We left the treeline and stepped out onto a wide road filled with a teeming mass of sentient species. I made a mental note to go through the pockets of the next alien who tried to kill me, and with the wicked looks Skrew was receiving from more than a dozen alien species, I didn’t think I’d have to wait long.
Both sides of the dirt road were lined with shanty-style houses, much like those in the vrak town Skrew had come from. These, however, were mostly constructed of wood and had far less trash piled on top. The other major difference was that all of them were open to the street.
The front walls were propped up with either wooden or metal poles to provide shade for both the shoppers and the merchants, most of whom had their wares spread out on a shelf they stood behind. I tucked the amulet beneath my shirt just in case it attracted the wrong kind of attention. I couldn’t hide my new sword, Ebon, but then that might have been a good thing. I didn’t want any of the aliens to think I would be easy prey.
“Fresh sorill fruit!” one vendor yelled from his stall as he waved a fist-sized green ball covered in spikes.
“Sir,” another said, drawing my attention to him, “do you need some new manacles for your pet, or do you like him to keep his hands free to pleasure you?” His elephant-like face grinned at me from behind curled tusks as he held a double-pair of manacles. There were four restraints, making it obvious they were designed for creatures with four arms or legs.
I shot him a filthy glance while palming my sword, and he cowered into the safety of his stall.
“Filthy gretin,” Skrew spat as we moved on.
The further we walked into the crowded town, the less comfortable I became. I pushed the feeling aside and focused on gathering information on the town and the creatures around me. A better understanding of this planet and its society would be beneficial for finding any members of the Revenge who might have ended up here.
I heard the sound of roaring engines and watched as a hovercraft the size of a Mars taxi raced down the street. Aliens scattered out of the vehicle’s path as it careened toward us. With one hand, I shoved three aliens who resembled walking tentacles out of the way. With the other hand, I picked Skrew up by his loincloth and yanked him to safety a moment before the hovercraft smashed into one of the stalls.
“You save Skrew!” my guide gasped as I put him down.
Inside the hovercraft, two toad-like aliens argued in a language I might have understood if their vehicle’s engine wasn’t so loud. They slapped each other with little hands, sending their thrumming vehicle across to another stall full of tall bottles of purple liquid. From the sound of the crash, most of the bottles broke on impact. A second later, the toads stopped fighting and spun their huge eyeballs around as they surveyed the damage. Without another word, they fled the scene of the accident.
So, hovercraft technology existed on this planet. So far, I’d seen basic industrial manufacturing and junkpile tech. But this vehicle was a sign that more advanced technology existed here. The hovercraft wasn’t of Federation design, but I could see the antigrav generators, its small powerplant, and a cockpit.
“Stupid travoni,” Skrew spat as the destructive duo fled into the distance.
“Stupid what?” I asked.
“Travoni. Travon. They bad drivers. Never should fly. Never should drive. Always should hop. Bad drivers, travoni.”
The possibility of real tech opened my eyes to what else was around me. I scanned the stalls, looking for tech-weapons. Though I saw a few knives and a sword, I didn’t see any sign of particle weapons, laser weapons, or any other kind of high-tech enemy elimination solutions. I stopped short when I saw a hand-blaster.
The owner was a round-bellied, furry creature that would have resembled an oversized teddy bear except for the fangs jutting up from its bottom jaw. Nobody in their right mind would make a teddy bear with fangs like that. No kid in their right mind would want one.
The hand-blaster was mostly buried in a pile of tech-pieces, most of which looked like they had been in a fire. I approached the vendor, and he grunted at me as I surveyed his wares. I shifted the mostly inoperable pieces out of the way to get to the hand-blaster.
When I took the firearm in my hand, I noticed it felt light. . . too light. Though it wasn’t Federation design, I quickly discovered the location of the magazine release. Good to see that there was a universal model for pistols for creatures with opposable thumbs. When I dropped the magazine and looked inside for ammunition, a little bug flew out. It was empty.
“Got a powerpack for this?” I asked the vendor.
He laughed. At least, I thought it was a laugh. It was sort of a wheezy, choking, phlegm-in-the-throat kind of sound.
“No power. Nobody has power. Sell real cheap. Make good club.” He made a clubbing motion with his furry hand, just in case I didn’t understand what he was talking about.
I sighed. Handguns made terrible clubs. Rifles sometimes worked, but a real club still beat a rifle every time. I put the gun back as I swore under my breath. Though I might be able to find a powerpack
