Bialar Crais maneuvered the Leviathan Gunship into orbit. He was cautious until certain no potential enemies occupied the same orbit. They wanted no untimely run-ins with hostile vessels, at least not while they were so low on provisions. Talyn was eager to explore his warrior side, but Crais knew realistically it was impractical until the Gunship fully matured.
Standing in the center of the ship's command circle, he quieted his mind and experienced the flow of information through Talyn's sensors. The area around Luculla Primus was clear of other ships. Curious, thought Crais, but it was an isolated planet.
"Talyn," he spoke aloud though he hardly needed to. It was more a matter of habit and an instinctive need to hear his own voice. "I am going down to the planet to arrange for provisions. I shall be no longer than two or three arns. Hold position and scan for hostiles. I will know if you need me."
Talyn signaled his reply with a series of trills and beeps. The white and red lights around Crais' feet flashed the ship's distress. He ran the tips of his fingers gently along the round overhead structures of Talyn's command center. Talyn made a short burst of soft bleats in response to the stroking.
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The devotion the ship felt for him surged through the transponder embedded in the back of Crais' neck--the sensory interface given him by the hand of friendship. The wave of love washed over him. It was an emotion he had only ever experienced from his brother and their long-forgotten parents. In many ways, Talyn was more of a brother than Tauvo. He was more than any other Sebacean could possibly be.
"As always, you are with me," he assured the Gunship with a final caress.
Crais took the transport pod through the cloud layer with great care. Following the trajectory Talyn calculated for him, he soon found the location of what the old Sebacean trader claimed was the capital city. Trying to avoid suspicion he looked for a spot to land a discreet distance outside the populated region.
He still wore his Peacekeeper uniform, more out of necessity than as an actual ruse. He did manage to transfer his not inconsiderable funds prior to his escape from the Mhultaan. However, he had avoided the larger commerce planets from fear of discovery. As a consequence, what few clothes he brought along when fleeing to asylum aboard Moya left him looking the part of his erstwhile role of Peacekeeper captain.
Masquerading as a Peacekeeper did have its advantages. Peacekeepers needn't worry about trouble even in the Uncharted Territories. However, Crais knew deep down that, just as surely as he had relentlessly hunted John Crichton, Scorpius had retrieval squads pursuing him. The abomination of a half-breed would want his head on a jinka pole for allowing the human's escape. High Command would want Talyn for study and experimentation.
Were Scorpius to find him, Crais had no doubt whatsoever his own head would join those Hynerians in his former quarters aboard the Mhultaan. Talyn would be captured, or destroyed in the attempt. That was something he could not allow while he still had breath left in his body.
Unfortunately, the few crates of food cubes he had stolen from Moya before ensconcing himself aboard Talyn were long gone. The meager stocks from the Sebacean outpost were equally diminished. This left little choice. It was this primitive world or slow death by starvation.
No need to call attention to himself and certainly not to Talyn. A Leviathan Gunship would be impossible to explain. If they did make good their escape, Scorpius' wanted beacons would certainly include details about Talyn. The entire Peacekeeper armada would not be far behind if some local reported seeing them. His first priority was protecting Talyn and the rest was unimportant.
He selected an inconspicuous plot of scrub brush and trees in which to land the transport pod. Powering down, he used Talyn's extended senses to check the area. They confirmed he arrived unnoticed. He put on his gloves and centered his garrison cap on his head before stepping out into the night.
It seemed strange walking through the humid air, cool wind tugging at his uniform and succulent plants brushing against his body. Though he had visited a handful of worlds in the quarter of a cycle he and Talyn were together, not to be aboard him left Crais a bit dazed. Not to feel the constant hum of Talyn's power plant beneath his feet, or hear the rushing of his life support was discomfiting.
Still unsettled, Crais used old and familiar martial arts breathing exercises to relax. As he did, he became more aware of his own senses; the hard contact of his boots against the ground as he strode and the crunch they made on twigs and rocks. The brush of his uniform pants against the slicker fabric of his kilt and their contact with the surrounding plants. The tickling sensation of loosened tendrils from his queue teasing his cheeks in the mild breeze. It was as exhilarating as it was disquieting.
