The Opodian cargo tube nexus workers moved slowly amidst the strewn wreckage of the large cargo container from the despised Llivori city of Vor. Yamet Opo'te, the shift supervisor, watched from the main platform as his subordinates pushed hoversleds affixed with coffin-like attachments that would hold the bits of sharp-edged shrapnel separate from the recovered goods.
In a far corner of the nexus cavern, under a big bent plate of ruddy-hued metal from the ruined cargo container that was now slanted against the wall, Vard Bokren shoved open the lid of his makeshift escape pod. Unseen by the workers, he eased himself out into a crouch and peered around the ragged corner to observe the cleanup in progress. No immediate sign of Ribas Salek or Zazal Aazal.
A trio of Opodians started moving in his direction, dragging one of the wreckage sleds. Vard frowned, drawing the plasma pistol from its holster. "A curse on all the houses," he muttered. Vard didn't want to break his promise to the Lotorian - after all, the Lotorian had shown ample honor of his own, making certain that Vard's crate safely launched from the doomed cargo container. He would do all he could to avoid killing, but he wouldn't think twice about wanton wounding if it came down to choosing between his own survival or theirs.
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Ribas Salek awoke in his crate and felt it teetering precipitously. His eyes widened, terror gripping him as the metal box wobbled. The Llivori shoved the lid aside, sat upright, looked around, and immediately wished that he hadn't.
Somehow, during the final seconds of the journey down the tube, his crate had been caught on a swirling wave of debris and air that left him inexplicably perched at an awkward angle on a metal beam about thirty feet up and two hundred yards shy of the Ope'mot tube nexus chamber. He hunched up, struggling to keep the crate balanced long enough for him to dump himself out onto the beam. He crouched, clawed paws clinging to the beam. Then he watched the crate tumble toward the floor of the tube, where it clattered, bounced twice, and came to rest near a spread of torn metal from the cargo container.
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The three workers moving toward Vard stopped when they heard the crash of metal coming from the cargo tube. They spoke amongst themselves, but the Medlidikke couldn't understand much if anything that they were saying to each other.
Their commlinks buzzed. The supervisor, observing from the receiving platform, transmitted orders to them. Apparently, those orders involved proceeding into the main tunnel to investigate the noise. They turned their backs, dragging the hoversled in the direction away from Vard as ordered. Yamet Opo'te, meanwhile, moved down the receiving platform toward the main tunnel to supervise their progress.
Good enough, Vard reasoned. He moved from behind the accidental lean-to, dropped to a crouch, and scurried behind a series of upturned boxes and crates until he reached a cluster of hydraulic feed pipes that were each about ten feet around and provided a much better location for the pirate to hide while he watched and waited.
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One of the Opodians nearly tripped over Zazal on the way to check out the noise of Ribas Salek's tumbling crate.
The Lotorian was battered, bruised, and a little bloody. His right eye was swollen shut and shrapnel had lightly gashed the left side of his chest. But he had managed to hang onto the sack with the Kamir relic inside throughout the nightmarish final moments of the cargo container as it tore itself apart and in the subsequent minutes while his crate was tossed about with the rest of the debris en route to Ope'mot.
He had landed without his box, flat on his back, under two thin overlapping panels of corrugated metal inside the main tunnel. So, he was looking up as the hoversled passed overhead from the nexus chamber into the tunnel. Once the sled had moved out of sight, Zazal found that he could - with some effort - see to the receiving platform. The shift supervisor was looking directly at the area where the Lotorian was hidden, probably waiting for word from the Opodian workers about the source of noise.
Zazal decided he had better sit still and remain quiet until it was much safer to move again.
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Ribas side-stepped along the beam, making his way toward the support strut that rose along the north wall of the cargo tube. He stopped about halfway when the Opodian workers reached the fallen crate. They chattered at each other in that awful singsong language that Ribas so loathed.
One of the workers clicked on a plasma lamp, directing the blue-white shaft of light up to the south junction of the beam support strut, just as another piece of debris - a metal C-clamp of some kind - spilled into the tunnel from above. The Llivori held his breath and struggled to remain perfectly still. The other two switched on their lanterns, sweeping the wreckage east and west with their beams. The first let his lamp continue along the beam, toward the north support strut. The metal beam supporting Ribas Salek was about two feet wide. Unfortunately, the beam's girth wasn't enough to conceal the Llivori's pudgy form.
