Queen Leah had no concept of the implications her decision would do to change the lives of not just humans and her new people but all universal life. And in the background a war of immeasurable scale was brewing, ready to be ignited and history would be rewritten forever.
Meantime, a certain individual, seventy odd million light years away, on Zhesta, was thoroughly considering his own future, but not so much on a grand scale.
He had his feet up on an old low wooden table. Sitting back in an overstuffed chair, his thoughts lazily reviewed the earlier events of the past week. His mood was as relaxed as any creature who could rapidly absorb a full phial of Zimmies within a few hours—no mean feat.
For Manutaai, the past couple of weeks, not to mention years, contained enough adventure to last him a lifetime. But it did not pay the bills, especially his addiction to the expensive drugs.
His life had suddenly changed very drastically.
It did not bother him that he could never go back to Ahmadeus or Heliostronus. He knew deep down he was born a loner. At least there was no one now to tell him what to do. He was his own boss. But for now, he had to lie low, and Zhesta was a great place to get lost in and keep a discreet profile, for no one trusted anyone here.
He could not subdue the anger flushing through his veins of being cheated by Marone. He should have known better; never trust a Trimadian, especially the masters. Maybe it was the fact he had been apart from the Trimadians for so long. His mind was obviously not as readily cunning as it should have been. He was beating himself up for his dreadful assumption that Marone would keep his end of the bargain because of his deep, jealous hatred towards Talokta.
He knew quietly slipping off Talokta’s ship with the stones was going to be touch and go, but he did not think the discovery that the stone was a fake would be clear until it had been given to Kalvich. Adding the queen to the equation was his total undoing, but desperate measures called for drastic steps and at the time, she was pure life insurance. It would not surprise him if Marone and Talokta made a temporary pact where he was concerned. Especially, Talokta, who had more to lose.
Cold sweat filled reality swamped over him as soon as he made visual contact with Marone in the escape pod; the look in the leader’s eyes was painfully clear. What the hell was he thinking? Marone would never keep his end of the bargain and probably would send him back to Talokta, tortured and just alive inside a body bag.
But the gods were on his side and now he was licking his wounds. He hated himself and his naïve actions.
“I should change my name to Mistake,” he murmured. The drugs were making his mind drift, and he sharply pulled his concentration back.
His subsequent evasion of Marone and his fleet was, he reckoned, ten percent skill and ninety percent luck. Overpowering the guard that had taken him into custody was easy, compared to his daring escape/kidnap deed on Talokta’s ship. He knew Marone would be taken by the woman or rather by who she was, her powers, and what she meant to the Supreme Ruler.
He had audaciously stolen Marone’s personal escape pod to hightail it out, as it had a cloaking device. Manutaai knew only the fleet leader’s had an override code to lift the cloak. By the time fat, sadistic Marone had got around to changing the code, he would be out of their range. But, if he ever tried to use it again, the Trimadians could easily track him.
But here, deep in the Malontide City on Zhesta was where alien scum in the Quelain Galaxy and beyond gathered to hide, steal, gamble, deal, and trade. It was a cosmic playground where crime ruled at an insane cost. He should know; he had spent many training hours down here, collecting the fees that these criminals were forced to pay. He was very aware that only an occasional Trimadian patrol would keep an eye on things, including spot checks on permits. They had their spies everywhere. Survival by any means and keeping your suspicions and wits about you was all that mattered. He still had his ring device to scan for Cathexistomes, and he wondered if Talokta had overlooked deactivating it. But it, like the escape pod, was a double edged sword, as it could be used to track his location. He decided he would only briefly activate it when he was conducting his business.
He knew Talokta would never cease looking for him, and Manutaai would suffer greatly at his hand. It would be a slow excruciating death, over many hours or days, as the leader would see fit. He would not make it to the mines, as this was personal. If he knew Talokta as well as he did, he had contacts, in every tiny crevice, and very well paid ones, which made them awfully reliable.
