Opportunity Knocks
Posted on Dec 30, 2015 @ 11:41am by Selyara Chen & Raxl Dreyton
Edited on on Dec 30, 2015 @ 11:41am
Mission: Promethean
LOCATION: Satellite TX01-5, "The Bazaar", at the edge of Klingon space
SCENE: Markets
STARDATE: [2.15] 1229.2356
Originally a barren, cratered rock filled with mostly useless mineral deposits, the TX01-5 moon had changed quite a bit since its initial discovery by a Klingon survey team almost 300 years ago. The moon was locked in an uneven, shifting orbit around its mother world, an enormous gas giant which the Klingons had never bothered to name, but which had gradually earned the moniker "Fatso" from the merchants who settled TX01-5 in later decades. Originally of interest to the Klingons as a potential strategic location, it was quickly abandoned as largely useless. For one thing, TX01-5 was too small to support any significant military infrastructure. For another, the moon's strange dance with its mother world created gravimetric oscillations that sometimes made it tricky to land, which reduced TX01-5's usefulness as a refueling/resupply station. The Klingons made a brief attempt at converting the moon into a prison-world, an out of the way place where they could keep traitors, the dishonored, and prisoners of war. But the system that TX01-5 and Fatso called home was too remote, far at the edge of Klingon territory, and it seems that even a hardened warrior culture slavishly devoted to tradition had little patience for a long commute. TX01-5 was abandoned by the Klingons barely 100 years after its initial discovery, and in the ensuing decades, the merchants moved in.
It started out as one of the things the Klingons had rejected it for: a refueling/resupply stop for merchant ships making the dangerous trade runs between Klingon and Romulan space. These routes were not lightly traveled. The Romulan or Klingon patrols might take your cargo, confiscate your ship, or just kill you outright. The pirates would definitely kill you, but you were apt to be doing a lot of screaming and begging before that happened. Searching for any port in a storm, a few merchants began using the out-of-the-way TX01-5 moon as a place to set down, regroup, and maybe even do a little trading with folks who didn't prime their weapons the second you appeared on their sensor sweep. Over the years, TX01-5 began to develop into a small, but bustling, trading hub in the sector. Governed by a loose affiliation of merchant interests, the moon was lawless, but not anarchic. Disputes were settled by the people involved, and not always with violence. Good business was the primary goal of every powerful interest on TX01-5, and dead bodies in the streets could scare away customers. And since there were no diplomatic interests to interfere with the selling of less reputable goods, TX01-5 also became a popular place for the cementing of illicit partnerships or the completion of shady deals. As the organized gangs moved in, street-level crimes were mostly forced out, save for the very desperate or very stupid. Pickpockets and stick-up men could occasionally be found, but most criminals knew better than to steal from someone on TX01-5, since you could never be sure how powerful an enemy you'd be making.
And, with the presence of organized crime interests came the hired guns, the mercenary ships, and the weapons. The surface of the moon had little in the way of permanent defenses, but TX01-5 was now perpetually surrounded by a cloud of traffic: trade ships, mostly, but battleships and escort ships and scout ships, too. It wasn't exactly an army, since no one was in command and everyone looked after themselves, but it was intimidating enough to dissuade the pirates from moving in to help themselves to the all the wealth. TX01-5, now known as "The Bazaar" by most of the people who frequented it, had become a formidable little rock after all. It was secluded, mostly safe (if you knew the right people), and with all the money floating around, it wasn't a bad spot to make up for any recent loss of income.
The moon now held a standing population of around 250, but with the near constant stream of visiting merchants and buyers, hired hands and hired guns, and other assorted riff-raff, it was not unusual for the total population to swell to around 500 people at any one time. Not large enough for someone to go unnoticed for long, but as long as you had money to spend or skills to offer, most of the residents wouldn’t look too closely at you. People shopping the Bazaar usually wanted their purchases to remain anonymous, and so they were content with not asking too many questions themselves.
