Aldur Bokren sat across from Dira Urtigo at a white-gray mushroom-shaped table in a corner of the Last Orders Tavern, a pub aboard Comorro that had been built ages ago within a hollow cavity that apparently lacked any further practical biological purpose for the Yaralu.
The tavern was busy tonight, packed with dozens of patrons from many walks of life. The bartender, a grizzled old Lotorian named Genkhun, served drinks to an alien that looked like a chatty stalk of blue-green celery. A brown-and-red furred Lyiri perched on a stool, drinking Tytak straight from the bottle - no broad-spectrum filtering the way most doctors would recommend. A pair of Llivori technicians studied a holographic starship blueprint while sharing a bottle of Zaviz. A B'hiri merchant guzzled sweet Star Nectar from a silver goblet.
Aldur had his back to the gray cartilage wall, while Dira sat with her back to the main room of the tavern. He wouldn't have traded positions for anything. Her choice made her far too vulnerable. Aldur had tried impressing this concern upon her, but Dira called him paranoid. He believed that she took far too much for granted and didn't exercise nearly enough caution under the circumstances.
"How does she tolerate us?" Dira asked, watching smoke from assorted pipes, tubes, and cigarettes roil in a haze in the chamber. She didn't seem to want to spend an extra moment arguing about seating arrangements at the table. "I'm sitting here, thinking what it would be like to have a bunch of strange aliens bobbing about in my lungs, stomping around, smoking, disposing of waste. Why does she do it, do you think?"
The old Hekayti screwed up his mouth, pondering the question. "Well, there's not much that one would consider symbiotic about our relationship, is there? It really can't be argued that we give her anything that she absolutely needs." He took a sip of his imported Kjernkor ale. "That said, while we're all aboard, I'm led to understand that she can hear everything we talk about in most public places. She's the hub of data transmissions coming to and leaving the station, yes? So, if nothing else, keeping us around presents her with countless opportunities to gather information. That's something of a pastime for many Yaralu."
Dira nodded. "Maybe. So, as long as we're interesting and gossip incorrigibly, she'll keep us around?" She grinned, tapping at the controls of a datapad sitting in front of her on the table. Information started scrolling through the holographic display. "Maybe I should start tossing details about the Glasne Commerce Council committee chairs. Scandalous lot, they are."
Aldur bobbed his chin in the direction of Dira's datapad. He wasn't in a very jovial mood. Hadn't been since they had cleared the inspectors. Not that Dira expected Bokren to be generally happy on any given day. "Any luck finding an upload site?" He didn't like the feeling that came with sitting and waiting. Aldur wanted forward motion. He wanted results. Good or bad, he sought resolution - immediate, if possible. That seemed unlikely for now, though.
"Not yet," she said, shaking her head. Dira rested her hands palms down on either side of the datapad. "None of the ships currently docked on Comorro, at least. There are Hekayti colony worlds within a few light years of us, a couple of them have upload creches, but all of them have extradition agreements with Hekayt Prime. If we go there, we're dead. So, I think we might be stuck aboard this station until our names are cleared."
Aldur grunted. It wasn't that the answer was unexpected. After all, it simply confirmed what he had suspected. Nevertheless, hearing it said aloud made it entirely too real. He had no friends at home anymore. Hekayt Prime might as well be the surface of a boiling sun, for all he could inhabit it. His only friend, it seemed, came from the grudging companionship of Dira Urtigo, and that only because she had made the ill-advised choice of stepping up for an old bookkeeper on that Glasne street.
"You should have let them kill me," Aldur said.
Dira lifted her chin, snickering. "I hope you're not fishing for me to say I should have done nothing of the sort, because I will tell you here and now, Aldur Bokren, that if I had the chance to do it over again, knowing what I know now..." The smile faded and her eyes shifted toward the datapad once more. "They would have killed you. I know that makes me a terrible person. I'm sorry, but I'm just being honest."
"No need to apologize," the old Hekayti assured her. A weak smile worked its way onto his lips. He genuinely regretted the chaos that he had inadvertently brought into her life. He wanted to make reparations for the many hardships that Dira Urtigo had suffered during her young life. He hoped to see her go on to become a wealthy and respected business leader in Glasne. All over Hekayt Prime, if she wanted. "I should say, though, that I am glad you saved my life. I stand by the promise that I made. Whatever it takes, however long it might take, I will do all I can to see that you are made fiscally whole again."
