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“Any questions about your job once we’re on the ground, Zack?”
“No, Captain. First thing, I make sure the security system’s online and working. Then, I make an outside visual of the ship. When the stevedores come to unload the cargo, I post guards at all airlocks so nobody tries to sneak in, and then watch the unloading with the second officer. Once that’s done, I make sure all access points of the ship except the main personnel hatch are secure and can’t be opened, except by authorization from the officer of the watch, and post a guard at the airlock round the clock. Then I can take liberty.” Decker grinned.
Strachan nodded with satisfaction. “Aye, but you’re back on board for loading, which means less liberty than you may think.”
Decker dropped his grin and shrugged, unconcerned.
“That’s why you pay me.”
“Pradyn is one of the most civilized places in the Shield, which means you don’t have to be on full alert to make sure the natives don’t steal the hyperdrive nacelles from under your nose. But it also means they’re more efficient. Turnover can be quick.”
“Job’s a job, Captain. If I don’t have time to play tourist, so what?” Decker didn’t much care about getting liberty. Not on this planet at any rate.
“Okay, Zack.” Strachan glanced at the chronometer. “We’re about to enter Pradyn’s defensive sphere, and you’d better stand by at your station. It’s quite an experience to see their version of tech, funny really, but the natives take it seriously. They have enough problems with marauders, mainly human pirates, that they take no one at face value.”
“Captain.” Decker nodded and left Strachan’s cabin for the bridge.
He met the bosun at the juncture of the central passageway. The man seemed to have recovered from his encounter with Zack’s knife and sneered at the warrant officer. But he kept his distance, like a beaten dog. A vicious dog who carried a mean grudge.
Decker smiled back and brushed his hand over his dagger. He had the satisfaction of watching Alers scurry away. When the petty officer was out of sight, Zack dropped his fixed grin and sighed. Something would eventually break. Alers wasn’t the kind to keep a grip on reality forever if he let hate gnaw at him.
Unfortunately, Zack couldn’t help pushing him further towards the edge. He had a hidden mean streak that was sometimes hard to control, which was why he was working on a freighter instead of a frigate.
The small Pradyn guard cutter grew on the viewscreen, and Zack had to smile at its appearance. It was ornate, heavily decorated and looked ludicrous in space. It reminded him of the pre-spaceflight ceremonial barges he’d seen in the Fleet Museum.
Gold fittings seemed to glint all over the voluptuous, gondola-like hull and painted, multicolor creatures capered on either side of the cockpit window.
“Come, Mister Decker, time to greet our visitors.”
The first officer’s voice was a silky purr, and Zack had to suppress an involuntary shiver.
“Why isn’t the captain meeting them?” He asked her once they had left the bridge for the shuttle bay. He had learned that Darhad wasn’t averse to his questions if they concerned business or if her answers could help advance some personal agenda.
“Face, Mister Decker, face. The Pradyni are a status-conscious species, and it would be demeaning for the captain of a great human ship to waste his valuable time on a minor customs official. By sending an underling, Captain Strachan gains status and face with the local authorities, and that will make things smoother once we land.”
“Mere underling?” Decker chuckled as he glanced at Darhad’s elegant profile.
She smiled back, showing her sharp teeth.
“Do not let my choice of words influence you, Gunner, but you may be right. Perhaps a first officer is too high for those puffed-up bureaucrats. Still, they’re expecting to meet a human male and it always shakes them to meet an Arkanna female. Psychological advantage.”
Decker nodded his approval. He could appreciate her reasoning.
“I guess the Pradyni don’t let their females in high positions.”
“No, they don’t, Gunner.” Zack couldn’t tell whether she was amused or annoyed. “Female Pradyni are mere chattel with few rights and limited education. I gather polygamy of some sort is the norm. Barbaric, especially for a space faring race. You humans are responsible for giving them too much technology too fast at a vulnerable stage in their social development. It would have been better if they evolved towards space flight themselves. That way their social structures could have evolved too and freed the females from their condition. But I suppose one should not judge an alien culture by one’s own social norms, so long as it has no bearing on one’s own.”
They reached the shuttle bay just as the customs boat crossed the force field that kept the ship’s atmosphere from escaping through the open space doors. Its hull crackled blue with energy as it passed through. Grappling arms seized it the moment it was in the bay, bled away the static build-up from the field, and deposited the cutter in the center of the pad.
Zack touched the loaded blaster at his hip. No humanoid species could mistake the large, deadly looking weapon for something other than an instrument of death. The former noncom and his gun were the only security for this encounter. When he saw the customs official step out of his boat, he smiled grimly and nodded. He would be more than able to control any problem.