He had dropped in at a public house and heard that Leah had escaped from the clutches of Marone and had voluntarily returned to Talokta’s ship. But details were sketchy, perhaps they were available, but at a price he could not afford. He did not want to ask too many questions and draw Talokta to him. He had hoped the two masters would have engaged in battle, resulting in destroying each other. But that type of news would travel faster than an enhanced Zymergy engine and be common news to all and sundry.
Wishful thinking, he sighed.
In fact, he had run into an old acquaintance just an hour earlier who had heard a drunken loose lipped Necradome city official had been invited to an important ceremony held in a few days, in honor of the Chosen One, held at Casus Belli. So, Kate had accepted herself as the queen.
Yep, that is where the woman would be and so would Talokta.
His main worry at this point in time was obtaining Toda, the intergalactic currency. Only then could he help satisfy his incessant craving with more Zimmies and perhaps a nice little ship and disappear forever. The only way he could do that pronto was to sell the Empyream escape pod, though questions could still be raised.
He could hire himself out as a bodyguard, or a private tourist guide, as he knew all the seediest spots inside the city, or better still, a freelance Motoid—kidnapper/assassin—who are paid top Toda, (or credit) in their specialized line of work. That would be the quickest way out of here and the most risky.
Specifically, the infamous Sublight City Bar was the place to be if you wanted to seriously wheel and deal without many questions asked. Very few would look twice as everyone had something to hide. Still, even there he had to be cautious.
Ahh, the good old Sublight Bar. Any thug would sell his own child to earn credit or obtain forbidden substances. His mind began drifting again from dissolving the zimmies in wine—a very easy, dangerous way to overdose, if one was not used to it. But he could not care less at this moment.
His mind envisioned the gorgeous Earth born female; the living, breathing Queen Leah. Part of him regretted not taking advantage of her. She was vulnerable and attractive, a perfect combination for his charms. Holding her in his arms beside the fire turned him on immensely and he knew the connection with her was real. She had obviously changed her mind the following day when she rejected his advances. If he had more time. He had even considered ignoring his orders and taking her faraway. But knowing who she was and what she represented; Talokta would find him, and he would be sliced and diced or worse, castrated. That damn elixir hiding the Cathexistome inside him would have been to blame for letting his emotions almost get the better of him.
On the other hand, he would have got more than a fair price in exchange for her. Attractive, shapely females, especially of Cantal origins, were rare, therefore very sought after. Though human, she could physically pass for a Cantal female. But if she was scanned questions would be raised and he would have to keep her drugged to shut her up.
Those that sought these females would pay great prices: not just in currency, credit, drugs, or ships—sometimes with their lives.
It was quite frustrating that when the Trimadians did a spontaneous sweeping raid through this part of the City, most females would end up as slaves or breeders at the Necradome City. Kalvich was very protective of his Cathexistome hosts, especially due to their mortality.
No matter how he thought it through, it ended with the same conclusion—if Leah was with him, he doubted whether he would walk out
of the city alive.
Ha! Why bother thinking about it?
“Time to get to work and visit my favorite bar!”
The sleazy run down hotel he was staying at was thirty seconds walk from the Sublight Bar. Humanoids, usually accompanied by robot servants to mainly act as cheap but effective bodyguards, would be there. If things had not changed much, there should be the usual species: Sentiliens, Somoys, Frekkas, in fact all types of aliens would inhabit the bar that never closed. If word of any Trimadians were about, the place would be empty, though they kept to their part of the city most times.
It took forty seconds to get to the bar, as he had to make a small detour over the road to avoid a scuffle taking place on his side of the street. You do not get involved accidentally or deliberately in anyone else’s business. It was not unusual to find dead bodies or parts of bodies in the back alleys, or scattered on the main streets!
He arrived at the bar in one piece and the doorman, a huge burly Frekka, opened the door for him. God, those Frekka’s smelled! The whole city did, compared to the sweet country fragrance that Ahmadeus offered. Manutaai entered a thick smoke filled atmosphere with some Malokine rhythm music playing in the background, it was very hypnotic; designed to relax the occupants. The bar was huge, and filled to capacity. He felt at home.
