The Dragons of Andromeda Page 22

  “That’s the guy we need to talk to!” Redgrave shouted at the top of his voice.

  Barely able to hear, Kinnari shook her head.

  “He doesn’t look Dahlvish, sir!” she yelled back.

  “No,” the captain replied, “but he’ll tell us where to find him!”

  DJ Funkmeister Rik gyrated along with the music blaring across the dance floor. He wore sunglasses with violet lenses, partially concealing the elliptical irises of his eyes. A Cerulean, his skin was light blue, but he wore a full-body suit glittering with purple sequins and gold flames, all designed to draw attention away from his natural color. Ceruleans were also born with elongated heads, but Rik had again hidden this physical difference with a large afro wig. Ceruleans were pathologically driven to hide their own characteristics, preferring to misappropriate the physical and cultural traits of other races.

  “Alright, cats!” he said, leaning into the microphone. “Do me a solid and listen to this while I take five...”

  Rik started a new track and headed off the stage. When he got to the bottom of the stairs adjoining the dance floor, two humans and a Dahl approached. From the frigid way they walked, he could tell they were squares.

  The older human placed his hand on Rik’s chest.

  “We’ve got some questions for you!” he shouted over the din. “I’m Captain Redgrave of the HIMS Baron Lancaster!”

  “Whoa, man, be cool!” Rik replied with an easy smile, his voice smooth like satin.

  “Is there a place we can talk?” Redgrave shouted back. “Where we don’t have to scream our lungs out?”

  Rik led the trio past a red curtain and into a back room where private booths were set up. A special sound-dampening field, just inside the curtain, rose as the drapes closed, shutting out the noise from outside. Rik took a seat in one of the booths as a waitressbot brought him a glass of water and a strange-smelling cigarette.

  “So, what’s the skinny?” he said as the others joined him.

  “We’re looking for somebody named Rowan Ramus,” Redgrave said. “He’s captain of the Wanderer.”

  Rik took a drag from his cigarette, holding in the smoke before exhaling.

  “Did you check the starport?”

  “We don’t have time to play games,” Redgrave went on. “Tell us what we need to know.”

  “Actually,” the Dahl said, “the Wanderer was at the starport, but the crew wasn’t on board.”

  Rik straightened his hairpiece, making sure it hadn’t slipped down his lengthy forehead.

  “I don’t have time for this jive either, Jack,” he admitted, “but Ramus ain’t a cat that can be found if he doesn’t want to be.”

  “You have a reputation,” the younger human said calmly, “for finding people who don’t want to be found.”

  Rik grinned, puffing on his cigarette. “It’s all a matter of finding the right people.”

  “Such as?” the captain asked.

  “You find that pig-faced engineer of his,” Rik went on, “and you’ll find Ramus.”

  “Orkney Fugg,” Redgrave said.

  “Yeah, he’s at the Pink Persian most nights,” the DJ said. “Now how about some bread for my troubles?”

  Looking bewildered, the Dahl stared at the Cerulean.

  “Money,” he clarified.

  Captain Redgrave was already on his feet and walking away when the other human dropped a cred stick onto the table. The three left as Rik collected the token and took another drag on his cigarette.

  “Jive-ass turkeys,” he said.

  Orkney Fugg found himself flying through the air shortly before landing in the street outside the Pink Persian. When he rolled to a stop, Fugg looked back at the entrance where a Tikarin female filled the doorway, her long tail switching excitedly.

  “And stay out!” she shouted before slamming the door shut.

  Feeling his jaw where she had hit him, Fugg got to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at the gentlemen’s club.

  “You haven’t heard the last of me!” he yelled. “Wait till you read my review!”

  He snorted his satisfaction while dusting the dirt off his coveralls.

  “Fugg,” a voice said.

  The engineer twisted around, his fists clenched. A night of drinking had made his vision cloudy, but he could make out three figures in the light from the street lamp.

  “Who is it?” Fugg replied gruffly.

  One of the three, the oldest, stepped forward.

  “Captain Redgrave,” he said.