The buildings had expanded well beyond the original infrastructure laid down by the Klingons, into a labyrinth of shacks, tents, and kiosks. Most of the permanent buildings belonged to the permanent residents, and most of the settled area of the moon’s surface was given over to shops, inns, and bars, not all of them as seedy as they looked from the outside. Early settlers had set up some rudimentary atmospheric processors, giving the moon a thin imitation of an M-class world’s atmosphere, but most humanoid species still wore intranasal oxygen masks to make up for the reduced levels of oxygen and nitrogen in the air.
The streets of the Bazaar were more crowded than usual this evening, with creatures of every size and shape milling through the narrow walkways, occasionally stopping to indulge the kiosk vendors plying their meager trade. You could always tell the ones who’d been on TX01-5 for too long… they no longer wore their oxygenators, and still managed to make long winded, fast-talking sales pitches without getting dizzy or fainting straight away. Some customers made purchases just as a show of respect for these impressive feats of pulmonary capacity. It was dark out tonight, with the distant sun blocked out by the brownish-red halo of the gas giant Fatso hanging high in the sky above. But this section of the markets was well-lit, with yellow lantern lights glowing at regular intervals, plus the bouquet of colors from all across the spectrum emanating from the multitude of signs, storefronts, and advertisements.
One such storefront was an old noodle shop, built in the remains of what had once been a cargo container. It’s storefront was exposed to the street, with a counter where customers could sit down to enjoy an order of ramen, gagh, or viinerine, along with assorted side dishes and finger foods. The thick, sibilant hiss of frying oil permeated the air around the shop, sometimes loud enough that patrons had to repeat their order three or four times before the cooks heard it. The smells of the various dishes mixed together, creating an odor that wasn’t exactly pleasant, but not overpowering. The shop had its regulars, but was usually lightly attended, even on nights like this one, where the streets seemed thronged with potentially hungry bellies.
One figure sat at the shop’s counter, nursing a bowl of ramen and a beer. He had a hood up to cover his head, but that wasn’t uncommon on cold nights in this part of town. The tubes from his oxygenator hung down from his nose and over his cheeks, before joining into a single feed tube and continuing down into the storage tanks on his belt. His clothes looked lived in, but not dirty, and he had at least three days of salt-and-pepper stubble on his face. He kept his eyes on his meal.
Behind him, a figure detached itself from the crowd and made its way over to sit on a stool beside him. The man did not look at the new arrival, but he was watching him just the same, closely, from the corner of his eye. He felt the reassuring weight of the pulse pistol, slung in a holster on the hip opposite his oxygenator, but he made no move to reach for it.
“Raxl Dreyton?” the new arrival asked in a husky voice.
The lone customer didn’t respond. He kept his eyes on his food, and took a slow sip of his beer, pretending like he hadn’t heard. Next to him, the new arrival, an ugly Terran with a fat red bulb of a noise and jowls etched deep into pock-marked cheeks, turned to look at him directly.
“You deaf?” the ugly man asked.
The lone customer finally turned, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“You’re Raxl Dreyton,” the ugly Terran said. It wasn’t a question.
“Never heard of him,” Raxl Dreyton said, before shoveling a forkful of noodles into his mouth. “Trying to eat here, mister.”
The ugly man didn’t look satisfied. He stared hard at Raxl’s profile, as if struggling with some great decision, then nodded once. “Yeah,” he rumbled.” You’re him alright.”
“You got the wrong guy,” Raxl said, taking another sip of beer while his other hand drifted subtly towards the grip of his pistol.
“Yeah, whatever,” the ugly man shrugged, turning to face the counter again. “Look, man, she said she’d pay me 300 credits if I came over here and told you that she’d be waiting for you in the Ferengi lounge up the street, in one of the corner booths in the back. She said you shouldn’t make her come looking for you.”
Raxl relaxed a little, but he kept his hand low, near his pistol. “She did, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah,” the ugly man said. “So I’ve told you.”
“And who’s ‘she’?” asked Raxl, raising his beer bottle again. The ugly Terran shrugged.
“Never seen her before,” he said.”But she said to tell you that you and her would ‘always have Harad-Sar’s place’, whatever the hell that means.”
Raxl tensed up again, and he almost choked on his swig of beer. Oh no. Oh no no no.
“She said what?” Raxl asked, but the ugly man had already risen and was moving back towards the crowd on the street. Raxl watched him go, then turned to stare down into his bowl of ramen. He wasn’t hungry anymore.