Before long, the sounds of the nearby town's inhabitants drifted toward him. Checking the level of the chakan oil cartridge in the pistol hidden beneath his kilt, Crais prepared himself.
The settlement was no city at all, more a ramshackle collection of buildings around a center square. The distinct signs of battle hung around the village like an acrid fog. Soldiers sat quietly talking around fires in the square as women passed food and drink amongst them. Four-legged beasts of burden were tethered nearby, their musky, dung odor hanging unpleasantly in the air. A few buildings boasted lights through their bare windows.
He approached a dilapidated hovel and stepped reluctantly through the open doorway. Sizzling cook stoves filled the interior with the sharp, tangy scent of food. He gazed around in the dim light at the dirty furnishings and odorous inhabitants. It was filled with a plethora of species that made his Sebacean skin crawl. It was more than the old Peacekeeper hard line about irreversible contamination. Some of these smelly creatures were genuinely repellant.
All voices and sounds fell silent. Seconds later, whispers filled the air. Peacekeeper. He heard the word sotto voce from the dozen or so gaping mouths in what he assumed was a town meeting house. Just as he feared. If he had to make sojourns to any more planets, he must find attire less likely to provoke distress. There was nothing for the situation now but to bluster through. Nearly forty cycles as a Peacekeeper taught him more than he ever needed to know about domineering Sebaceans and aliens alike.
Crais walked with purpose toward the most intimidating individual, arrogance dripping from his every pore. He fixed a cold, dark gaze on the Sebacean-looking male. The man met his eyes with a battle-hardened expression.
"I seek provisions for my ship," he said sharply. "With whom in this village do I make such a transaction?"
"You've come at a bad time," the man said cocking a distrustful gaze at Crais. "We're in the middle of a crisis. Come back some other time."
"I won't be here another time. I require provisions now." Crais said irritably.
"We're in the middle of a war here, thoddo." The other rebutted. "Go to some other village and try your strong-arm tactics."
"And if I were to bring my troops here to take what we require?" Crais threatened pleasantly.
"If you were to bring your troops here we'd put them to work," the man snorted vindictively. "If you want to earn your provisions, help us get rid of the Vingasha horde."
"You wish to engage us to restore order to your world?" Crais questioned, an amused smile lifting up the corners of his mouth. "Peacekeeper might is very expensive. If this village is any indication, you do not look able to afford it."
"You help us finish off the Vingasha and you can have anything your people can carry off this planet." The man countered. "Fresh nelvek meat, produce, chakan oil, if it's on Luculla Primus, you're welcome to it."
"And if that is not enough payment for our services?" Crais' tone hinted at horrible deeds.
"Then you'll have to get frelled, I expect." The man said and all the creatures in the meeting house howled, twittered and burbled their amusement.
Crais was troubled by their lack of fear. Obviously Peacekeepers were only a rumor here. Luculla Primus had never seen the scourges or the press gangs common to recruitment drives. They did not know what a single squad of commandos or a lone division of prowlers was capable of. He knew with trepidation that he could not afford to back down from this encounter. On foot, he would be an easy target for anyone who decided to follow him back to the transport pod. The long legs of the beasts tethered outside spoke to him of speed. He was a superb marksman, but one pistol was still only one pistol and no match for a cavalry ambush.
He considered the man's callous face for another few microts before speaking again.
"It is a deal," he said haughtily.
As the arns dragged on, Crais could sense Talyn's apprehension. He tried to reassure him as best he could, but their link was tenuous at this distance. Attempting to explain that he would be down on the planet for at least another solar day was difficult. The young ship did not like the situation and was quite frank in his expression of disapproval. Crais looked about at his companions and hoped they had not sensed the silent exchange.
The group sat astride their nelveks, cloaked by darkness and the dense, overgrown forest. The only sound to be heard was the subtle movements of the riders and the snorting breaths of their mounts. Crais' own nelvek twitched its hindquarters menacingly. He realized that his kilt must have been tickling it. Not wishing to spook the beast further, he tucked the silken fabric up around his waist.