There were thousands of languages spoken in the Quelain Galaxy, and the bar came equipped with expensive Galactocoms—interpreting communicators to allow ease of negotiations. Approved patrons would attach them to their throats, and when they wanted to enter into a discussion, the communicator would scan and transmit the speaker’s words to the recipient’s language and vice versa with a fast, linguistic computer. As long as both parties had a device attached, communication was not a problem.
Manutaai nodded to the barman; the owner, another Frekka called Zhoida whom he knew well, and he was instantly handed a Galactocom. You could not walk out the bar with it as an alarm would sound and Zhoida’s security would take care of any discrepancies.
“Mr. Manutaai, it has been a long, long time since you have graced us with your presence.” The Frekka offered his hand and Manutaai braced himself for the rather hearty handshake.
“Yes, I have been on Ahmadeus for a little over three years, but I am back now.” Manutaai discretely rubbed circulation back into his hand. “Could I please have a Luiga lager, Mr. Zhoida.”
“Certainly, Mr. Manutaai, coming right up.”
The irony always made Manutaai inwardly smirk. This was the most evil, seediest bar in the city and Zhoida insisted on excellent manners and etiquette at all times. Manutaai suspected Zhoida was of an effeminate nature. Whether it was for real, or a ruse, he more than made up for that with his muscles and his security force when trouble loomed.
Manutaai’s beer appeared, and he pulled out a little crystal credit card that Zhoida took and zapped it through a laser eye. “It is normally two credits, but I will charge you only one this time,” and he winked at Manutaai.
“Thank you, Mr. Zhoida, most appreciated.”
“It is always so nice to have the company of my most integral, polite customers.” Zhoida picked up his own glass and clinked glasses with his favorite customer. Another person approached Zhoida for service and Manutaai wove his way through the crowd, carefully avoiding physical contact to evade confrontation. He made it to the back of the room without incidence. He sat in a chair against a wall and faced the entrance; a typical Trimadian habitual. For discretionary purposes, the lights were always dimmed and music was pleasantly audible so conversations could flow uninterrupted, yet not easily overheard. The smoke was dreadful but damn, those beers were fresh and cold.
An hour and four beers later he got into a worthwhile conversation with a couple of Sentiliens, who were just as ugly as the Frekkas but did not pong. Their most hideous feature was their green and yellow spikes on their heads, which earned them the Galactic infamous tag of “puke on legs.” They were selling a three man Zipa ship. Twice as large as Marone’s escape pod, but no where near the quality, distinction, nor any special features like a cloak device, i.e. it was common, which suited Manutaai just fine. He examined the computer log and acknowledged it was clean, but they wanted an obscene 60,000 credits or Toda plus they would take the escape pod off his hands. So, the haggling began.
During this energetic phase of the negotiations, he failed to notice a small, cloaked figure walk into the bar and have a few words with Zhoida, who indicated over to where Manutaai was sitting. The figure walked cautiously over to the three aliens deep in conversation. He had to clear his throat twice before they stopped and looked at where the “ahem” was coming from. The figure looked straight at Manutaai and said, “Greetings, I am looking for someone to help me out with a problem that once becomes resolved will be paid handsomely for their services.”
Manutaai’s ears pricked up but he frowned at the figure, “Yes that would be me.” He noticed the stranger spoke in Graffa’s most popular language; English.
“Can we speak privately?”
“Of course, we are done here.” It gave him an excuse to get out from doing a deal with the scum sucking Sentiliens. He gestured to the Sentiliens that their business was over. They seemed clearly displeased at this interruption and muttered a few Sentilien obscenities. Manutaai stood and at his height was a fearsome sight indeed, more fearsome when he began to draw his hidden Gloctol into their view. The Sentiliens, who were basically cowards, took one look, scowled, and stormed out of the pub, setting the alarm off by not detaching their Galactocoms. Two burly Frekkas instantly appeared and took up the chase and returned a few seconds later with the communicators and a little blood on their hands.
“Sorry about that,” Manutaai said softly. “Please take a seat. Can I buy you a drink?”