No way. There was *no way* she could have tracked him down. Raxl had come all the way out to this part of the galaxy specifically to avoid trouble. The Ferengi crimelord, Riss, had put a price on his head, and after being cheated out of his savings by his sometime-associate Brak, Raxl had found himself once again on the run from powers far greater than his own. He’d been living under a pseudonym on TX01-5 for the last few weeks, picking up odd jobs as a hired gun or bouncer for various local dive bars, and doing his best not to think about how he had no real idea what his next move was going to be. Riss had eyes just about everywhere, and Rax had enemies everywhere else. The galaxy became an awfully small place when you’d crossed everyone from the Orion Syndicate to the Association to Tella Yavin herself.
But it hadn’t been any of them who’d tracked him down. No, it had to be *her*. Selyara Chen. He’d tried to collect on her bounty on LIMBO, and it had gone badly. Spectacularly badly, in fact. The interference of some psychopath named Rawyvin Seth, plus the appearance of the renegade crew of the USS PHOENIX, had set LIMBO off like a powder keg. Tella Yavin had ordered a massacre, her army of Black Stars had obliged, and Rax had barely escaped with his life. Worst of all, he had done so *without* his bounty, who in the end had proved to simply be far too much trouble. Selyara was beautiful, manipulative, and dangerous, and she was just about the very last person that Raxl Dreyton wanted to see right now.
And if Selyara thought that Raxl Dreyton was foolish enough to get himself involved with her again, well, she had another thing coming. Rax understood he’d developed a reputation for reckless behavior and an uneven streak of desperate luck, but even he had his limits. No matter how broke or desperate his situation was, the last thing he needed was to spend any more time with the unexploded fusion bomb that was Selyara Chen. Between her cold practicality and her Vulcan mind-mojo, she was likely to get him killed as surely as one of Riss’s hit squads would.
Rax quickly paid his bill and left his half-eaten bowl of noodles on the counter, though he paused long enough to slam the remainder of his beer. No sense going to the gallows with a clear head, after all.
He turned, and scanned the crowd. Despite his recent run of sour luck, Rax wasn’t all bluster: his eyes were sharp, and his instincts honed to a fine and deadly edge. He didn’t see anything suspicious in the throng of beings that filled the street, but he knew better than to assume no one was watching him. Selyara would want to limit her own exposure, even in a place like the Bazaar, so Rax guessed she didn’t have too many hired goons lurking in the shadows. But he doubted that she’d bet all her chips on Rax accepting her invitation, too. Well. If someone was watching him, Rax would just have to be fast, and careful.
He wasn’t too far away from a transport station. There was little room on the surface of TX01-5 for starships to land, and that room was exclusively occupied by people with far more money to spend than Raxl Dreyton. Instead, most visitors left their ships in orbit and beamed down to the surface. Raxl’s own ship, the modified Runabout-class shuttle dubbed BAD WOLF, was currently suspended in low orbit over the surface of the moon, one of a hundred distant grey specks barely visible against the midnight curtain of the gas giant named Fatso. Rax’s reasoned he could make the trip to the transport station in five minutes, and he had enough cash on hand to slip a bribe to the attendant and get his transport off-world wiped from the records. Selyara would know where he’d gone, obviously, but she wouldn’t know when, and that would make it harder for her to trace any potential flight plans away from the Bazaar. With any luck, Rax would be in the wind, and this time he’d be more careful about keeping his head down. Between Riss, Selyara, and the half dozen other petty little warlords who wanted his head, Rax had more than enough motivation to disappear.
