draven, he's talking about you!"
"No," protested Dabriel. "I meant you!"
"Ha!"
"Shut the fuck up, Draven!"
"Make me..."
"I fucking will, you rat bastard. Just name the time and place."
"Quiet!" bellowed the gate-crasher holding Dabriel in place. "That was an accident," he said in a much kinder voice than the others were using. "We're sorry about that. We just want some information."
"And a body," said Tc'aarlat over Jack's shoulder. "Don't forget to ask him about the body."
"I won't forge—” Jack sighed. "Are you going to let me do this, or do you want to take over? No, don't answer that! Just go outside and check that there are no more of those white-robed ass-baskets out there."
"Why me?" barked the Yollin. "Why can't Draven check?"
"Both of you go!" yelled Jack, finally losing his cool. "Now!"
Grumbling, Tc'aarlat stomped to the door and out into the main area of the temple, Draven at his heels.
"Now," said Jack, turning back to Dabriel, "I'm going to cut you free, but I need your promise that you won't try to do anything silly, okay?"
The stocky man nodded.
With one hand, Jack grabbed the cable-tie holding Dabriel's feet together, and reached out to the two women behind him with the other. The taller of the two handed him a knife.
But not just any knife.
It was a golden dagger.
The Dagger of Persha!
The Dagger of Persha that must not under ANY circumstances be handled by anyone other than a priest of the temple or a self-sacrificing sinner, lest the Goddess herself return to Taglen to smite whomsoever should have been protecting such an important relic.
And HE was that failed protector!
Dabriel's terrified eyes rolled back in his head as he lapsed into unconsciousness once more.
14
Planet Taglen, Lymak City, Temple of Persha
The second time Dabriel Yagash regained consciousness that day he was surprised to find himself sitting in a chair but not strapped to it.
He glanced at the door leading to the main area of the temple, but found the potential exit blocked by the two aliens who had been bickering with each other earlier.
Two women stood before the opposite door, rendering that an unlikely choice for escape.
That left the final alien—the male who appeared to be in charge of the group. He was sitting in the chair opposite Dabriel's, watching him with interest as he shook his head to clear the fuzziness.
"How are you feeling?" the alien inquired.
"My head hurts," replied Dabriel.
"Here," said Jack, holding out a glass of clear liquid.
Dabriel eyed the offering suspici
ously.
"It's just water," Jack assured Dabriel, taking a sip himself. "It will make you feel better."
Nervous, Dabriel accepted the glass, but after a few mouthfuls he had to admit his interrogator had been correct. It did make him feel better.
"Thank you," he said, setting the glass on the floor beside his chair.
"No problem." Jack smiled. "Now, if you don't mind, we have a couple of questions we'd like to ask you, Mr. Phisk."
"Wait!" cried Dabriel, holding up a hand. "You think I'm Jolio Phisk?"
Jack nodded, glancing at the taller of the two women who simply shrugged in response. "Are you telling me you aren't Phisk?"
"Of course I'm not," exclaimed Dabriel. "He's high priest of the Temple of Persha. I don't compare to him in any way, shape, or form."
"Whoa, there's a tightly knotted complex for some lucky therapist to unravel," commented Tc'aarlat.
"Where is Phisk?" asked Jack, drawing Dabriel's attention back to himself.
"I... I don't know," replied the deputy high priest. "But he's not here."
"We know that," asserted Draven. "We searched the place from top to bottom while you were taking your nap."
"Here's the thing," said Jack, edging his chair just a little closer to Dabriel's. "I think you do know where Jolio Phisk is right now, and you're going to tell us."
"I don't, and I won't," Dabriel insisted. "I can't!"
Jack sighed, looking up at his colleagues once again.
None of them had anything to say.
Jack edged even closer to the apprehensive priest.
"Have you heard of the Etheric Federation?"
Dabriel's brow knitted for a second. "Yes," he replied, clearly not expecting this change of direction in the questioning. "Everyone has."
"Okay," said Jack. "Now, we are official representatives of the Federation, and it would only take one quick call to bring a metric ton of Etheric shit down on you and this entire temple. And, trust me, you do not want to be the person responsible for that."
"They would tear this place apart," agreed Adina. "All they need is the tiniest hint that your religion isn't a hundred percent legit or moral—y'know, such as making members of the public commit suicide and then cooking their corpses for tramp food—and they'd have entire teams of nasty bastards crawling all over this temple. And if they were to find something, anything they didn't like the look of..."
Instead of finishing the sentence, Adina simply widened her eyes and let out a long, dramatic breath.
"I've seen them at work," added Tc'aarlat, "and let me tell you, buddy, I wouldn't want these nosy sonsofbitches going through my past."
"Although to be fair, you'd be unlikely to remember it if they did discover something unpleasant about you," continued Draven. "Hell, you'd be hard-pressed to remember your own damn name by the time they'd finished with you. And you sure as hell wouldn't be waking up on this poxy planet."
"Please!" begged Dabriel, his eyes wide with fear. "You mustn't. Phisk..."
"Is the guy we really want to question," finished Jack, "so just tell us where he is and we can make all this unpleasantness go away."
Dabriel lowered his head for a moment. When he raised it again he wore a different expression. One of defiance.
"I don't care what happens to me," he announced firmly. "So go ahead—call your Federation friends. I'm not saying another word."
"All right," said Jack with a sigh as he pulled his tablet from inside his jacket. "But, don't say we didn't warn you."
"Wait!" said Adina, crossing to crouch beside Dabriel's chair. She rested a hand on his forearm. "You say you don't care what happens to you, because you do care what happens to someone else. Who is it?"
