Regers glanced down at his boots, frowning at the strange throbbing at his right ankle. He noticed one of the plant things had latched on with tenacious force. It had formed a ring around his leg, like a coil of string. The thing would not let go. At first, it was too puny to detect, but now it had grown. His skin itched, also ached under the coiling pressure. Likely cutting off some circulation. Whether epiphyte or symbiotic growth Regers did not know. He tried ripping the thing off with his gloved hands but had no success. When his bowie knife had failed to pierce it, he had given up. It seemed whenever the plant’s host was attacked, it fought back to protect itself and its host anchor. A remarkable tendency to adapt. A defensive versus aggressive lifeform. Christ, he was sounding like Yul. If it wanted to cut off the circulation in his foot, let it. At this point he cared little. His time was running out. These were advantages of being higher than a kite to the death, on Mebzdoniel or Devirol, whatever the fuck.
Now he was lost. He hadn’t a clue where Yul was, or if he had survived the explosion.
Frue? Who needed the little shit? If the idiot had dodged the Mentera faster and not screwed up the projector beam, none of this would have happened.
Good. Anger would keep him alive longer. Keep him from succumbing to the dominance of these squids. So would contempt for general humanity, and aliens. And all wealthy industrialists who conned innocent men into risking their lives for some fool’s errand. He never wanted to see another fishy creature, squid or plant again—what with the thing now latched to his ankle like a dance-whore’s bracelet.
It had all gone wrong less than two months ago. He had never wanted any of this. Mathias. The Dim Zone. Exploring dangerous worlds. But life had thrown him a curve, snatched everything from him—that mattered.
Tooth for a tooth. An eye for an eye. Those were the only maxims that made any sense in the jungle.
Olg, the gang leader, and his brutes had played a number on his loved one. He had wanted out of that twisted gang. Finding her body, or what was left of it, it had been...gruesome. Olg, the fucker. The memories spilled back to him in a bitter flood. That spidery script of Olg’s, written in Salma’s own blood on a note pinned to her mangled corpse, the still-warm blood that caked her glossy blond hair decked with flowers.
The note, rhyming on about ‘betrayal’, ‘duty’, and ‘commitments’ to the guild. Olg was always a traditional bastard.
If he had any regret at this point, Regers admitted it was that he might not get to repay Olg for his brutality.
Regers lifted his head, his blaster raised in a clenched fist. A glow peeked to the left down the corridor. Some weird room entered through a U-shaped archway.
As he stumbled in to take a look, pale eyes gleamed back at him from the dark.
What the—?
A weird medley of creatures glared at him from within those tanks. He recognized man-like Jakru with horns curling out from their temples, a few humans, several Daulks with their elephant-like ears, and Hurd! Dear old Hurd. Of course, these were victims of the Zikri hijackings. To be stored here for a later date. For what? The slave markets at Mansrath? The Mentera?
Very interesting...
Regers staggered over to the glass of Hurd’s prison and blinked, tapping on the surface.
Hurd gazed back with sightless apathy, bobbing in his liquid, like some drowned man. His wounds looked grievous, but strangely healed. A bright gash stained his military grade spaceman’s coat where the Zikri had maimed him.
“Hurd, my fine man—enjoying the vista?”
Regers pushed an ear to the tank. “Cat got your tongue?”
He shook his head in benign wonder, chortling. “Well, at least you’ll never be thirsty, my boy, or lack a place to swim in.”
Regers edged back with a frown. Hurd looked alive, but he must be dead. Shouldn’t he? No man could have withstood that extent of Zikri savagery. Still, the man’s eyes were open. Regers could have sworn the tall man blinked earlier. How did he stay alive in that liquid with his lungs full of water? Unless he was the next Aquaman?
Regers laughed. He toyed with the idea of breaking the glass and releasing Hurd just to see what was up. No, it was insane. But if Hurd were alive, he’d need every ally to escape this mess.
He lifted his blaster, risking the noise that it would make if Zikri were lurking about. Then