“Welcome aboard Shokoten,” Darhad said in slow, precise Anglic. She placed her right hand over the hollow beneath her throat and nodded. Zack saw a flash of talons at her fingertips and wondered whether it had been intentional or a reflex. “I am Ship’s Second Raisa Darhad. This is Warrior Leader Zack Decker.”
Zack raised his eyebrows at the unusual titles she used, and then realized that these probably translated better into whatever language the alien spoke. Darhad must have dealt with Pradyni before this. Since she hadn’t taught him the proper greeting, Decker decided against imitating her gestures. He remained in the parade rest position and stared at the official.
Pradyni were human shaped, but where Darhad could pass for a human mutation that hadn’t seen the sun since birth, the official would never be mistaken for anything but a member of another species. His hairless skin was mottled in various hues of blue, brown, and green. It appeared dry, leathery, and wrinkled. He had no visible ears.
Unblinking, large, black eyes stared at Decker. Small nostrils pierced the tip of an elongated snout, just above a full mouth. A thin blue tongue flicked out every so often as if testing the air.
He held a four-digit hand against his throat, just as Darhad had done and bowed back. His thick fingers had black claws on their tips, and these were decorated with small dots of gold, silver, and red.
When the official opened his mouth to speak, Decker saw a row of sharp, spike-like teeth. The Pradyni had a bad case of rotting meat breath.
“Thank you, Darhad. Welcome to Pradyn. I am Frykil Bvanis, customs officer of his Imperial Majesty, the Glorious Ruler, and Guardian of the First Egg, Wesshti the Sublime.”
His Anglic was labored but understandable—barley. If the female Arkanna’s presence had rattled him because he expected a human male, they could tell. But Zack figured he’d never be able to read anything off that reptilian face and in those cold, dead eyes.
“Your First of Ship?”
“He is unavoidably detained, Excellency and has honored me by ordering me to perform this most important task. I am at your complete disposal and will strive to fullfil my duties to the utmost of my limited and inadequate abilities.”
Bvanis cocked his head to one side.
“It is unfortunate. Please convey my deepest respects to your First of Ship.”
“Certainly Excellency. How may I help you?”
“Please describe your cargo.”
“Household appliances, mostly, and a few luxury trinkets.”
“Please show me.”
“If you will follow me, Excellency.” She bowed her head then glanced at Decker. They quickly walked down to the main cargo bay, leaving the official’s pilot with his cutter, under the watchful eye of a pair of brawny bosun’s mates.
Darhad tapped the proper sequence to unlock the cargo bay door, her long fingers dancing over the pad. When the double doors whisked open with a sigh, she entered, stopping by the rampart of standard containers.
The official came to stand beside her and inspected the cargo with unblinking eyes. Then, he pulled out a hand-held scanner. Darhad’s eyes momentarily widened in alarm, and she glanced at Decker, who’d seen her reaction.
“Your Excellency seems to have an interesting piece of equipment,” she said, recovering her poise.
“Ah yes. Our government bought a significant number of these marvelous machines from a human trading firm recently. He called them state-of-the-art, which, I understand means the best.”
Zack examined the small rectangular package in Bvanis’ hand and recognized a civilian version of the military battlefield sensor. It was advanced tech but built for war, not precise scanning like police sensors. The Constabulary would never use them.
Darhad looked at him again, one upswept eyebrow raised in question.
“His Excellency has a good example of recent human tech,” Zack said. “Our armed services have used this machine in war.
Raisa gave Zack a small, knowing smile and turned her attention back to the Pradyni official.
“What please is in that container?” He pointed at one in the middle of the right-hand stack.
Darhad glanced at the label on the side. “Cooking implements: knives, kitchen appliances and the like.”
Bvanis cocked his head to the side again and played his scanner over the container. Decker, now fully alert thanks to Darhad’s reaction, glanced over the shorter alien’s shoulder and stared at the readout.
After twenty years of soldiering, Zack could interpret a sensor scan in a way the average civvie couldn’t even begin to do. And this scan, while it ostensibly showed power tools, as the first officer had described, also showed background readings that shouldn’t come from a box of utensils.
Were he ordered to discuss his thoughts about what he saw, Decker would have said there were high-tech weapons hidden between the vibrablades, autospits and other powered implements, which would explain why Darhad seemed alarmed at seeing the sensor.
Zack cursed himself for not having studied the planet further, but he’d be willing to bet the political situation wasn’t too stable on Pradyn. Perhaps someone opposed to the government was buying contraband human weapons under the cover of harmless kitchen appliances.
