As Surber leads Miss Striffler to wherever they’re going to film, Nilo walks to my team, hands in pockets.
“How’s the best damn squad in this outfit?”
The men shuffle somewhat uncomfortably. Easy answers for the group.
“Uh, we’re good, Mister Nilo. Thank you.”
Nilo nods, a smile still plastered to his face.
“And, uh, thanks again for the raise, sir.”
“Don’t mention it. You all deserve it. I’m relying on your team to see this project through. Kublar is step one in a reformation that will benefit the entire galaxy. And if there’s anything else you need, let me know.”
Easy mumbles something that I can hear, which means Nilo can probably hear it, too. “Need to know if those rumors about you killin’ those tycoons is true.”
Nilo laughs. Yep, he heard it.
“Rumor mill reached the gunfighters?” Nilo asks, the smile still fixed to his face.
Easy smiles back sheepishly, clearly not thinking his voice would carry the way it did.
“Listen,” Nilo says. “I’m a regular guy who made wise financial decisions, was ruthless in business, and now wants to make use of what I’ve acquired to make the galaxy a better place. Which is where you come in. These sorts of rumors about fighting slavers, adventuring… me training to fight with your squad is as close as I’ve ever come to anything like that. But, you get enough intelligence officers packed into one room and it isn’t long before they start making up stories to pass the time. They’re a bunch of old women, really. Gossips.”
Easy nods. It’s obvious he wants the conversation to end. He feels completely out of his element and uncomfortable chatting it up with a gazillionaire (I think that’s a real number).
I step up and focus attention on the mission. Because, diversions aside, blood is being spilt before this day ends. And while there’s always some complications—especially in this outfit—I wasn’t planning on the fishy-smelling one standing in our ring.
“Sir, I’m hoping you can clear something up for me. This Kublaren, uh, gentleman is saying he’s going on the op with us.”
Nilo moves to the koob, takes both his hands, bows his head, and utters some koob greeting in their native language. “This is my fault,” he says. “I meant to tell you last night. Pikkek here is the Pekk tribe’s Tek’uma. The best warrior they have. Events now prevent me from fighting on your team, Carter, and the chieftains all felt that the only possible replacement was a Tek’uma, and Pikkek was selected after some debate. But this isn’t the Republic and Pikkek isn’t in like some appointed officer to make his chieftain feel good. He’s every bit the warrior as any of us.”
Well… that’s settled, I guess.
Pikkek steps forward. “I am ready to follow you… k’k’kik… into war, chief-killer.”
“Chief killer?” asks Easy.
Nilo looks over his shoulder back at the line. “That’s the Standard translation. In Kublaren, it’s mookta; the ultimate honor for a warrior is to kill a rival chieftain in combat. Pekk tribe was impressed at the team’s killing of Skagga. Since no one can say for sure who fired the shot that killed the chieftain, as team leader, Carter is given the honor.”
“Well,” I say, motioning for Pikkek to fall in line, “I do what I can to keep the hostile koob chief population under control. So let’s make sure the next mookta comes from this team.”
I get my usual assortment of battle noises from the team plus an excited clicking and hissing from Pikkek’s airsac. That’s gonna take some getting used to.
“Looks like you’re good here, Carter,” Nilo says, leaving as he speaks, making it clear that his assessment is the only one he’s interested in. So, officially, we’re good. “We’ll circle back around after the op. Transport will pick you up in a few. Good luck.”
As Big Nee jogs away to where Miss Striffler and Surber wait, holocam hovering behind them, Abers walks up to me.
“Man, this is too weird. Winters? That’s Winters?”
“Life lesson,” I say, watching the boss adjust his suit to get ready for the interview or whatever. “You never know who someone might be. So don’t be a dick all the time.”
“Still tryin’ to learn that one, huh, Leej?”
I turn my head and give Abers a death stare. And then raise my hand to reel out a middle finger. Abers laughs and the rest of the crew falls in to wait for the transport.
“What is… k’kik… this hooman gesture, Leejonayer?” asks Pikkek.
The holocam’s light goes on and to my surprise, I can hear the interview. The sound is carrying across the hardened dirt that is our camp.
“Tell you later,” I say and then shush the others down. “Wanna hear this.”
Nilo is wearing aviator sunglasses for the interview. They reflect the already harsh sunlight in a way that must dazzle the holocams fixed on him.
His hair and suit are perfect, and the snowcapped mountains of inland Kublar look brilliant against a blue, cloudless sky. Miss Striffler is interviewing him. I never watch much news, but my guess is she’s with one of the big news orgs. She has that polished, almost too perfect look about her. The kind that bots holoproject for the newscasts from distant hellhole planets—like Kublar. Only she’s the real thing. Flesh and blood. Looks so good even Lana is staring.
“Critics of your involvement in what has shaped up to be another Kublaren Civil War are saying that you’re an opportunist,” Striffler begins after some introductory pleasantries I can’t make out. “Is this a case of a galactic mega corporation trying to seize power now that the Republic is rebuilding following Article Nineteen?”
“Not at all,” Nilo says, sounding light but committed to his response. “But as I told the Black Leaf board, this isn’t about turning a profit and it’s certainly not about exploiting Kublar or any planet and its people for resources—there was more than enough of that sort of thing done through the House of Reason. What you’re seeing is that the Kublarens
