Nothing would end well for any of them, especially if, as the surviving officer in charge of the Mzigji Orb, he did not punish the offending humans.
Krin’s mouth curled. The other human, wandering about, had fought wildly yet stupidly in the Mentera tank room. In the end to join the predatory hedrax en route to the ring station. A vicious creature, this whale-like beast, at best a grisly showpiece, not to be trifled with. Let the Mentera do what they would with such grotesques.
Krin snapped out of his dark reverie at the sound of Krake’s brittle voice. He was back again in the dark conference hall aboard the Wikrik, the spike-runner, Krake’s warrior Orb heading toward the Zikri-Mentera alliance space hub orbiting Kraetoria. A number of Zikri were present, including Krake’s closest aides and his superior, Mrupuk, the old butcherer.
Krake looked down with contempt upon Krin, after claiming Krin’s human prisoners as his own.
“Because you have failed to protect our customs and ships, you should be put to death. But since you have brought me these humans, I have reconsidered the death penalty. I will give you a ship and one last chance to exact revenge. Do not fail me, subcommander.” He chittered the last words with a sneer in front of his senior Mrupuk. “I give you the task of bringing me back a hundred human prisoners or more during your assigned mission.”
Krin bowed, stunned at his good fortune. Even before the Orb had come to pick them up on the moon Urknu, he thought he had been as good as dead.
“You will be under Vngbrug’s supervision, of course. A trusted gurkuk of mine. If there is any difference of opinion, the gurkuk, my eyes and ears, will prevail. Vngbrug kills on the spot anyone exhibiting disobedience.”
Vngbrug quivered, bowing slightly with a twitch of fore-tentacle. Smaller of frame, he sported a white splotch on the left size of his wizened face, similar to the colour of his top left tentacle, completely albino, which Krin presumed was a congenital defect.
Krin bowed.
“At ease, Krin.” Krake made a conciliatory movement. “Continue where you left off. Use Vngbrug’s talents. Round up these skurg who have cost us dearly and remain alive.”
Krin gave a chitter of brisk acknowledgement. At once he sped down the hall with a fresh lease on life, with Vngbrug matching his stride and his newly assigned crew members, Kral, Vryk, Dax, Bral and six others close behind.
Krin was back in his element. His features twisted in a cruel grin.
Chapter 4
Phallanor, a hub amongst the free colonies as far as planetary commercial centres went, came up fast on the Lesior’s sensors. The most influential and powerful galactic companies set up shop there, or at least held a presence. The major city centre shone like an emerald circuitboard over the rolling landscape as the ship streamed down toward her skyline. With her bustling air highways, a population of 23 million, and a network of junctions to outlying communities, traffic was not as diverse as could have been: air taxis, long and short range shuttles, cargo vessels offworld and domestic, from the sleek and daring retro-fit to the rustbuckets of earlier generations that were the mark of the space explorer age. Noticeably, the tall super towers pushed high their steel and chrome pinnacles into the cumulus clouds. Phallanor City was the super metropolis of this sector of the galactic worlds.
Banking low, the Lesior finally docked on top of the Cybernetics Tower #1. No sooner had the engines died than Goss shuttled Yul and Frue out at gunpoint, down the landing pad into the reception bay where a detail of marines took the prisoners into custody. Goss conveyed the precious ‘pod’ to Mathias while the marines forced Yul and Frue to cool their heels in the White Room, as Goss called it—a windowless, padded detention hall.
Yul was in a sour mood as he paced the spartan confines. His body ached and his guts growled with hunger. When was the last time he had eaten? Aboard the Albatross, synthetic mash with the late Regers. Frue’s droning mumbling had begun to wear on him...
* * *
Yul looked up from his stiff crouch a day and a half later to see Goss’s pug-nosed visage emerge through the locked door with three of his marines, all bearing arms. Arguing with the cyborg or cursing him was useless; Yul did not waste his breath. He opted for a surly silence.
Goss’s mangled stub was repaired and wearing a broad grin, he escorted them down in an elevator of the glass tower. They were still many storeys up.
The synthetic herded them into a plush room furnished with velvet divans, a wall of windows from tile floor to ceiling overlooking the city’s busy highways. The splendour of the artificial parks and spire-like towers sprawling before him did nothing for Yul. High ceilings, marble and chrome decorative art, gold-trimmed doors—the place was an immaculate palace, not a piece out of place, nor a speck of dust unaccounted for. Goss motioned to a tall wine jug on a glass table stocked with a tray of crystal goblets and plates of expensive foods: chilled local caviar, assorted roasted meats, warm loaves, rich casseroles, poultry,