His eyes met Darhad’s over the alien’s bowed head, and he saw that the Arkanna woman knew he knew. Since he wasn’t supposed to find out about the contraband, his loyalty was about to be questioned. Would an ex-Marine aid and abet illegal commercial activities? Or would he run to the nearest Fleet outpost and do his duty?
The Fleet had kicked him out so he didn’t have any reason to feel generous towards his former employers. And this was small time stuff. No skin off his nose if aliens wanted to kill each other. It kept them from killing humans.
“Hmmm, and this box?” Bvanis pointed at another randomly chosen container.
*
Half an hour later, Darhad and Decker escorted a satisfied customs official back to his cutter. He had placed his seal on all containers. Now Shokoten could land and off-load the cargo. Whoever took receipt of if would have to deal with the paperwork on the ground to remove the seals and clear the stuff, but that wasn’t the ship’s problem.
Darhad and Bvanis carried out the short Pradyni greeting ritual again, and the reptilian climbed aboard his cutter. Moments later, he was gone.
As Zack and the first officer walked the length of the ship to the captain’s cabin, Decker wondered how he should handle his discovery. Apart from the weapons, he’d seen traces of restricted electronics hidden in the containers. Nothing that gave him heartache. Since the first officer knew he’d found out, a lot would depend on how he acted next.
The first officer knocked on the door to the captain’s cabin and was ordered to enter. Zack followed.
“All went well?” Strachan asked, outwardly calm, but betrayed by his fidgeting fingers.
“Yes, sir,” Darhad replied. “But there is one disturbing development. The Pradyni now have high-grade sensors.”
“What?” Strachan leaned forward over his desk and looked at Raisa Darhad with incredulity.
“Tell him, Mister Decker,” Darhad ordered.
“Aye, sir. Captain, the Pradyni have a civvie version of the Navy’s Mark Nine hand-held battlefield sensor. The Mark Nines are still in use by the Corps.”
Pathfinders had the Mark Ten, which would have made those guns show up like priests in a whorehouse, but there was no need for Strachan to know.
“Those little babies are built to be tough, work anywhere, and be used by even the dumbest trooper. That means they’re not as accurate as police sensors. An experienced tech who knows what he’s looking for can read a lot more into the scan than the obvious. I doubt these guys will ever be good enough. It usually takes the fear of death to become that skilled. Properly camouflaged stuff can fool most people.”
Strachan and Darhad exchanged a significant glance that wasn’t lost on Decker. A tiny part of him felt nervous.
“And are you good enough to read between a Mark Nine’s scan lines, Mister Decker,” the captain asked, locking eyes with Zack.
“Yes, sir. I know those sensors better than my mother does. Used ‘em for years.” Decker held the stare with unabashed defiance.
“And you saw what the customs official scanned?”
“Yes, sir. Saw his readout clear as day.”
“Tell me, Mister Decker. Do you have any problems with what you saw?”
That was the question Zack had been expecting. He hoped that his face was as neutral as he could make it.
“Not my place to have problems, sir. My job’s ship security, not cargo.”
Strachan examined him with narrowed eyes. He stroked his beard several times as if deep in thought.
“Very well, Mister Decker. Thank you for bringing this development to my attention.”
The captain didn’t look very thankful. Worried like hell was a better description and he glanced at his first officer, a natural-born killer, then at his gunner, a former Marine from a Corps whose reputation for integrity was legendary. It took little for Zack’s paranoid mind to spin scenarios he’d rather not contemplate.
He took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a cred.
“Sir, if you want to make sure the sensor readouts show only what you want to show, there’s ways of making that happen. Won’t fool everybody all the time, but it’s better than what you have now.”
“Really, Mister Decker? And why would I want to hide anything from anybody?”
Zack was thrown off by the captain’s reply. But interest glinted in Strachan’s eyes. He recovered and shrugged.
“Just trying to do my job, sir.”
“Yes, thank you, Mister Decker. Dismissed.”
Zack merely nodded and left, unable to decide whether he was dog meat or not. He returned to his cabin and threw himself on his bunk. Weapons were shut down for the entry into Pradyn orbit and the landing, and he had nothing to do until they were on the ground, except fret.
Since he had decided to stick with Captain Strachan until he found himself doing something he found morally repugnant, he pushed the thought aside. The way things worked, if the Constabulary or the Fleet caught them, the crew wouldn’t suffer for minor contraband, only the officers, and the owners. Provided, of course, that the crew didn’t resist boarding or inspection. However, the discovery that Strachan was running illegal guns gave him second thoughts about the mysterious death of the former gunner.