A large hand grabbed the chair to Dira's right, pulling it back. Both Aldur and Dira turned simultaneously to see Rojt Omara moving to sit in the chair at their table. "It all sounds so amusing, listening to the both of you get all wistful about your adventures on Hekayt Prime and your exciting plans for the future." He urged the chair forward, letting the hand gripping the pistol slide under the table, aiming the barrel at Aldur's gut. "The way I see it, though, neither of you really has much of a future."
Aldur leaned back in his chair, frowning at the Ledelkrig warrior. He placed his hands on the table, palms down, to show that he had no weapon of his own. "You have come a very long way from Hekayt Prime. Such tenacity is surprising."
Rojt scowled. He thought of the splattered blood where Starko had died. His thumb switched off the safety on the pulse pistol. "I had ample motivation."
<<>>
While Ribas Salek flew the freighter from Kamsho to Comorro Station, Vard Bokren sat in a lopsided swivel chair in the crew commons. He rested his right hand on the cloth sack that now contained two lightly glowing Kamir artifact cylinders. His plasma pistol sat next to the sack, safety off. He watched the groggy Zazal Aazal slowly regaining consciousness after the little misadventure in the harbor near Ope'mot.
"I am struggling to understand you," the pirate said to the Lotorian. "At times, you seem very much to be a valuable ally. I *almost* trust you. Then you try to run off with an artifact that is incredibly important to my client."
Zazal just rolled onto his back on the floor, gazing up at the ceiling with his unswollen eye. It had been his hope to topple off of the scooter and sink to the bottom of the harbor with the artifact. His parents wanted him dead, anyway, and if he could finally make them happy while depriving this pirate of a powerful relic, so much the better.
"You never actually responded to my offer, now that I think of it," Vard said. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. "Back on the Kjernkor, you told me that you'd let me know whether you were in or out once we were on the ground." The pirate leaned forward in his chair, which wobbled and squeaked with his movement. "So I'm guessing that scooter ride out to sea was your answer."
The Lotorian slumped over on his side, turning his back to Vard Bokren. He wondered if the pirate would ever catch the not-so-subtle hint that he had absolutely nothing left to say. What more could he say that wouldn't get him killed?
Vard spun the plasma pistol slowly on the table for a few moments, watching the silent Lotorian while growing increasingly frustrated by the silence. "I took you prisoner, yes. I forced your parents to abandon you. I forced them to destroy your ship. I strong-armed you into helping track down these artifacts. Sure. All true. But I've been mostly civil to you, haven't I?" He paused, considering. "Except for the fake bomb collar. And the punches. So, I guess I'm sorry about those things, all right? I meant what I said on the Kjernkor. You've proven yourself capable and competent. Reliable, except for this one particular incident, which I can write off to the jitters, if you want."
Zazal's ears swiveled and his whiskers flexed, but he offered no spoken reply to the pirate.
"Curse all the houses!" Vard snapped. He stood, hooves clomping on the deckplates as the chair rolled backward. "You vex me, Zazal! It is all too apparent now that we are beyond repairing this gulf between us. True to my word, however, I will not hold you captive once we have arrived on Comorro Station. You will be free to go and live as you wish. Chances are, I can find another translator to hire while I'm there." His brow furrowed. "I would have only one question answered before I let you go: If you are so angry with me, why did you keep your promise in the cargo tube? Why didn't you shove my crate into the wall and kill me?"
The Lotorian twitched at the question. He rolled back over to direct a one-eyed glare at Vard Bokren. He opened his mouth, about to speak the words "I tried" when Ribas Salek waddled down the steps from the corridor into the crew commons and announced, "We'll be docking on Comorro in about five minutes."
<<>>
Rojt Omara knew he could kill both of them, right here and right now in the Last Orders Tavern.
These two criminals had slaughtered Ledelkrig warriors in Glasne, eluded capture at the Toveil house, and murdered Omara's beloved Starko. They had brought him nothing but hardship since first making their acquaintance.
Their survival past this point even spelled the difference between returning to Hekayt Prime with his caste membership intact or never seeing his homeworld again.
It made sense, without full context, to kill them while he had them pinned down in the corner of this alien pub. But he had done his research. He knew the context in which he now operated. Comorro Station didn't prevent people from bringing weapons aboard, but she did take a very dim view of those who used them for anything more than self-defense. If Rojt shot and killed his quarry now, the Yaralu would probably - how did the sign in customs put it? - add him "to the station's nutritional matrix."