Zeel, his antagonist from the meeting house and headman of the village, nudged his elbow. He passed Crais a pair of oculars that were the worse for wear. He removed his garrison cap and placed the device against his forehead. He manually switched to night vision and focused the zoom view on the next village. The whispering voices of his companions informed him that he was seeing the Vingasha encampment.
The creatures were large, nearly twice his own height, and resembled the Tavlek species. They were fur-clad and armed with primitive weapons. He did not see a pulse rifle or cannon among them. That in itself was of little consequence according to Zeel and his men. The Vingasha were fearless and brutal warriors, part of an invasion army abandoned on Luculla Primus more that ten thousand cycles earlier. Though their superior technology was long forgotten, the urge for conquest was instinctive and ingrained.
Unfortunately, the villagers also lacked pulse weapons. He had not revealed his own pistol to them for fear of being overpowered and murdered for it. He would have to devise a plan using only those primitive weapons available on the planet. He removed the oculars and passed them back to Zeel wordlessly. Placing his garrison cap back on his head, he nudged his mount softly back toward the village.
"Quiet!" Crais shouted above the cacophony of complaining voices. "Without a direct order from High Command, I cannot commit the forces aboard my ship to your fight.
"However. . .however," he yelled louder. "I will be allowed to act as chief tactician. You will be victorious if you do exactly as I instruct."
He hid his mendacity well. Though the collected creatures were disgruntled, none made a move toward him or voiced threats. It would be in his best interest if they never knew he was the sole occupant of his ship. He unfurled the map given to him by Zeel and placed markers at key positions.
"First, place your archers here and here," he instructed pointing to the specific tokens on the map formed into a flying wedge. "Farther to the rear, your catapult devices. Between will be your infantry troops positioned here, here and over here. Once the artillery and archers have opened a hole in the Vingasha defenses, the infantry will make a straight push forward."
"What if the Vingasha trogs retreat farther back into the woods?" came a voice from the rear of the meeting house.
"They will run directly into your mounted forces," Crais explained flatly, placing the last of the tokens behind the Vingasha lines. "Who will be positioned into two single lines back here and here. If the Vingasha turn to flee, your cavalry will swing their lines inward, trapping the fleeing enemy between them."
Grunts and growls of approval met the last, much to Crais' relief. It would work, he thought to himself, as long as the villagers around him were not cowards. They had superior numbers. With his strategy they should make short work of the Vingasha, cutting through their lines like a knife through rotten fruit. If the enemy was as fierce an opponent as Zeel and the others described, losses would be heavy. Crais wasn't trouble by this, however. He merely wanted to escape with his much need supplies and skin intact.
Dawn was only microts away, but Crais heard the Vingasha troops already in position. Grunts, growls and taunts echoed across the glen making the nelvek beneath him quiver and twitch. He sat astride his beast a good distance from the villagers' catapults, Zeel beside him.
"I don't see how the chakan oil skins are going to help here," Zeel said for the tenth time. The tough façade was beginning to slip, revealing the headman's anxiety before the battle. "It's harmless until loaded into pulse weapons."
"For the last time," Crais said between clenched teeth. "The skins filled with the oil are thin, right?"
"Very," Zeel agreed.
"When your artillery units hurl them into the forest above the Vingasha they will collide with the trees, the ground, the enemy and burst. This will send torrents of chakan oil down on their troops." Crais continued, slowly as if to a child.
"Hopefully," the headman replied then saw the malevolent look on Crais' face. "Yes, they will."
"Then at my signal, your archers will light their arrow tips, shooting them into the areas saturated by the oil," Crais said. "The chakan oil will ignite, rest assured, much to the distress of your enemy."
"What about the danger to my troops?" Zeel asked apprehensively.
"Minimal but acceptable," Crais replied squinting into the rising sun on the horizon. "Wait long enough for their stunned troops to stagger out of the fire, then mop up the remaining Vingasha with your infantry. If any happen to retreat back toward their stronghold village, ride them down with your cavalry."