*
“What do you think, Raisa?” Captain Diego Strachan raised an eyebrow as he looked at his first officer. “Can we trust him to keep quiet or will his old Fleet instincts send him to the nearest military outpost?”
Darhad ran slender fingers through her crimson hair, lost in thought.
“If truth be told, Captain, I don’t know. Decker is a difficult man to judge on anything other than his efficiency, which is commendable. There is, of course, the fact that the military threw him out, and that should affect the way he sees his loyalties. Then too, smuggling weapons to alien planets is not so big a crime in a Marine’s eyes. Most military minds I have come across believe in a non-human race’s fundamental right to destroy itself or any other non-human race of its choice.” She shrugged. “I must admit I like and admire him. He has a hunter’s soul and instincts. We could do much worse than trust him. Let us wait and see what happens. If he wants to betray us, I will find out before he does so, and I will kill him.”
Strachan gazed at his second in command through half closed eyes. Sometimes Raisa Darhad’s bloodthirsty predisposition troubled him. But for all that, she was a good first officer, ready to command her own ship. He trusted her judgement. He had to. Otherwise, he would be alone on a ship crewed by rogues who wouldn’t be out of place on a marauder, but who preferred to keep their heads on their necks in return for smaller profits.
“What happens when Alers tries to get his revenge?” Nothing remained secret on a ship like Shokoten and Strachan knew of the bad blood between his bosun and gunner. “He may be an idiot at times, but he’s able, and he’s served with me for several years. Do I sacrifice him for Decker? Is Decker valuable enough, and harmless enough to our affairs?”
“That is your decision, Captain. But consider that your bosun is spiteful and brutal. The crew hates him, and he can impose discipline only by force. Eventually, someone will kill him. Any intelligent, experienced rating can take over the bosun job, but you have only one gunner, and a good one at that. Not like Lokis. Decker did nothing stupid upon discovering contraband in the cargo, nor did he deny seeing the contraband, and he showed himself willing to discuss the subject of sensors and ways to foil them.”
Strachan nodded. “I will take your words under advisement, Raisa. Meanwhile, keep an eye on friend Decker, especially if he goes on liberty. I rather like his ways and don’t want to discover that he is dangerous to us after all. When do we land?”
“We will be in orbit in twenty minutes. From there, spacecon will assign us a landing pattern. It could be anywhere from an hour to two days.”
“Thanks, Raisa.”
She smiled to herself as she left the cabin. Strachan’s orders gave her a perfect reason to get to know Decker in a less formal setting. She felt attracted to his fierce, proud professionalism. Of all the humans aboard Shokoten, he was the closest to a male of her species.
*
It didn’t take four years at the Academy to set-up the security on a freighter like Shokoten, even on a technobarbarian planet. Alers’ spacers and mates were detailed as guards under Decker’s orders, and they gave him no trouble. The bosun, bullying and brutal when he held the upper hand, was despised by most of the crew, and he’d come down a peg or two since Zack gave him a beating.
Several ratings had given the gunner knowing grins when they reported for security duty, and he placed those in the airlocks he couldn’t directly see from the hold or outside. The ones who looked like they might be Alers’ pals, Zack kept with him in the hold, to watch the stevedores.
All the guards carried loaded pistols. Decker had made sure they knew how to use them, and more importantly when to use them. He didn’t need an idiot blowing his toes off, or, since the possibility was always there, accidentally shooting him while ‘cleaning his weapon.’
The Pradyni worked with speed and efficiency under the direction of a foreman with a disturbing tendency to snarl at his workers.
“They must not have a union, with the boss abusing his gang like that,” Zack commented in an aside to the second officer.
Bowdoin cackled. “Never left the Commonwealth, have you, Gunner?”
“No sir.”
“The reason these workers aren’t unionized is that they’re slaves.”
“What?” Zack Decker, who’d fought slavery time and time again, had never seen the wretches at work in a slave-owning society. His hand reflexively reached for his blaster, and he had it half-drawn before he regained control of his instincts.
“Calm down, Mister Decker. This isn’t a human world. The Pradyni can do whatever they want. Slavery is bred into this society. They had them long before we made contact, and I imagine they’ll have them for a long time yet. It’s not our concern either way.” Bowdoin paused and studied the working Pradyni.
“Their government has forbidden the trade with off-planet slavers, so most of the people wearing the collar are natives who have broken the law, or who were born to their state. They’re efficient enough and well controlled.”
“I guess they are at that, sir,” Decker replied, doubt and loathing evident in his tone.