“No thank you, sorry I am not one for small talk.”
Manutaai was glad of that. “Well then, what can I do for you?”
“I have heard about your reputation, and your current situation Mr. Manutaai.”
Shalash! How did this creature know his name? He had not been here for a long time. Was this a trap? He knew this fellow was no regular here as no patrons used names in the pub unless it was agreed. Plus, he must be cautious to not give this creature any information that could incriminate him.
“Go on.”
“Do you do Motoid work?”
Manutaai raised his left eyebrow. “Yes,” he said quietly. “But I am very expensive.”
Who is this creature and whom does he want me to hit?
The stranger pulled his hood down, and Manutaai recognized his kind straight away. He thought these creatures were all but extinct thanks to the Trimadian attacks. However, these creatures were, by nature a peaceful kind, very strange for this particular alien to be asking for this type of service. Still…
“You were a Cantal from Ahmadeus?”
Manutaai nodded.
“I understand your planet had been recently attacked by the Trimadians.”
This could be a spy for Talokta.
“Shhh,” said Manutaai looking around. “Try not to mention that word around here, it gets everyone nervous. I wasn’t exactly present when that attack took place. It could have been the Locum, as Crytaalic weaponry was used. Look, do you want to get to your point?”
“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure I had Manutaai of Ahmadeus. Make sure I’m talking to the right person.”
Manutaai snapped, “Well, you are and my time is valuable. What is your proposal?”
The little creature looked nervously around him and moved closer. “Do you know of a female, a human woman, known as ‘The Chosen One.’ Her Graffa name is Kate Willard?”
Manutaai’s jaw twitched, but he quickly covered up his reaction.
How the hell! This better not be a trick.
The little man now knew he had reached the right man. “I want you to find her and bring her to me.”
Manutaai’s greedy m
ind worked rapidly. Was this fate or what? If he said “Yes” to the job, he would need a disguise, and a fast top graded ship with cloaking ability. The queen would be hard to reach, but not impossible if he played his cards right. Then, get the hell out of this galaxy, if he survived. If he said “No” when would another profitable opportunity present itself again? He needed the credit and his Zimmies.
“This type of job means I will have to disappear, if you know what I mean. I’ll need a down payment to get a ship for this. It will be very expensive.”
“Naturally. A ship awaits you, the best—cloaking, full weaponry, sublight travel, and Crytaalic lasers. Half now, balance on completion.”
Manutaai thought for a few seconds, an idea formed that may mean he would not need a disguise, after all. He was curious to find out why this creature picked him and also why he wanted the queen so badly.
As if he read Manutaai’s mind, the stranger whispered, “I think you know the Trimadians well enough, don’t you, Manutaai?”
How did he know that?
“How the hell do you know my name?”
“Oh, word gets around when not one, but two Trimadian masters are looking for a certain individual. I just happen to have some good connections.”
“I suppose if I don’t do this job, you are going to tell them where they can find me.”
“I wouldn’t do that. You should know that my kind does not double cross or do nasty, evil things like that! I am acting on behalf of some other interested parties who need this woman.” The little fellow reached into his pocket and gave Manutaai a small box. “This has all the information you will require: where to find the ship, where and when I can be contacted and six hundred thousand credits for you right now.”
Manutaai wordlessly pulled out his little crystal credit card and gave it to the stranger who scanned the credit into his now healthy account.
“Another six hundred thousand is yours on completion, but it must be done in the next two weeks.”
“Can I ask why your employers want her so badly and in that specific time?”
“Doesn’t over one million credits buy me discretion?” the man said a little angrily, then broke out into what resembled a smile. “I’m just joking. I have been around humans too long.”
His face reverted back to a solemn expression. “Let’s just say if my employer doesn’t get her in time, you and I will be witness to the biggest war to hit this galaxy in known history.”
The little creature stood and shook Manutaai’s hand.
“By the way you can keep the ship afterwards.”
“Thanks. Can I at least know your name?”
“Scaba.”
Chapter 39—Guests of Honor