"Llivori!" the Opodian shouted into his commlink, waving the plasma lamp frantically to indicate the intruder.
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Vard didn't need a translator to understand the word the crackled over the supervisor's commlink. He shook his head, frowning. So much for handling this nice and quiet-like, without anyone getting hurt.
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Yamet Opo'te took several urgent steps toward a locked cabinet affixed to the receiving platform wall. He slid an identification card through a slot. The cabinet hissed open, revealing several pulse pistols. The Opodian took one, slid his thumb over the sensor eye to document for official purposes that he had checked out the weapon, and then closed the cabinet.
"Do not let him go anywhere," Yamet grumbled into his commlink. He descended down the ramp into the nexus chamber, turning his back to Vard Bokren as he made his way toward the main tunnel. Yamet didn't see the pirate easing out from behind the pipes, plasma pistol trained on the back of the Opodian's head.
<<>>
Zazal watched the Opodian supervisor negotiating a path through the wreckage, gun held ready, on his way to take Ribas Salek into custody or, perhaps, to shoot the Llivori dead.
He set the sack with the Kamir artifact aside for the moment and tried to focus his thoughts. Zazal didn't think the three workers had guns. This wasn't the sort of job where they gave just anybody a weapon. Even the supervisor needed specific access and an extraordinary circumstance to acquire a gun from the locker. So, the Lotorian reasoned, if the supervisor could be neutralized, maybe taken as a hostage, then the workers would fall in line and cooperate. No one had to die. Zazal didn't want to be part of anyone dying if it could be avoided. Unless, of course, the person doing the dying was Vard Bokren. But that would have to wait, apparently.
The Opodian got within a couple of feet of Zazal before the Lotorian shoved hard on one of the flat pieces of metal that had been concealing him from view. The panel struck a firm blow to the supervisor, hitting him in the belly and chest, sending him toppling over backward with a startled look on his face. He looked even more surprised when a crimson plasma bolt sizzled just above the tip of his snout and burned through the panel as it was tumbling over with him. A molten hole glowed red about halfway up the panel, softened metal beginning to cool before it clanged on the tube floor.
"Vard!" Zazal shouted, hopping out of the wreckage and waggling a critical finger at the Medlidikke. "No killing!" He grabbed the Opodian's gun, aiming it at the supervisor's chest. "Unless we have no other choice," Zazal snarled, hoping the Opodian would get the message.
The pirate glowered at the Lotorian, waving the plasma pistol in frustration. "How was I supposed to know you had a PLAN?" He stalked over to join Zazal in threatening the fallen supervisor. The Hekayti loomed over the Opodian, letting sparks drip from the electrified trident to land just to the left of Yamet's head.
"Yeah," Zazal replied, ears swiveling back and forth. He peered at Yamet through black-patched eyes. His tail lashed about in agitation. "It sort of surprised me too," he admitted. He knelt beside the Opodian and said, "The big Hekayti with the scars and the zappy stump is Vard Bokren. He wants to kill you. I'm the only thing stopping him. So, you do what I say, you go home to your family. Yes?" Yamet Opo'te bobbed his snout in the affirmative. He didn't want to die foolishly for a job that barely paid a living wage for an Opodian with a growing family. "That's great to hear," Zazal said. "Now, raise your workers on the commlink. Tell them to start walking west along the cargo tube for exactly one hour. After that, they can turn around and come back. If we see them any sooner than that, you're dead and it's their fault." He tilted his snout, eyes narrowing at the Opodian. "Need me to repeat?"
The supervisor shook his head. He relayed the orders via commlink, precisely as instructed by Zazal.
"You're showing a lot of potential for this kind of work, Zazal," Vard said in grunting surprise. His scarred brow creased. "It's a little creepy."
The Lotorian chortled. "Right now, I just want to get off this planet full of crazy fanatics. That means stealing Salek's ship out of that impound yard. We can't do that without him, now can we? So, I'm only doing what I have to do to make sure this happens." He walked back over to his hiding place so that he could retrieve the sack with the artifact inside. "Then we can get back to finding the rest of these relics for your client."
With a nod, Vard replied, "That works for now."