“There are worse places out here, Gunner, a lot worse,” Bowdoin murmured.
The unloading was quick, thanks to the strange looking container-lift machines the natives drove. Powered by some sort of primitive internal combustion engine, they spewed disgusting gray exhaust fumes that rapidly filled the cavernous hold. Even the ship’s air scrubbers had a difficult time keeping up with the pollution.
Zack could have found refuge in the controller’s room which would have given him the same view as from the catwalk, but he was damned if he would leave his guards to breathe the crap while he hid in an air-conditioned office. The next time, though, he would rustle up filters or masks so they could breathe without destroying their lungs. It would mean going to engineering, but such things could be arranged without facing the irascible third officer.
*
“That’s it, sir.”
The hold was empty. All the containers, including the ones with contraband, had been offloaded and stacked in a nearby storehouse to await pick up by the recipients. Zack was glad the guns were off the ship. No matter how much he tried to ignore the fact, breaking the law, even beyond Commonwealth borders, made him uneasy. Twenty years of training wouldn’t wash away in a few weeks.
“Thank you, Gunner. Secure the locks and stand down.” Bowdoin nodded.
Decker snapped to attention. “Aye, aye, sir.”
*
“The shippers have advised me we have a three-day wait before they can load their cargo.”
Captain Strachan scowled as he swept the assembled officers with an annoyed gaze. He was unhappy, and the reason was easy to divine. For three days, Shokoten would be idle, eating up expensive landing fees.
“Obviously, they want a bribe to speed things up, but the delay isn’t bad enough for that. Yet.”
“What happens when they postpone loading again?” Raisa Darhad looked just as somber as her captain did.
“I will deal with that in due course. As it happens, I’ve made sure any further delay would cost them in increased shipping fees. They can weasel out of it, of course, by getting an arbitrary decree from their king, but by now, even he knows it would be bad for business. The Pradyni obtain most of their high tech from the Commonwealth, and tech must flow.”
“Meanwhile,” Strachan continued, “we will have liberty. No more than twenty-four hours per crewmember. I want a full watch on board at all times, including security.” He glanced at Zack. “I’d prefer that the crew go out in pairs and not alone and make damn sure they know the native taboos. If someone gets into trouble with the local law, there is little I can do to rescue them. I’d rather people get drunk aboard the ship than in a tavern. Failing that, tell them to stay in Spacetown. The natives are more tolerant there than in their own cities.”
Raisa Darhad nodded.
“The liberty sheets will be posted by the end of the watch.”
“That’s all. Have a good time ashore. And be careful.” Strachan rose and left the wardroom.
*
“You going, Nihao?” Decker asked as he changed out of his worn battledress and pulled on his single change of civilian clothes.
“No. I have much work to do. Merchant ships don’t carry large amounts of perishable foods. It takes up too much space, and stasis containers are expensive. I have to negotiate the local purchase of fresh things.”
“On an alien planet?”
“Some of their food can be eaten by humans, and there is a ship’s chandlers business here that grows human foodstuff, mainly soy-based. Unfortunately, it will take up all of my time.”
Zack nodded. Nihao Kiani didn’t want to take time off on the planet where her former roommate had died, and her work gave her a good excuse.
“Be careful, Zack.”
“Don’t worry about me, Nihao. I checked the roster. Alers isn’t allowed off the ship until tomorrow.”
She looked at him with worried eyes. “The bosun will not take his revenge personally, Zack. He is too frightened of you and will have someone else do it while he is aboard and has a good alibi.”
Decker paused, his shirt half done up.
“Doesn’t matter. Bad guys haven’t managed to kill me in twenty years and they won’t now, especially not some half-assed friend of Alers. We can’t carry blasters in town, but I can sure as shit take this.” He flashed his black-hilted, silver-bladed Pathfinder dagger. “The bugger’s already tasted its edge, and will again if anyone gets too frisky.”
Nihao shook her head and muttered something in Mandarin before vanishing into the washroom.
*
Zack wrinkled his nose at the stench of exhaust fumes that permeated the spaceport. The whole city of Vortaz seemed to be smothered by a gray blanket turned a ghastly shade of red by the sun. Beneath the ship, the concrete tarmac was grimy, cracked and pitted, with sharp-bladed plants growing wherever they could.
Decker was alone, contrary to the captain’s orders, but there was no one on board with whom he was friendly enough, except Nihao. He had read the condensed infopak on Pradyni culture and memorized the main taboos that could spell trouble. His dagger was strapped to his left forearm, hidden by the sleeve of his old leather jacket.