Slowly, Rax stood and merged with the crowds. He had his hood up, covering his profile, and he kept his head down, but his eyes were up and alert. He took a winding path through the street, slipping into back alleys here and there, sometimes doubling back on his own route. He stopped at a free-standing kiosk that sold oxy-tank refills in a variety of scents and flavors, and as he pretended to inspect some of the merchandise, Rax spotted his tail. The goon was a burly Andorian, dressed in clothes just a little too nice not to stick out in this part of town. One of the Andorian’s antennae was missing, with only half a jagged stalk poking jauntily out of his head. The goon was doing his best not to make eye-contact with Raxl, and in fact hadn’t laid eyes on him once in the three times their paths had crossed so far. Rax believe in coincidence, but only to a point; the Andorian was following him. Rax had time to wonder if the goon belonged to Selyara or Riss, then decided it didn’t really matter. He had to shake the tail no matter who it belonged to, or it seemed likely he’d never make it out of the system in one piece. A direct confrontation was not a good idea, since the hired mercenaries would break up any such disturbance and lock Rax up, which would only compound his problem. Besides, he didn’t know who the Andorian was, or who he worked for, and so he had no way of knowing exactly what kind of thug he was up against. The Andorian might wind up picking bits of Rax’s teeth out from between his boot treads, for all Rax knew.
So, a distraction, then.
A hose was built into the kiosk’s frame, to make it easier for customers to refill oxy-tanks without having to carry around a lot of spares. Rax picked up the hose, screwed the nozzle into the butt of the tank that hung at his side, and with his free hand he reached out to activate the computer console mounted into the kiosk. The hose activated with a noisy hiss, immediately catching the attention of the kiosk’s lone attendant, a small human woman who, Rax noticed, wasn’t wearing an oxy-tank of her own. **A lifer,** Rax thought distantly.
“Hey!” the woman was shouting in heavily accented English. “You pay for that, mister! You’re stealing that!”
Rax looked over, cupping a hand behind one ear, and acting as if he couldn’t hear the attendant over the sound of the hose. The woman stormed over to him, trying to rip the hose free, but Rax overpowered his easily. By now, the commotion had started to attract the attention of passers-by, and with a brief glance over his shoulder Rax confirmed he had the Andorian’s attention, too. The goon was staring at him, his lips drawn down in a frustrated scowl. Their eyes met, and the Andorian saw that he’d been made. He seemed to mutter something then headed towards Rax, but a moment later Rax’s view was interrupted by a fat, bearded man with a thick neck and red cheeks.
“You better have credits,” the man was saying as he seized Rax’s arm in a meaty fist. Rax tried to struggle, but the bearded man had backup, and another vice-like grip fastened itself around Raxl’s other arm. Beyond them, a ring of spectators had gathered around the kiosk, shouting admonitions or encouragement, depending on how much they’d had to drink that night. From somewhere behind him, Rax could still hear the kiosk attendant shouting. Underneath it all, the oxy-hose still hissed loudly, filling up Rax’s tank.
“Search him!” the bearded man said. “Get his credits!”
The Andorian with the missing antennae suddenly appeared at the bearded man’s back. He was staring at Rax, but he spoke to the bearded man.
“I’ll pay,” the Andorian said. “Give him here and I’ll see the woman is compensated.”
“You know this guy?” the bearded man asked.
“I don’t know him,” Rax said quickly.
“He’s a friend,” the Andorian said, still staring at Rax. “He’s drunk.”
“Money first!” the kiosk attendant said from behind Rax.
“Let’s see the money,” the bearded man demanded.
“I don’t know this guy!” Rax repeated.
“Let him go,” the Andorian said, finally turning away from Rax to stare glacial daggers at the bearded man holding him. “I’m taking him with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with him,” Rax said.
“Shut up!” the bearded man barked, clenching his grip even tighter for emphasis.
The hissing from the air hose continued, growing steadily more shrill. Rax guessed he had about 5 seconds.
“Look, pal, I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running,” the bearded man started. The Andorian’s hand blurred out, delivering a single, sharp blow to the bearded man’s thick neck, cutting off the man’s sentence. The bearded man dropped soundlessly, and the Andorian turned to face Rax, his eyes blazing, his teeth clenched.