"What?" spluttered Dabriel. "You... I mean... No! I don't know what you're talking about!"
Draven approached Dabriel's chair from the other side. "Adina's right, isn't she? You won't talk because you're afraid that if you do, Phisk will target somebody you care for."
Tears flooded Dabriel's eyes.
"My daughter, Hamble" he croaked. "He's always promised that if I were ever to disclose any of his secrets he’d kill her."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Jack, sliding his tablet away.
Dabriel nodded his thanks but kept his gaze lowered.
"As horrible as that threat is, I've finally heard one thing about this wacko religion I like," said Adina. "In many other cultures priests are forbidden from marrying and having families. Some even insist on total abstinence from sexual contact."
"It's the same here," said Dabriel, drying his eyes. "I met Jemima not long after I graduated from the seminary. We both knew what we were doing made us sinners, but we couldn't stop."
Adina squeezed his arm. "And then Hamble came along?"
Dabriel nodded. "Phisk promoted me to this office as soon as he found out about her."
"You couldn't keep her a secret from him?" Tc'aarlat inquired.
The deputy high priest closed his eyes before answering. "Jemima died in childbirth. I wanted her to go to the hospital, but she was so scared about what would happen if one of the doctors was to contact Phisk that she stayed home. There were complications, and..."
The rest of Dabriel's explanation faded away.
"If I help you in any way Phisk will declare us both sinners. Me for engaging in a relationship, and Hamble for being born out of wedlock. He will make us both self-sacrifice."
"Not if we protect you," Jack assured him.
Despite his tears Dabriel almost laughed. "From Phisk? You clearly don't know him very well. He owns this planet now. He can do just about anything he likes. There's no way you could protect us."
All eyes turned to Callis as she stepped forward. Adina stood and moved back, allowing the teenager to take her place at Dabriel's side.
"I know you're scared," she told him. "I was too, for such a long time. I was kidnapped by some very bad men. Bad men who hurt me and murdered my friends. Then these guys showed up and saved all of us."
Dabriel looked at Callis as she talked.
"They saved me when I thought it couldn’t happen. When I thought I would spend whatever short life I had left in constant fear and pain."
Callis smiled and took Dabriel's hand.
"If anyone can protect you and your daughter, it's them."
Dabriel looked from Callis to Jack and wiped the tears from his eyes before taking a long, deep breath.
"Jolio Phisk is at the Blue Diamond Casino on the Moon of Hann!"
Moon of Hann, Blue Diamond Casino
Oxbo Lake shot out a hand, grabbing Chief Bis Pargo's wrist before he could raise the megaphone to his mouth again.
"Sir, I know that you choosing to handle the negotiations yourself was my idea, but I wonder if I may suggest allowing the officer with training for these scenarios to take charge?"
Pargo scowled. "Why?"
"Because I doubt yelling at the suspect that you're going to 'shove a red-hot poker right up his chocolate starfish’ is not likely to result in a peaceful solution to this siege."
"I agree!" barked a tall figure beside Lake.
"And who the fuck might you be?" demanded the police chief.
"I'm Chan Peel," said the man. "The department's trained negotiator."
"Didn't I send word that you should stand down?"
"Yes sir, you did."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I didn't think you were serious, sir."
"Of course I was serious!" snapped Pargo. "Imagine the publicity when those hostages are brought out because of me!"
"Even if they're brought out in body bags?" asked Peel.
Oxbo Lake buried his face in his hands.
"If the shitdick behind this is in one of those bags I still see it as a win," asserted Pargo. "I'll come out of this as tough on crime—exactly what's needed to be mayor of this craphole. Now sod off before I demote you to..."
He turned to his publicist. "What's a really shitty
job?"
Lake shrugged. "Right now, sir? Mine."
"Fair enough," growled Pargo, switching his gaze to Chan Peel. "Sod off before I give you his job!"
As the negotiator wandered away, cursing under his breath, Pargo once again snatched up the megaphone.
"Please, sir," begged Lake. "At least try to be considerate. There are lives at stake here as well as votes."
Pargo sighed. "Very well."
He raised the megaphone to his mouth.
"You in there! What do you want? What are your demands?"
He paused, continuing just before Lake was about to point out that he shouldn't expect an immediate response.
"Whatever they are, I won't even listen until you make a gesture of goodwill and release those hostages!"
Inside the casino, Jolio Phisk sat silently among his fellow captives, working out which of them would be useful as a living shield should the police storm the building and a gun battle ensue.
Vimor Malfic paced up and down a short distance away, cursing his luck and desperately trying to devise an escape plan.
As Chief Pargo's latest communication echoed around the room, he looked at the doors and snarled.
Stupid pig! As if he'd even consider going along with that idea. If he freed the hostages he'd have nothing left to bargain with. The cops would use him for target practice and not stop until he was so dead his ancestors felt it.
However, if he were to release some of the hostages—no, most of them—that would even out the numbers a little. Give him fewer potential have-a-go heroes to worry about and make that gesture of goodwill Chief Fucker McFuckface was yelling about.
Ha! The pig in charge had just given him the perfect answer to his most immediate problem.
"Listen up!" Malfic yelled, spinning on the hostages. "You, you, and you!" he said, pointing at Lowlon Quell, Nat, and one of the entrance greeters with his gun. "Get over there by the change machine!"
"Why?" demanded the bikini babe. "What are you going to do with us?"
"Just do it!"
Looking nervously at the other hostages, Nat helped Quell to his feet and helped him to stagger shakily over to the spot their captor had indicated. The greeter, Deedee Joh, followed, making the effort to glare at Malfic all the way.