So, the executions couldn't happen here. They couldn't occur in any area that Comorro might be monitoring with her sensors. However, she was a large vessel, with many cavities and tunnels that had been lost to time. Rojt just had to get Aldur and Dira down to the Forgotten Quarter. Once there, two more corpses wouldn't make a significant difference in that glorified graveyard.
"You moved too soon," Aldur said, crossing his arms as he stared calmly at Rojt. Dira glared at Aldur, probably not keen on the old Hekayti trying to provoke the Ledelkrig warrior's ire.
"What are you going on about?" Rojt asked.
"The gun you're holding right now might as well be a piece of rock with the word 'zap' painted on it, for all the good it can really do you aboard Comorro," Aldur replied. He hadn't missed the signs in the customs area, either. "You can shoot us here, but then you won't make it off the station alive. Your only viable option is to compel us to go with you to someplace that the Yaralu isn't watching. But where's *our* motivation to do that? We are not livestock to be led to the slaughter. You could say: 'Come with me or I'll shoot you.' But you can't, really. When someone says 'Come with me and then eventually I'll shoot you,' well, that's no choice at all, is it?"
Rojt grimaced. He knew the old Konterbeid was right. He had moved too soon. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead as he felt the array of choices collapsing before him. He couldn't persuade Aldur and Dira to go to their doom. If he was going to deliver justice for his lover's death, it would have to come now, here. He could no longer afford the whimsical fantasy that he might someday make a glorious return to Hekayt Prime. The best he could do would be to complete the goals of his mission and die with honor. His finger began to tug backward on the trigger.
"One moment," Dira said, raising a hand to signal the panicking Ledelkrig. "Before you go killing us and getting yourself killed, I want you to consider an alternative."
He stared at the female. Rojt wondered what she might be playing at. Was she about to make a deal? Turn against Aldur, possibly? He had to admit, the idea might have some merit. "Speak or die."
"I have a Kamir artifact with me," she said, patting a sack slung over her shoulder. "Can I show you? I am told it is worth millions of Hekayti credits."
Apparently, she wasn't quite ready to sell out the old Konterbeid. Rojt eased the barrel of the gun around so that it aimed at Dira's stomach, just in case what she wanted to show him was a pistol of her own. "Go ahead."
Dira nodded. She took the sack from over her shoulder, placed it on the table, and unfastened the clasps. She opened the flap, displaying the foot-long black stone cylinder. To her surprise, the runes were slowly pulsating, glowing blue.
<<>>
Zazal stood in the tradeport of Comorro Station, astonished to find himself within a Yaralu for the first time in his life. Not just any Yaralu, either. He knew many of the legends about Comorro. She was older than most of the races that populated the stars.
Vard shifted the sack from one shoulder to the other, grunting. "All right, Zazal, moment of truth. I swore I'd let you go on your own, if that's your wish. You kept your word to me. I'll keep mine to you. Then we're even, right? All debts repaid."
The Lotorian took a couple of light steps toward the Medlidikke, staring up at him with his uninjured eye. "I didn't actually keep my word." Back on the Llivori freighter, Zazal knew that making this admission would probably get him killed. But he knew the rules aboard Comorro. He had nothing to fear from Vard Bokren while under the Yaralu's watchful gaze.
"What are you saying?" Vard asked. His brow knitted above his frown.
Zazal smirked, whiskers flexing. "When I pushed your crate out of the cargo container, I *did* try to aim you at the wall." He shrugged. "You got lucky. I missed."
The pirate looked puzzled for a few moments as he processed what he was hearing. Zazal waited for the bombast and fury, an explosion of rage, as Vard came to the understanding that the Lotorian meant to kill him before they ever got off Kamsho - and certainly before Zazal took a scooter ride.
But the Medlidikke didn't become furious. Instead, he started grinning from ear to ear. "At least you tried. Felt good, didn't it?"
Vard's reaction effectively pole-axed Zazal. He never knew quite what to make of the Hekayti pirate from one moment to the next. "No death threats?" the Lotorian asked.
"No need to threaten death," Vard said. "It comes to everyone eventually. Sometimes even to those who deserve it." He clamped his good hand on Zazal's shoulder. "The score's even between us. You gambled on killing me. You lost. So, I go on living a while longer. You're free to take your leave, go your own way, if that's what you want."