"It sounds simple," Zeel said quietly. "But, I have a bad feeling."
"Don't feel. Just fight." Crais countered then pointed at a particularly large man standing near the middle of the line of archers. "Now, that one. His name?"
"Tinka,"
"Send Tinka to the point of your archers. The rest release after his arrow flies." Crais instructed.
"Captain," Zeel said hesitantly. "Not Tinka. . .he couldn't hit water if he was standing square in the middle of a river."
"Then why would you even consider employing him as an archer?" Crais shifted on his nelvek sparing the headman a harsh look.
"He's my mate's brother," He admitted with shame. "She'd make my life a misery if I didn't use him."
"Then, put him to the rear where he'll do the least damage to your attack," Crais said over his shoulder as he nudged his mount along the artillery line. "And if you fear your mate, simply don't tell her. If you're lucky he'll be slain in battle."
Crais could see the look on the disgruntled headman's face without looking back. Any man who would let his battle be fought by his mate's personal opinion deserved to lose. He turned his nelvek as he reached the end of the line of catapults, taking up his position. He could see Zeel still seething by his archers but looked out over the glen as if through the other man. He looked down at the leader of the catapult teams and caught his eye.
"With my signal, release the chakan oil skins," Crais commanded.
The man grunted an affirmative and called the word to the other artillery teams. When all had acknowledged the order the man turned to Crais and gave a gesture of readiness. Crais looked once more across the glen then raise his right hand over his head.
Lowering it in one swift motion he shouted, "Now!"
The ground around them shook with the force of the bucking catapults. The oil-filled skins zinged through the air, making a horrible splattering sound as they collided with the trees and ground around the Vingasha. Crais called to Zeel who motioned for all archers to light their arrows. With a shout from the headman, bows were stretched and flaming arrows arced through the early morning sky. There was a brief thudding as the missiles met their targets followed by a whump--the unmistakable sound of fires igniting. The shrieks and squeals of the Vingasha rose above to a din.
Crais watched as the archers pivoted their lines, allowing the infantry to flood outward into the glen. The Vingasha who escaped the chakan oil flames met a gory death at the knives, swords, cudgels and axes of the foot soldiers. He had not seen close infantry combat such as this since his teens. It was as thrilling as it was brutal. Convinced of the villagers' victory, he kicked his nelvek into a gallop back toward the meeting house to collect his goods.
It was nearing midday and the heat outside was becoming uncomfortable. Sipping a cup of cool water to wash the stench of the battlefield from his palate, Crais leaned against a wall of the meeting house. He was glad to give his buttocks a much-needed rest from so many arns astride the nelvek. An arn had passed since his return and still no sign of Zeel. Many of the villagers had begun to straggle into the square, bloodied and exhausted, but clearly victorious.
He finished his water and stepped out into the oppressive sunlight. With a hand to shield his eyes, Crais scanned the grimy faces of the resting men. He could not find Zeel among them. Noticing the one the headman had referred to as Tinka, he walked toward him. The man was less grubby than the others and had no blood anywhere on him. Coward, Crais thought with a scowl of distaste.
"Tinka, were your troops successful?" he asked. "Where is Zeel?"
"We won, if that's what you're asking," Tinka replied cockily. "My sister's mate? He's dead. Cut down in the first charge. I'm headman of this village now."
"Which should not alter our agreement," Crais said in a dark and warning tone.
"What agreement?" asked Tinka with a smirk as he stepped behind two particularly large foot soldiers. "Oh, the one you made with Zeel."
"And the rest of the villagers if memory serves," Crais' tone had become more menacing causing the two larger men to step toward him. He was not daunted by their implied show of force.
"Well, I'm afraid that was made in haste," Tinka smiled sweetly. "We don't have the supplies that Zeel promised you. So sorry."
"Do you have any idea what Peacekeepers do to traitors?" Crais said sullenly.
"Save your threats, stranger." Tinka said with a condescending laugh. "We're the army who finally defeated the Vingasha. Do you think your empty threats scare us?"