  Once he got a good look, Fugg didn’t need an introduction. He remembered well enough who that was.

  “Oh, shit,” he said. “What the hell do you want?”

  “We’re looking for Ramus,” Redgrave said. “We’ve got a job for him.”

  “Yeah?” the engineer replied. “Doing what?”

  “I’ll talk to your captain, not you.”

  “Then I’ve lost interest.”

  One of the others stepped out from behind the older officer. She was a Dahl.

  “Ugh,” Fugg remarked. “When did the Navy start recruiting Dahls?”

  “Shut up, Gordian,” the last one replied. Fugg remembered him too. Maycare or something...

  “There’s a woman in danger,” the Dahl said. “We need your help.”

  “We’re not interested,” another voice said, this time from down the sidewalk. Fugg knew that unsympathetic tone anywhere.

  Rowan Ramus, with Gen the robot trailing a few steps behind, ambled up to the others. Ramus, wearing a red t-shirt and dark pants, crossed his arms emphatically. The Dahl woman stared at the archaic lettering tattooed on Ramus’s forearms.

  “I’m Lieutenant Kinnari,” she said. “Are those what I think they are?”

  Ramus glanced at his tattoos but didn’t reply.

  “The Captain said you weren’t a typical Dahl,” Kinnari went on. “I didn’t think any of our people still dabbled in Dark Psi...”

  Ramus scowled.

  “I didn’t learn it from the Dahl,” he said.

  “Really?” Kinnari replied in surprise. “Who else would’ve—”

  “There’s no time for this,” Redgrave cut her off. “You’re going to help us, Ramus, whether you want to or not.”

  “Oh, am I?”

  “Yes!”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll impound your ship and tear up your trading permits,” Redgrave replied. “You’ll never work again, I guarantee it.”

  “Even for a human,” Ramus said, “that’s not exactly subtle, Captain.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” Redgrave said. “I’ve got a job that needs doing and you’re the guy who’s going to do it!”

  Fugg grunted and glanced over to Gen who was watching with wide eyes and her mouth slightly ajar.

  “Can you believe this guy?” Fugg asked the robot.

  Gen stopped and thought a moment.

  “I have no reason to disbelieve him,” she replied. “Is he known for telling untruths?”

  “He’s a human, ain’t he?” Fugg said.

  “We’ve got somebody on the wrong side of the Magna border,” Redgrave told Ramus. “We need you to go over there and get her back.”

  “A spy?” Ramus asked.

  “A civilian.”

  “Well, that’s a real pickle,” Ramus said smugly, “but I don’t see why you need me...”

  “As xenos, you can blend in better than humans can. We’ve also got credentials for a Sarkan. Think you can pose as a Red Dahl?”

  “Oh sure,” Ramus replied, rolling his eyes. “I’ll just slap on some red paint and talk with an accent. Racist piece of—”

  “Good!” Redgrave said. “And Lieutenant Kinnari is coming along to make sure you don’t screw things up.”

  “How do you expect us to get there?” Ramus asked. “It’s not like the Wanderer is getting past their border patrols.”

  “That’s up to you,” Redgrave said. “I’m sure you’ll think of
something.”

  After entering the coordinates into the navigational computer, Captain Ramus engaged the jump drive, sending the Wanderer hurtling into hyperspace.

  “Here goes nothing,” he said.

  Beside him in the co-pilot’s chair, Lieutenant Kinnari raised her eyebrow. “Captain Redgrave is putting a great deal of faith in you.”

  “That’s crap and you know it,” Ramus scoffed. “He’s dropped a dung heap in my lap and expects me to dig my way out.”

  “I would say having me come along shows he’s eager that you succeed,” Kinnari replied.

  “To save his own neck and, as far as you coming along, don’t flatter yourself. Like he said, you’re just here to keep an eye on things. Worst case scenario is we all die, including you, and to someone like your captain, a few dead xenos isn’t the end of the world.”

  “I disagree,” the lieutenant commander said. “Captain Redgrave knew I could be useful on this mission and that’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, our people have always been useful to humans...”

  Kinnari nodded. “And we’ve benefited from that cooperation.”