“Riss would like to see you,” the Andorian started to say. He didn’t get the whole sentence out, though. Rax angled the oxygen tank at his side, aiming the bottom up and towards the Andorian’s face The hose made a loud, metallic *kpwang!* sound as it suddenly ejected itself from the end of Rax’s now overfull oxy-tank and snapped away cutting through the air like a whip. The hose’s heavy nozzle slammed against the Andorian’s nose with a dull, but satisfying, crack. The Andorian dropped to a heap next to the bearded man, clutching his face with both hands, muffling his cries of anger and pain. Rax twisted out of the remaining man’s grip and whirled, ready to deck him, but the man was already backing up, eyes wide with disbelief. Rax didn’t waste any more time. He barrelled past the man, roughly shoulder-checking him out of the way, and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the angry shouts of the kiosk attendant and the crowd behind him. He didn’t stop moving until he’d put at least a quarter mile between him and the Andorian, and when he finally stopped, he searched the streets around him carefully, looking for any sign of another tail.
Finally satisfied he was alone, Rax made his way quickly up the street, towards the transport hub. The trip would take him a little longer this way, but it was worth it to stay under the radar. Selyara, and now Riss, had both managed to track him down. It was time Raxl Dreyton put a few light-years between himself and The Bazaar.
* * *=/\=* * *
Location: BAD WOLF
Scene: Main living area.
Raxl felt something was wrong almost as soon as he materialized - a nagging feeling that something was off, that his space had been invaded. The feeling had barely milliseconds seconds to register before a mocking voice came from behind him.
“Typical male. After all that time you spent chasing me on LIMBO, the moment I show interest you run away. Thankfully, you’re rather predictable.” He spun around to face the intruder, his hand going to his weapon. The woman lounging rather unconcernedly on one of his chairs, her back propped up against one armrest, long legs dangling over the other, one hand lazily clutching a phaser which was aimed in his general vicinity. “Hello again, Mister Dreyton.”
“I think I liked you better as Aella,” Raxl said, trying to match her nonchalance. It had taken him a moment to see the resemblance between the courtesan he’d worked with on Limbo, Aella, and the creature in front of him now. Whomever had done the cosmetic surgery on her face and body had been nothing short of a genius. The woman in front of him was still beautiful, but her face was harsh, gaunt, and she now looked as dangerous as she really was. Her pupiless eyes had a hint of wildness in them.
Rax crossed his arms and frowned at her. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you even find me?”
“You didn’t exactly make it difficult,” Selyara said with a soft chuckle. “For a man who values his freedom, you’re remarkably anchored by a good many things.”
“Like what?” Rax said, trying not to sound defensive but doing it anyway.
Selyara gestured vaguely around with her free hand. “This ship, for example. It is rather distinctive, in a way a new coat of paint and some new reg numbers can’t hide.”
Rax’s cheeks flushed a little. He had dangerous people looking for him, and he knew that the smart thing would be to ditch the BAD WOLF - sell it, maybe - and find a new ride. People knew this ship, and they knew who owned it. But dammit, it had been just about the only stable thing Rax had ever had in his life.
“Or the fact that your delightful mother has been getting regular gifts and deposits into her accounts from ‘anonymous’ sources,” Selyara continued.
**There’s the other stable thing,** Rax thought bitterly. There was a particularly irritating smugness in Selyara’s voice as she laid bare how easily she had found him. She shifted slightly in her seat as she spoke, causing her jumpsuit to gape distractingly in the front. Rax tried to tell himself he was too angry to notice.
“Are you threatening my mother?” Raxl’s hand twitched towards his weapon once more. Her hand snapped out of its languid pose to aim her phaser straight at him. Rax froze… damn, but she was *fast*.
“Despite what you may think of me, Mister Dreyton, I do not make it a habit to threaten people’s family,” Selyara said quietly, the hand that held the phaser not wavering. “Especially not kindly old ladies who promise to bake me cookies if I stop by to talk about their beloved sons.”
“You aren’t going to-” Rax started, but Selyara rolled her eyes.
“Of course not,” she said. “I was using her simply to illustrate my point that your sentimentality makes you easy to track.”
Rax watched her carefully. She was every bit the courtestan he’d known on LIMBO - the poise, the glacial beauty, the spooky way she seemed to take control of every situation - but there was something different about her, too. If Rax didn’t know better, he’d have thought his suggestion that she might harm his mother had actually hurt her.
Then Selyara flipped the phaser around in one swift motion and offered it to him, so quickly that it made Rax jump. He stared suspiciously at the offered phaser, and didn’t move. Selyara stared at him.