"I will bring my troops down here and lay waste to your village and take what we require." Crais threatened.
"You do that. We're ready." Tinka laughed, joined by all those around him.
Crais seriously considered using his pistol to mow down the surrounding troops, but thought better of it. The group still fresh from the blood lust of victorious battle could easily overwhelm him. He spared the treacherous Tinka a final glare before retiring to the shade and relative cool of the meeting house to think.
"Captain," a woman's voice called from behind him.
Crais looked into the shadowy recesses of the kitchen. Hidden behind the tattered curtains that hung in the opening a small woman beckoned to him. Wary of ambush, he kept his right hand near the hidden pistol and moved toward the doorway. The woman slid farther into the shadows at his approach, her voice barely a whisper.
"It's not right, what they're doing," she said softly. "My Zeel made that bargain in good faith. It's not right."
"Your brother is risking a terrible tragedy for this village and everyone in it," Crais replied.
"Please," the woman begged pitifully. "Please, sir. There are children and old people here. Don't judge us by Tinka."
She spat on the ground after saying the name and looked at him with wide, angry eyes.
"I require the supplies as agreed or I will be left no choice but to take them by force," Crais said sternly.
"The next village, the one the Vingasha used as their stronghold." The woman began. "It is frequented by off-worlders and has many goods to offer. My people haven't laid claim to it yet. You can still get the provisions you require if you go there now."
"And why shouldn't I simply bring my commandos down to this village?" Crais said then spotted the subtle movement near her feet.
A small boy perhaps only four or five cycles old clung to the woman's skirts. His eyes were dark and enormous, staring up at Crais with sheer terror. The olive skin and black hair made him think of Tauvo at that age and his heart clenched painfully. He remembered how mammoth the Peacekeeper recruiters looked as they towered over his own father. He shuddered with the memory of it and could no longer look down at the boy.
Fishing into the sleeve pocket of his uniform jacket, Crais removed a single currency chit. He passed his hand through the split in the curtains, pressing the coin into the palm of the woman's hand. Her eyes were dark like the boy's, but filled with tears. She somehow understood what had transpired in that instant. She thanked him wordlessly and pulled the child farther into the shadowy kitchen.
The village used as a stronghold by the Vingasha was much the same as the last, offering little to commend it to the off-world visitor. Crais looked around in disgust realizing his trek here for provisions would most likely be fruitless. He dismounted, tying his nelvek to the hitching post outside a pitiful looking tavern.
Music floated around him on the warm breeze of evening. A woman's mournful voice called out into a sudden silence followed by percussive raps and the twanging notes of a musical instrument. The sorrow in the voice was more profound than anything in his memories. The music that accompanied it was exotic, resonating and like nothing he'd heard in his travels.
The tavern on the other hand, was like so many others on the hundreds of worlds he patrolled in his career with the Peacekeepers. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside, he hesitated. Zeel's mate had been right about the inhabitants. It had been a dozen cycles since he'd seen many of the species gathered in the tavern. What Luculla Primus had to offer this collection of denizens Crais could only hazard to guess. Perhaps it was its inarguable isolation. He felt their calculating gazes upon him and lowered his hand in preparation for the quick draw of his weapon.
"I seek provisions for my ship," he said sharply and to no one in particular.
The creature behind the filthy bar raised one of its six arms, making a quick signal to someone across the room.
"Anything you need on planet, I provide," slurred an obsequious voice from behind him. Crais turned to see large unblinking black eyes and gray bobbing head. "I acquire anything for price."
"Of course you will," Crais said to the creature that, to his disdain, was a Tirysp.
Gray-skinned, acrid-smelling and thin as a skeleton, the Tirysp made their questionable living in the trade of anything saleable; most notably slaves. Hunted in most sectors by the Peacekeepers, Crais had a particular dislike for them. He had often longed to add one of their heads to his collection.
"Name provision, it is yours," it motioned to a Sebacean female sitting in a darkened corner with an odd sort of musical device cradled in her arms. Crais noted her briefly, realizing she created the music that drew him into the place. "Szenha will fetch."