Zack spotted the terminal building the left and headed for it. Under port rules, all visitors had to pass through the control station. Though utilitarian, the building was the first example of native architecture he saw and he felt mildly disappointed. After meeting the customs official, Zack expected something ornate and alien. But it was a simple concrete block, with few embellishments.
The inside of the building seemed cleaner than the outside, but that wasn’t saying much. By all appearances, the locals didn’t care about off-worlders’ impressions of them. The fact there was a second spaceport, on the other side of Vortaz, exclusively for Pradyni spacecraft spoke volumes.
A bored native, his colors faded by the monotony of his job, sat alone behind a scratched plastic window, and looked at him with expressionless black eyes. His office was no better than the empty waiting area: faded and dented plastic furniture, grimy, beige floor tiles, and walls that had once been white. No posters, plants or other decorations relieved the depressing grittiness of the place. Watery light streamed through cobwebbed windows that hadn’t been washed since the first contact with humanity.
“Your identification.” The Pradyni asked in his tongue, the request translated by a primitive AI that sounded robotic.
Zack slid his blue ID card through the slot under the window and watched as the alien shoved it into a reader. The official pushed it back to Decker.
“Have a pleasant stay.”
Tired doors whisked aside with a nerve-grating screech, and Zack stepped out into an alien city, on a planet where the natives had no love for strangers, but tolerated them to obtain modern technology. The ex-Marine suspected that the day they became self-sufficient, trade would be conducted on their terms, which meant not on their planet.
Stretching out from the terminal towards Vortaz proper, Pradyn’s version of Spacetown stood as an obstacle and a temptation for off-worlders, a means to keep them away from the city. Other exotic but no less unpleasant smells mingled with the exhaust fumes and Zack wondered whether he wouldn’t be better off spending his free time on the ship. But for a Marine, checking out bars on a new world was tradition.
He walked further into Spacetown, keeping strictly to the main drag and saw many alien visitors but only a few natives. There were strange shapes in the dark alleys between the loud and garishly lit taverns, but Zack knew better than to investigate. Shadowy corners meant druggies, whores and their pimps, bums and other assorted scum who’d cheerfully slit a spacer’s throat for the contents of his pockets.
As with most planets, the Pradyni made only nominal attempts to preserve law and order in Spacetown, preferring to let off-worlders prey on each other rather than on the local citizenry.
Non-natives could visit the planet outside Spacetown, but only with grudging permission. Anyone who broke a law there was guaranteed to suffer the full penalties of native justice. According to the guide, slavery was used for small crimes. Bigger ones started with forced labor in the mines and ended with death in various fashions, depending on the offense. Dismemberment was mentioned, as was becoming supper for a particularly loathsome, tank-sized desert creature kept just for that purpose.
When he judged he had reached the center of Spacetown, Zack looked around for the joint that seemed like the best prospect for a decent beer. A purple, two-story building with large signs in many languages and scripts attracted his attention. It looked clean from the outside, or at least more decent than the rest. It had no broken windows or lights and had a steady stream of customers going in and out beneath the flashing pink lights.
He crossed the wide asphalt street, dodging unrecognizable garbage in the gutters and panhandling off world bums sitting on the edge of the sidewalk. A gust of loud, discordant music assaulted his ears as the swinging door flapped open to let out a pair of drunk, gray-skinned Kardati sailors. They looked like the barbarians they were in their stained, rough leather and mail uniforms, now decorated with flecks of dried food and what might be vomit, though for all Zack knew, it could have been a Kardati delicacy.
The sailors looked at him unsteadily and then, arm in arm, staggered down the street, bellowing something tuneless. Decker shook his head in amusement. They must have started drinking at noon to be in such a state.
He pushed his way into the bar, wincing at the noise and smell. The air was smoky enough to cut with a knife; lights flashed left and right, hurting his eyes; loud music, played by instruments he couldn’t identify, competed with a crowd intent on holding conversations at the top of their lungs.
It seemed that every spacefaring race in this arm of the galaxy was represented, most of them unwashed, if the odors were anything to go by, and each was drinking something weirder than the other.
One glass, held high by an incredibly ugly Marzukki female who must have been over two meters tall, contained something with tentacles that writhed at the bottom of the blood-red liquid. She downed her glass, hors d’oeuvre included and Zack turned away when he saw a small tentacle hanging out of the side of her lipless mouth, flapping feebly while she chewed.
He made his way through the press of beings to the bar and waited patiently for the heavily scarred, one-eyed Pradyni bartender to notice him. Attracting his attention verbally over the deafening noise seemed beyond Zack’s abilities.