“I don’t know why you think I’m here,” Selyara said. “But I assure you it isn’t revenge.”
Rax nodded. “Okay.”
Then, in a motion almost as swift as the one Selyara had just managed, he snatched the phaser out of her hand and backed away quickly. He wasn’t sure if her mind mojo required touch, or just proximity, but he wasn’t eager to find out.
“Now,” he said, drawing his own pistol and aiming. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just beam you out into the void.”
She raised an eyebrow at him in amusement, a smug smile crossing her face. “How about a million reasons?”
Raxl’s eyes widened as he realized what she was implying. For a moment, the thought of what he could do with that much money overwhelmed his common sense. He could buy off Riss, for a start, or at least pay to have Riss taken out of the picture. He could settle down somewhere. Hell, he could even go *home*, visit his mother, buy her a life she could be proud of…
But Rax quickly remembered who he was dealing with, not to mention his own recent streak of bad luck. He started to shake his head, but Selyara cut him off. “Before you say no, at least listen to my offer.”
Rax sighed.
“You have ten seconds,” he said, holstering his pistol and crossing his arms. “Then I really am beaming you somewhere horrible.”
“I want you to turn me in and collect my bounty.” Selyara said, pausing melodramatically to gauge his reaction.
His reaction was a moment of disbelief, followed by hearty laughter.
“Lady, you are insane,” he said.
“I have some things of my own to do first,” Selyara continued. “I will need your help with some of that as well, but in return I can get Riss off your back. And some of the *other* people you’ve pissed off.”
“I dunno,” Rax said. “Some of them are pretty goddamn mad.”
“Of course, I -” The rest of what Selyara was going to say was swallowed up by the BAD WOLF’s alarm klaxon. The lights flickered as the shields automatically activated in response to a threat. Scant seconds later, the ship rocked hard as it was hit by phaser fire. Rax had to steady himself against the wall to keep from losing his feet. Selyara fared a little better, but it had caught her off guard too, and Rax took a moment to savour the look of surprise on her face. Then the ship rocked again. Rax cursed and made a mad dash for the cockpit, with Selyara close behind him.
“I should mention, the contract is void unless you get me *safely* back to Earth,” she said, her voice raised to be heard over the steady beat of the BAD WOLF’s klaxons.
“Dammit.” Raxl snarled, glaring at her as he sank down into the pilot’s seat. If it wouldn’t have required him to drop his shields, he would have considered beaming her off the ship. As it was this wasn’t exactly the time for it, so instead he began to haul ass to the designated warp zone, hoping to jump to warp before their assailant managed to take down the BAD WOLF’s shields. Selyara slid wordlessly into the co-pilot’s seat and her fingers began to move over the console in a blur.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Rax growled, leaning over to slap her hands away from the console. Selyara turned and scowled at him.
“I’m running secondary-systems while ordering a sensor scan of our attacker,” Selyara said. “On the off chance you’re curious who’s about to kill you!”
As if to punctuate this dire forecast, the ship rocked again. A little harder than before. Rax frowned, but he leaned back in his seat, focusing his attention on flying the BAD WOLF to safety. Selyara turned back to her own console.
“Model X3 Tiburon runabout, Novagenesis corporation, Type III single phase harmonic shields. Two short range phaser banks. No room for explosive projectile modifications, known weakness in shielding on interior of propulsion nacelles…”
“Does it have any cup-holders?” Rax growled impatiently. The BAD WOLF pitched sharply upward, still close enough to TX01-5 for Rax to feel the pull of g-force in his guts. His eyes flicked to the nav-display: behind him, the enemy ship matched the maneuver. Rax cursed again.
“Mister Dreyton, I need you to get underneath him,” Selyara said.
Rax’s eyes widened again. “What?!”
“*Now*, if you please!”
Rax cut his speed and dropped. The pursuing ship shot overhead. Selyara’s fingers were already in motion again and all of the BAD WOLF’’s weapons fired simultaneously, targeting the inside of one of the other craft's nacelles. The other craft swerved sharply as it lost power. Rax eyeballed his sensors for a moment. The other craft would compensate quickly for differential power output on its engines. They needed to get out of there, and fast. He looked down at his console to make sure he was clear, and then he kicked the BAD WOLF into warp.