  “Some of us maybe.”

  “Regardless,” Kinnari went on, “I’m here to benefit you as well. You merely need to ask.”

  “Just stay out of the way until I say so,” Ramus said, rising from the captain’s chair and heading through the hatch.

  Kinnari watched him leave.

  “Very well,” she said.

  Ramus slid down the ladder to the lower deck and joined Fugg in the galley where he was in the midst of another angry tirade with Gen as his captive audience.

  “He almost got us killed the last time!” the Gordian complained.

  “You talking about me again?” Ramus asked, walking into the room.

  “Actually,” Fugg replied, spinning around in his chair at the table, “I was talking about Captain Redgrave!”

  Gen brought Fugg a fresh bottle of fungus beer. The engineer twisted off the top and guzzled greedily. From deep in his belly, he liberated a loud belch. Ramus swiped at the foul air.

  “Cover your mouth!” he shouted.

  “Never!” Fugg replied.

  Her hands together and leaning forward on the balls of her feet, Gen gazed at the captain as if she had a question but wasn’t sure whether to ask it.

  “What is it?” Ramus asked instead.

  “Well,” the robot said slowly, “Master Fugg seems to think the mission might be dangerous...”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “Fine?” Fugg blurted out. “How is any of this fine? It’s a suicide mission!”

  “Have another beer and calm down,” Ramus suggested.

  Fugg huffed but then nodded. “I’ll have another beer, but I won’t calm down!”

  Gen retrieved another bottle from the fridge, handing it to the engineer.

  “Maybe in a mug next time,” he told the robot. “I’m not a savage!”

  Gen headed back to the cupboard in search of a clean glass.

  “All I’m saying,” Fugg went on, “is the human can’t be trusted.”

  “Who, Redgrave?”

  “Any of ‘em, but especially him! He’s got no respect for non-humans.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Ramus agreed, “but I don’t see what choice we have. Without our trading permits, we can’t carry cargo, at least not legally...”

  “So what? We can do odd jobs here and there. Maybe some freebooting!”

  Gen turned from the cupboard, holding a plastic cup with the words Taffey’s Snake Pit Bar on the side.

  “Are we going to be cobblers?” she asked excitedly.

  “No!” Fugg shouted.

  “I’m not going back to that kind of life,” Ramus said. “I’ve worked too hard putting all that behind me.”

  Fugg took a swig from his bottle. “It wasn’t so bad...”

  “It was bad enough to almost kill me.”

  “You wouldn’t have Dark Psi if you hadn’t—”

  “Enough!” Ramus barked. “We’ve got a plan and we’re going to stick with it.”

  “Even if it gets us killed?” Fugg asked.

  “Shut up,” Ramus replied. “You’re upsetting the robot.”

  Both glanced in Gen’s direction. She stood holding a cup that read Save the Ales but her eyes were wide with angst.

  Fugg sighed and rolled his eyes.

  “It’ll be fine!” he said reluctantly.

  Gen smiled and went back to searching the cupboard.

  Situated just inside the Imperial border, the planet of Freeport was a safe haven for the Pirate Clans, largely due to bribes paid to the provincial governor. With money in hand, the governor turned a blind eye to the comings and goings on the planet, allowing the transient inhabitants to trade in stolen goods, visit the local brothels, and generally have a good time without the hindrance of law and order or a moral compass.

  Following behind Captain Ramus and Orkney Fugg, Gen was also struck by the abundant number of livestock walking freely through the streets. She counted at least three pigs and a rooster between the landing pad where they parked the Wanderer and the main road through town. The captain had commented on one of the hogs, but Master Fugg strongly insisted any resemblance was coincidental.

  Most of the buildings on Freeport, as far as Gen could tell, were little more than ramshackle structures loosely assembled from old cargo containers. Most were either taverns or bordellos and all were crowded, inside and out, by people that Gen could only describe as unsavory. Her concerns only grew when the captain stopped in front of a bar called the Blood Bucket.

  “Here’s the place,” Ramus said.

  “What makes you think she’s even here?” Fugg asked.