The Tirysp moved quickly to snatch the woman's upper arm in a painful grip with its four spidery fingers. Yanked off balance, she caught herself on Crais' arm then righted herself immediate. She pulled angrily away from the gray-skinned creature.
"One more time and so help me I will. . ." she snarled at it.
"What? Become my dinner like others?" it laughed and snorted foul, viscous blue phlegm upon her from his narrow nostrils. "Fetch all Peacekeeper requires. If you lucky, Peacekeeper will buy you, too!"
With that pronouncement the Tirysp went back to his table near the rear of the bar, dark, unblinking eyes riveted on Crais and the woman. He made a threatening motion with one thin arm at her before returning to his drink.
The woman was wiping her soiled face with a dirty sleeve. She looked Crais over, but did not avert her gaze as he expected. Through the grime and filthy clothes she appeared to be a Sebacean of about thirty cycles. Her dark hair had probably been chopped short by her Tirysp captors, and was growing out unevenly. Her eyes were a drab shade of green and enormous. They seemed to swallow the rest of her face, shining with a mixture of bitter fury and hopelessness.
"Come on," she said, taking him by the arm and leading him from the tavern. "Before I wind up as his dinner."
"You must be joking, of course." Crais scoffed as he followed her. He pulled away from her grasp brushing with distaste at any filth she may have left on his sleeve.
"Not at all," she replied obviously offended by his actions. "The rest of my group were either worked to death or killed for food."
"They killed Sebaceans for food? The Tirysps?" he asked her sharply coming to a stop. "What are you? Escaped prisoners? Peacekeeper deserters?"
She stopped, turning back to face him. Her forehead creased and she seemed to consider something for a moment before answering him.
"Not that it will mean anything to you, but no. . .we weren't Peacekeepers. . .not Sebacean. I'm not Sebacean." She sighed with resignation. It was obviously something she had often explained to others.
"What do you mean?" he asked, a prickle beginning at the base of his spine. "Not Sebacean? What species are you?"
"Like I said, it won't mean anything to you. It hasn't meant anything to anyone since I left home." She answered. After a moment of silence, she turned to walk further down the narrow alley.
Crais grabbed the woman roughly pushing her against the side of a building, breathing into her face. "You will tell me what species you are or I will inform your. . .master. . .that you've failed to meet my needs."
She shrugged free of his grasp and laughed. It was a hollow, harsh sound.
"Yeah," she smiled angrily. "I'd heard that about you Peacekeepers."
"What?"
"That you're a bunch of heartless bastards." She said. "So, go ahead. Tell that pig-freller anything you want. I'm finished with all this anyway. I'm the last of the group they took from my planet. I'm not going to live out the rest of my life as the bar tralk of a smelly Tirysp."
He reached for her again, more gently this time. If the impression he had was true, he could not let her get away. He also knew in that moment that he would not let the Tirysp harm her because of him. He wasn't certain whether it was out of pity or personal greed, should she prove to be what he suspected.
"Please," he said slowly, softly.
She pulled irately from his grip again. Those tremendous eyes blinded him with their hatred.
"Will you please tell me, Szenha," he asked, nearly a whisper, hands held up as though in surrender. "What is your species?"
She seemed to relax for a moment, taking a deep breath and lowering her eyes for the first time.
"Senna," she whispered.
"What?"
"My name. It's Senna, not Szenha."
"Senna," he said kindly. "Tell me."
"Like I said before, it won't mean anything to you. . .how could it but," she paused and looked up sharply at him. "My people are called Humans. We're from a planet in the Sol system called Earth."
Crais' response was immediate. He gripped her almost as though he would throw his arms around her, his smile one of pure exaltation.
"Come with me now, Senna. Do whatever I tell you, agree with whatever I say." He told her as he jerked her back up the alley.
She pulled him up short, "Why? Have you lost your frelling mind? I don't even know you, Peacekeeper!"
"I'm getting you out of here." He said curtly. "A moment ago you claimed you were finished with all this. You do want to leave this place, correct?"