He was jostled a few times by drunk patrons who were either slapping each other on the shoulder, roaring with laughter, or striking each other to make a point. They and the bartender ignored him. While he waited Zack looked around, trying to find another human face, but in vain. Alien words bellowed into his ear, made him turn around.
“Sorry,” Zack yelled back, “I can’t speak your language.”
“What you drink, human?” The bartender replied, this time in heavily accented and barely understandable Anglic.
“Shrehari ale.”
The bartender vanished for a few moments then plunked a twisted bottle filled with a purplish, carbonated liquid in front of Zack.
“Thirty khlavass.”
Decker mentally converted khlavass into creds and handed the bartender a twenty-cred chip, which was about three times what that inferior brand was worth.
“Keep the change,” he yelled. But his sarcasm was lost on the Pradyni, who pocketed the chip expressionlessly and turned to the next customer.
Zack opened the bottle and took a sip, then grimaced. The stuff was even worse than expected based on the brand name. Inspecting the label, he became convinced that the stuff was locally made and passed off as real Shrehari ale. He hoped he wouldn’t go blind from the bootleg hooch. Decker loved his beer, and a good, well-aged vintage was fantastic. It beat the living pants off most human brews and had a good kick to boot. Too bad a lot of human worlds didn’t allow the brew on-planet. Shrehari ale smugglers were the only outlaws Decker was willing to help as much as he could.
If this joint was one of the better places, he grimaced again, looking at the other patrons, and it probably was, then he didn’t think he’d be having much fun on this liberty. It would be a long haul back to civilization, living in close quarters with the delectable Ms. Kiani.
But thinking of Nihao reminded him that Gunner Lokis had died on Pradyn. As he sipped his insipid ersatz ale, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, as if he were being watched. It was a sixth sense he’d developed over the years, something that had kept him from being killed more than once. Zack had learned to trust the feeling, even if he couldn’t explain it.
Slowly, without seeming alarmed or even interested, he scanned the crowd. Sometimes, just by doing that, his instinct could tell him who was doing the watching. Sometimes. It was easier with humans. Body language was often hard to conceal. But trying to read the body language of a dozen species of sentient aliens was a different story.
The big Marzukki female had a fresh glass with another of those tentacle snacks writhing at the bottom. She roared at something her companion, a scaly Flaxitatt hermaphrodite was saying, and thumping him/her on the back so hard that it would have sent Zack Decker sprawling on the floor. The Flaxitatt barely moved, though he/she laughed, jaws open wide, showing dagger-like fangs, yellowed and worn.
At another table, a group of Hradin spacers, identical in black coveralls and hoods, took nervous sips of a frothy liquid, heads bowed together, bluish lips moving at speeds impossible for humans to follow.
Near the door, the five members of a pod of shaggy, broad-shouldered Gardal were uproariously pouring thin Pradyni ale over the head of an Anrytzoli crewmate, singing a drinking song in their rumbling, deep-throated voices.
Here and there, pairs or trios of Pradyni hustlers moved between the tables or sat at strategic spots to snare unsuspecting spacers, though why anyone would want a lizard hooker was beyond Zack’s imagination.
His eyes almost bugged out when he saw one of them, her hide carefully made-up, sit on a Darsivian’s lap and immediately become the object of his most slobbering attention. Moments later, the ursine alien spacer and the Pradyni headed up to the second floor. Zack chuckled as he tried to imagine the offspring such a coupling would produce were it genetically feasible, which it wasn’t. An ugly but funny thought.
The canned music suddenly stopped and everyone’s attention, at least those still awake and sober enough not to drool, turned to the small stage at the far end of the bar.
A faint shimmering caught Zack’s eye, and he nodded with approval: a force field to protect the players. A group of six aliens, from six different species, each carrying an intricately designed instrument, walked on stage to the yells, hoots, and drunken heckling of the patrons.
An ale bottle flew against the force field and bounced back, catching one of the nearby customers on the head. Zack barely had time to notice the brief scuffle as huge bouncers swiftly threw the culprit out onto the street.
Then, the band played a raucous song that pleased the roaring crowd. If coherent thought had been difficult before, it became impossible now under the fresh assault of noise. Zack still felt watched and it made him edgy.
New movement near the door caught his attention, and he was surprised to see Raisa Darhad’s pale face and shockingly red hair above the furry skulls of the Gardals. She caught sight of him and smiled, sending shivers down Zack’s spine. He briefly wondered what effect her predator’s looks and manners had on humans who didn’t have his experience with danger and death. Perhaps they died of fright. As she approached, Decker began to suspect that Darhad was doing it to him deliberately. That thought made him smile in return.