  “It’s the Blackhearts’ hangout.”

  “Says who?”

  Ramus motioned to a black heart painted on the wall beside the entrance. “Call it a hunch.”

  Through the doorway, the noise was deafening. Gen considered lowering the acuity of her sensors so the pandemonium wouldn’t overload her circuits. Patrons and waitresses — no robots here apparently — were in constant motion and everyone was yelling at each other at the same time. It was all Gen could do to avoid her head from rotating completely around.

  Although most of the people were humans, Gen noticed a Celadon pirate standing in the corner. His clothes looked soiled with blood and he wore an eye patch on his oversized head which, Gen also realized, was pitted with cuts and perforations. Above his head, he held a dartboard.

  “Hold still,” a woman said, holding a dart. “You keep making me miss!”

  The woman was large, with graying brunette hair flowing past a corset and a billowing dress that Gen found extremely impractical under the circumstances. On the left cheek, a black heart was tattooed just below the eye.

  As Ramus approached the woman, Gen asked Fugg who she was.

  “Don’t you know anything?” he replied curtly. “That’s Kiera Russo, Queen of the Blackhearts.”

  “She’s a queen?” Gen asked, sounding impressed.

  “Don’t be stupid!” Fugg said. “She just calls herself that.”

  Gen’s shoulders sagged in disappointment.

  Ramus and Russo went to a table, which allowed the Celadon to sit against the wall where the shackle around his ankle was chained. Gen didn’t think holding a dartboard was a very good job, but she tried not to criticize people’s career choices. She and Fugg took the other two seats at the table.

  “Why do you want to cross the border?” Russo asked, her voice husky from too many cigars.

  “We have business there,” Ramus said. “The details aren’t important.”

  Russo smirked.

  “Oh, really?” she chuckled. “The details are always important, especially if you say they aren’t!”

  “Fine,” Ramus said, leaning closer. “We need to visit the Magna home world.”

  “Sure,” Russo replied. “It’s lovely this tim
e of year.”

  “Really?” Gen asked.

  “No,” Russo mocked her. “It’s a volcanic hellhole!”

  Fugg glared at the robot, shaking his head.

  “Anyway,” Ramus continued, “can you help us or not?”

  “I don’t see why I should,” Russo replied.

  “How about for old times’ sake?”

  “Get serious!”

  Ramus pointed a thumb at the Celadon picking at a scab on his forehead.

  “How’s your goblin problem?” he asked.

  “Bad as ever,” Russo said. “Half the time we try snatching a ship, the Celadons have beat us to it. This is Pirate Clan territory. We don’t need competition.”

  “What if they were out of the picture?”

  “How?”

  “I have friends in the Imperial Navy.”

  “Since when?”

  “It’s a recent development,” Ramus said.

  “And they’ll take care of my goblin troubles?”

  “I guarantee it.”

  “Your word isn’t worth crap,” Russo said, “but if you put the Wanderer up as collateral, I’ll consider it.”

  “Bullshit!” Fugg shouted. “There’s no way—”

  “Agreed,” Ramus said, reaching out his hand.

  Russo took it and smiled, glaring at the Gordian who was scowling at both of them.

  “Don’t look so steamed, Fugg,” she said. “Chances are you won’t be coming back anyway...”

  Chapter Twenty

  Before there was something, there was nothing and everything was good. At least, the Old Ones thought so. They reigned over the void that existed before existence, like the empty sockets of a skull watching over a graveyard. However, a great catastrophe brought an end to their paradise, giving form to what became the universe. Fire, heat, and a semblance of order ruined the chaos that the Old Ones had cherished for an endless time, now at an end.

  And they weren’t happy about it.

  Nevertheless, the Old Ones knew that one day the hot gas cloud called the universe would expand to the point that it began to cool. Like embers floating into the dark night from a campfire, the stars would someday fade and burn out, drowned in the cold bath of entropy. The Old Ones decided to sleep until that time, but they required someone to stay vigilant while they dreamed. On a remote water world, they took a species of cephalopods and gave them powers far beyond what these squids would have evolved into on their own.