“Another petty warlord come to make life miserable for everyone,” the man spat. “Just another power-monger rising from the ashes of doom.”
“Mong,” I grunted. “So, that bastard changed his name, did he?”
“What do you mean?” the outworlder demanded.
“I knew a Ging or a Gong on Hazzerot planet—the scum planet of the universe. Raged bloody murder and mayhem there, tore it to pieces. Drank human blood from the victims’ skulls.”
“That sounds like a bit of hokum to me,” said the outworlder.
“You mean old wives’ tales?” hissed Wren. “Try visiting Talyon some time.”
“Yeah, tell that to the victims’ families,” I said.
TK pulled at his whiskers. “I seem to recall a legend of a degenerate warlord out of old Earth history savaging the lands, a Googis Khem. Took over half the ancient world before he was killed.”
“That’s Genghis Khan,” I corrected him.
“So maybe this Mong guy takes after him?” asked Wren.
The outworlder shrugged. “No doubt he’s a role model.”
“Haven’t had the grace to meet the man,” I said with a low mutter. “Hope I never do.”
“Let’s just get our stuff and go,” Wren asserted. She wrung her hands, clutched her sides and flashed impatient looks.
“What else do we need here?” asked TK.
“Just packaged goods. Dry packs, meals of any sort, add water and you have instant nutrients. Here.” I tossed over some thirty yols and motioned him to the confectionary section to get the supplies. Billy hopped after him, his ferret-dark eyes blinking in adoration. I shook my head. It’s as if I’d given his mentor a ‘prize of the year’.
I directed Wren to the clothing shop, passed her a handful of credits. I further noted it would be taken out of her share when work was divvied up and the spoils came in. She trotted off with a haughty air and came back from the change rooms a new woman. Leathers hugged her slim hide like a sleek leopard with a fit pleasing to any eye. I wished I could get a real wig for her or something to cover up that blasted bald crown...
In fact… I shuttled her to the hair salon down the way and tossed a thick black wig into the basket at the sales counter.
“That’ll be three yols,” the attendant said.
“What’s that for?” Wren demanded suspiciously.
I smirked. “Nothing, really, just part of my plan. Relax, all good.”
Moving onward deeper within the terminus, we came to a giant rotating rotunda milling with people. A high dome spread overhead with reinforced glass that overlooked a lovely view to the stars. Service shops, eateries, hair stylists, outerwear, everything the casual, weary traveler could want, young or old, rich or poor. Step right up, folks. There was even an executive pad on the upper level like a casino royale, stocked with fancy restaurants, shave and a haircut, shoe-shining parlors, rent a courtesan by the minute. My mind reeled with the cons I could pull up there. But I reined myself in. Not the time or place. Keep your imaginative skull on hold, Rusco.
This was like something out of time, from an older generation before the slums and ghettos had edged over the bloodied city ruins.
Meanwhile Wren and I hustled over to the general section for a last minute stop, some Devirol to make more of my homebrew. TK pulled Billy along and scoped out the dry goods. This section of the Run, a giant circular revolving wheel with port windows every fifty feet, was unusually busy with traffic. All kinds from the surrounding sectors.
I bumped shoulders with a lot of impatient folk from duty officers to transients, all milling about and talking a lot of hokum in loud voices. I caught snippets of conversation that were not entirely of reassuring nature. Drought on this world, killings on that world, planetary genocide. Gang takeover. Refugees from Megal, merchants from Vylnos, down and out speculators from any of the mining worlds and prospectors scoping out asteroids, uncharted moons, any chunk of rock that could churn out a dime. Any number of garden-variety drifters and hopefuls looking for a new life on a new world. I heard them all, like the buzz of angry bees, haggling over prices of basic commodities like soup, drypak, underwear, which seemed to have escalated in the sudden demand created by the exodus. A tense expectancy hung in the air; a flurry of desperation that made everyone edgy, like a massive feedback loop, the threat of scarcity and the fragile security of their lives.
“Let’s get out of here,” Wren muttered, after I’d paid for the two bottles I needed. “The vibes are terrible.”
“Agreed.”
“What’s that glass bottle? Little bit of a garden cocktail?”
“Something like that.” I cast her a chilly grin before I surged ahead.
Suddenly there came a low drone, pulsing through the air like an air siren out from an audio-net nightmare. Eyes darted up, dull whispers broke from dry lips.
A security monitor next to me spoke in a clipped whisper. “Advance armada—Early distant warning. They’ll be coming out of warp in two minutes.”
The monitor’s partner spat out a curse. “Shit, they’re already here. Why?”
TK mumbled, grabbing my shoulder. “Bad idea to berth here, Rusco, bad idea.” He shook his gray head.
I snatched at Wren’s arm. “Let’s get back to the ship.”
Out the porthole I saw the docking security ship take a turn and bank away, her weapons lights streaming on her foredeck.
That was not good.
Orange lights winked over the shops and service counters. A robot voice pealed over the loudspeaker: “Amber alert. All dockers aboard Skeller’s Run report to emergency bay. Lockdown in process. All docking bays from A1-T3 will be closed in T minus 2 minutes. All boarders proceed to emergency support bay. Repeat, report to emergency bay.”
“Jesus, can you believe it?” I bawled.
The attack came in less