“Are you having a good time, Gunner?” She asked above the din, her mouth almost touching his ear. He felt the warmth of her breath on his cheek while a hint of pheromones sent his heart racing.
“Yes sir, though the beer’s fucking lousy. And the music worse.”
She nodded, amused.
“Incidentally, Gunner,” she purred, lips brushing his earlobe again, “on liberty, you may call me Raisa.”
“Yes sir, Raisa, sir,” Zack replied grinning, feeling inordinately pleased and not knowing why.
Darhad turned towards the bar and ordered something unintelligible in a tongue Zack had never heard. Meanwhile, he resumed his slow scan of the bar, trying to figure out who, or what was watching him. Having her at his side made him feel better. If it came to a fight, the Arkanna was the one crewmate he’d most want at his back.
Zack finished his scrutiny with a close-up view of First Officer Darhad in civvies, and it made him appreciate her more visible qualities. Definitely mammalian: all the right curves in the right places.
Raisa Darhad wore a skin-tight black outfit, and while it accentuated her remarkable female shape, the former Marine quickly realized that the one-piece garment wasn’t to attract males. Her pheromones did quite well, thank you. No, the outfit would give her maximum freedom of movement and a good deal of protection in a fight. Of course, it would also distract any humanoid male while she went in for the kill. An interesting choice.
Zack averted his eyes from her shapely behind when she turned around with a glass of something thick, opaque, and pungent in her hand. Darhad leaned against the scarred metal bar beside Decker and sipped her drink, eyes resting on Zack’s craggy profile.
He’s looking for someone, she decided after watching his eyes flick back and forth beneath a slight but unmistakable frown of concentration.
Decker wasn’t only letting his gaze rove across the bar in what Raisa Darhad thought of as the ‘protective scan mode,’ that unconscious and automatic state that all good warriors fell into the moment they left their familiar, safe surroundings. The warrant officer was in ‘active mode,’ looking for someone or something specific. Someone he knew? He had admitted he had never been outside the Commonwealth before so it was unlikely it would be a native. But why would he meet with a human on Pradyn?
She watched him for a while and then leaned over, brushing her lips against his ear again, her breath warm on his cheek.
“Are you waiting for someone, Gunner?”
If he was startled by her sudden closeness, he showed an admirable control over his reflexes. Darhad had no choice but to approve. With deliberation, he turned his head to look at her. Raisa raised her right eyebrow in question, letting a faint air of amusement relax her features.
“No, Raisa. How the hell could I? Don’t know a living soul out in the Shield. And all the Shield citizens I’ve ever met didn’t survive the introduction.” He paused and glanced at the crowd again, visibly uncomfortable. “Okay, First Officer. I’ve had the feeling, since before you walked in, that I’m being watched. It’s a feeling I’ve learned to listen to and trust. Saved my life a couple of times.”
She nodded. He was telling the truth as he believed it to be. Why should he not be able to sense a hidden watcher? It was the attribute of a natural warrior and Mister Decker was as close to an Arkanna male as she had seen among humans.
They drank in companionable silence for several minutes, tuning out the awful band, the loud conversations and concentrating on small anomalies, such as anyone paying Zack Decker too much attention, especially when he stood beside a superbly sculpted she-wolf.
Darhad drained her glass and laid her surprisingly warm hand on Zack’s, talons fully sheathed. Her fingers were dry but smooth, and Decker felt another shiver run down his spine.
“I know a place that serves better drinks and where hidden watchers are much easier to spot.”
“Didn’t know Pradyn had a Guildhall.”
She laughed. “No, it does not. But the place of which I speak is known to few and keeps its customer list short. For that, it offers a quiet surrounding without the assorted riff-raff of the galaxy drinking unmentionable things, and it has a fine beverage list.”
Zack briefly wondered about the reasons behind her invitation, especially in light of his discovery of the contraband. He had no illusions that he could take on the first officer in hand to hand combat and win. Had Captain Strachan decided to make sure he would never talk?
More to the point, did Lokis receive an invitation that led into an ambush after finding something he wasn’t supposed to find?
Decker shrugged and placed his half-empty bottle on the bar. The day he stopped living dangerously was the day they could bury him, and that wasn’t happening anytime soon. Plus, he really wanted to know what this lady had on her mind. Was it only getting wasted with a shipmate, or was she looking for something else? He could see only one way to find out.
“I’m right behind you, Raisa.”
“Come, then.” She flashed him a smile, baring her pointy teeth and turned to head for the door, pushing through the dense, unwashed crowd. Zack had no choice but to follow in her wake.