"On a scale from one to ten, I'd have to say that would be right up there with making my first million." She scoffed, not taking him seriously.
"You don't believe me," he said.
"Ah. . .no." she said, voice dripping sarcasm. "Like I said, I don't know you from Adam."
"Listen to me, Human. . .Senna. . .I have the means to get you out of this place. Perhaps home to Erp." Crais told her flatly.
"Earth," she corrected.
"Yes, exactly."
"You are actually going to stand there and try to pretend you know what I'm talking about?" she snickered.
"Does the name John Crichton mean anything to you?" he asked his face intense and barely denches from hers.
He stared into her eyes, watching her consider for a moment. She tried not to flinch from his dark, intense gaze. It obviously meant something to her. She was either too afraid to tell him, or was withholding the information for a reason.
"Does it?" he demanded again, shaking her.
"Yes, damn it!" she replied trying to pull away from him. "I'm just trying to place him, okay? It's been a tough cycle for me. Give me a microt to think."
Crais did not relent nor allow her to look away. He took her face into his right hand and gripped it painfully.
"How in the world could you possibly know him?" she asked, wincing.
"Tell me who he is!" Crais growled low and she shuddered.
"He's from my planet. A celebrity of some kind. I've seen him or heard about him on the news." She said, and then stopped herself with a sudden realization. "No! Wait. He's that astronaut that disappeared over 2 cycles ago. IASA declared the mission a disaster, said he died in some sort of explosion in his shuttle."
"He's not dead." Crais said with a predatory smile. "Not yet."
"What are you saying?" she asked. "He's here in this side of the universe? Another human is here?"
Crais didn't answer her but released her face from his grasp. He dropped his hands to his sides and gazed at her in earnest. She blinked uncomfortably at him and looked away, the hatred gone from her eyes, replaced by naked fear.
"Will you come with me now?" he asked finally, softly. He offered his open hand to her.
"You still haven't told me how you know him," she said. "Is he with you? Can you take me to him?"
Crais did not reply, but kept his hand held out to her. She stared at it for several microts then looked back at his face, seeming to search his eyes for some hidden truth.
"My prospects here seem to be quite narrow," she sighed and readjusted her dirty clothes with dignity. "I could use a change of scenery."
Bartering with the Tirysp was more difficult than he expected. Once the repugnant creature realized Crais' conspicuous interest in Senna, he was reluctant to part with her. He sat across the mucky table from the creature, Senna to his left holding onto her musical device as if it was a child.
"This tralk, many talents has." The Tirysp slurred coyly. "Music, cooking, smart. . .and others," He nodded at her, running a hand along her body. She responded by slapping it away viciously and was restrained by the Tirysp's burly guards.
"Surely," Crais said in a silky tone. "A female that is so combative could be of little use to you. With the currency I'm willing to pay, you could afford to buy a herd of compliant females."
"True, true." The Tirysp replied thoughtfully. "But what of provisions? Price of provisions very high on this planet."
Crais lowered his chin and stared levelly at the Tirysp. "You must be aware that Peacekeeper funds are limitless. However, Peacekeeper benevolence is not."
The threat Crais implied was palpable and the Tirysp leaned away from the table, obviously shaken. Crais slapped another stack of currency chits onto the table and stood.
"The agreed upon provisions are to be brought to our transport." He instructed coldly. "This female will come with me now."
He lifted her from beneath the grasp of the Tirysp's guards by her upper arm.
Before he could protest the Tirysp grunted to one of the guards, "So she not get away from Peacekeeper, we hobble her. Urgha, break leg."
One of the two large guards made a motion to strike at the woman's leg. She screamed trying to break away from Crais' hold, still clasping her musical device. Any further fighting was halted with the sudden appearance of the pistol in Crais' right hand, drawn with lightening speed from beneath his kilt. For a few microts no one moved or dared to breathe. Crais began walking backward slowly, Senna in his grasp and the pistol squarely aimed between the Tirysp's eyes.
"We will be awaiting the provisions." He declared before backing out into the street.
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