They shared a moment of quiet relief, each settling back in their seats. Then, as usual, Rax decided to ruin the moment.
“What the *hell* were you going to do if they found you before I came back? Steal my damn ship from under me?” Crisis temporarily averted, Rax was able to turn his irritation back at the woman next to him, uncomfortably aware that like it or not, he’d as good as signed onto whatever scheme she was cooking up when he’d jumped to warp with her still in the ship.
“What do you mean if they found me? Those were *your* goons, Mr. Dreyton. Not mine.”
Rax blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“Your Andorian friend, from the Bazaar,” Selyara said. “He’s muscle for Riss. I identified his ship when I arrived. Call it a habit. Anyway, they couldn’t have been here for me”
She swiveled her chair to look at him, her chin resting on one hand, the other drumming nervously on the arm. Her green eyes stared through him as she said this, leading him to believe she was second guessing her assertation. She continued on as though she was thinking out loud. “I mean, I only just got here, and the people who are after me want me alive. At least I think they do. I certainly *hope* they do, or I’ll have made a huge mistake asking you to hand me over.”
“Let’s talk about that for a minute: Why me?” Raxl didn’t trust the frown of concentration on her face. Past experience led him to believe that that was a prelude to trouble. Her head snapped around to look at him, a look of surprise crossing her face.
“Coincidence? I got to TX01-5 and realized you were here?” It was an obvious lie.
“Bullshit.” Raxl crossed his arms, and forced her to meet his eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, and he sensed that the confidence she’d had on LIMBO had taken a hit, there was a great deal of uncertainty lurking behind those eyes.
“I felt I owed you something for being my meat shield with Rawyvin Seth?” Her eyes glanced away from him cagily, pretending to be absorbed in the instrument panel in front of her.
“Still bullshit. I don’t exactly see you as being the sort that feels they owe anyone anything.”
“Are you forgetting the part where you were trying to collect my bounty and take me back to be imprisoned for another century or two?” She snapped back, his digs finally opening a chink in her armor. “Fine, you want the real reason? After the fiasco at the shadow market, and what’s happened since then, I’ve realized that I am not, in fact, capable of doing everything on my own. I need someone to help me, and you’re a known quantity. I have every expectation that you might sell me out if it became in your best interest to, but for a mercenary you’re honorable. I don’t have to worry about fending off unwanted advances, nor do I need to worry about you killing me for your own sick amusement. Besides, you survived a fight with Rawyvin, and you nearly caught me. That means you’re a relatively competent man.” There was a long pause, and she said very softly. “And I suppose… I was lonely.”
Rax watched her for a moment. He could never be sure, could never really *trust* her, but still… she seemed genuine. She sounded like she was telling the truth.
Rax sighed. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.”
“So you’re not going to throw me off on the next rock?” She cocked her head and regained enough of her arrogance to feign surprise.
“No, and you knew I wouldn’t. I’m also not going to give you the bed. You can replicate a pillow and blankets and sleep on the couch.”
“You don’t want to share?” She purred and raised an eyebrow at him.
“I’d rather share with a snake.” Rax said. She was only trying to push his buttons, and he wasn’t going to let her win.
“Fine by me. I won’t need rest for a few days yet. I’ll find ways to amuse myself while you’re asleep.” Selyara bared her teeth in a smile.
**Great,** Rax thought, shaking his head **Now she’s gonna be poking around the ship while you’re unconscious.**
“Look, just don’t… go through my stuff, okay?” he said, sounding more plaintive than he wanted to.
“Fair enough,” Selyara said. “See you in the morning, Mr. Dreyton.”
Still not sure how he’d been talked into this, Raxl Dreyton turned and headed towards the tiny compartment that served as his bedroom aboard the BAD WOLF. He settled into bed, and spent a few minutes reflecting on how this had been a very strange day, before falling into a thin kind of sleep.
=[/\]=
A Joint-Post By…
Alix Fowler
Selyara Chen
The Loneliest Mindflayer
and
Shawn Putnam
Raxl Dreyton
The Reliable Mark