Zazal scratched the side of his snout, huffing. He hadn't expected that trying to kill Vard Bokren would earn him the pirate's respect. He certainly hadn't anticipated a Medlidikke taking the admission of the act with such aplomb. Then Zazal's eyes narrowed. He gazed shrewdly up at the pirate. "I'm dead the minute I get off this station, right?" His tail lashed back and forth nervously.
"Maybe," Vard said, shrugging.
Ribas Salek waddled into the tradeport from the docking hub. "I paid a couple of Tupai to repaint the Op while I'm thinking up a new name for her." He tilted his head, staring at the sack hanging over the pirate's shoulder. "You're pulsing."
Vard yanked the bag off his shoulder, pulled open the flap, and saw the two rune-inscribed cylinders pulsating with a bright blue glow. "That's new," he muttered. The pirate started walking toward one of the shops next to the gravlift and the glow faded. He walked back toward Zazal and Ribas, the glow returned to its previous strength. He took the cylinders in the direction of the docking hub, but the glow subsided. Finally, the Medlidikke carried the sack toward the entrance to the Last Orders Tavern. The pulsations grew stronger. He looked over at Ribas and Zazal. "Maybe they're thirsty?"
<<>>
At first, Rojt thought it must be some kind of bomb. It wouldn't surprise him. These two had proven to be craftier - or luckier - than anyone seemed to have anticipated. Why wouldn't they manage to find a way to outwit Rojt Omara one last time?
If it was a bomb, though, that would make it a weapon. If it was a weapon recognized by Comorro Station, she would respond by activating her internal defenses. The Yaralu hadn't so much as issued a warning thus far.
"So," Rojt said, rubbing his chin. "Not a bomb." The runes began to pulse more rapidly, brighter.
A voice from behind the Ledelkrig warrior said, "Boom." Vard Bokren set his sack of relics on the table next to Dira's. He scowled over the table at the old Hekayti who sat with his back to the wall. "Father, this IS a surprise." He pulled out a chair and sat across from Dira, who looked from Vard to the battered-looking Lotorian and the gruff Llivori hanging back a few feet behind the pirate. "What's everyone drinking?" he asked. "I'm buying."
Aldur Bokren stared wide-eyed at the scarred Medlidikke. He opened his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by a dead Kamir.
The pulsating glow of the three rune-inscribed cylinders coalesced into an image of Opodi Talhem, goddess of Kamsho and last survivor of the original Kamir. She did not speak, but painted runes of light in the air. Vard looked back at Zazal and asked, "Can you understand it?"
Zazal stepped forward, moving so he could get a look at the message. It seemed to cycle every fifteen seconds after completion. Slow going, it took Zazal several repetitions to get it all down. Eventually, though, he had the translation. It brought a smile to his weary face.
"What is she saying?" Dira asked. She put her right hand through the hazy blue-white image, waggling her fingers.
The Lotorian tilted his head. He turned to Vard and said, "Your client had best get used to disappointment."
"Why?" The pirate scowled. Hideg Fekretu did not deal well with disappointment. He wasn't the most powerful man on Aukam by any stretch of the imagination, but he was driven and determined. If Fekretu could succeed at his ambitions, Vard stood to profit in myriad ways.
"We're never going to find the fourth artifact," Zazal replied, his eyes continuing to follow the dance of ethereal fingers and glowing runes.
"She destroyed it?" Ribas asked.
"No," Zazal said. His eyes returned to the image of Opodi Talhem, captured centuries ago as she embarked on a last-ditch effort to thwart the evil schemes of Il'ri Kamm's Hive Mind. "She took it with her when she left."
"Where'd she go?" Vard pressed.
"Another universe," Zazal answered. "Someplace only a Kamir could reach."
<<>>
The war with the Hivers had always been a long shot, especially after Il'ri Kamm infused his soul, his drive, and his madness into his creations.
But they were only a threat to the universe for as long as they possessed their amplification stones. So it came to pass that Opodi Talhem devised a plan for isolating the Hivers on Elakamia.
"It will cost us dearly," she told Azavatitch, one of several immediate descendants of brave Dowelaritch, who had perished at the Battle of Kovess Plain on Kamsho so many years ago. "Many of our finest warriors must perish so that we might succeed. And, in the end, I must leave you. But I will have repaid my debt. I will have done as Dowelaritch wished. The threat will be neutralized."
And so it was. The warriors agreed to the plan. They assaulted Elakamia, more than a thousand warriors. They hurled themselves at the tendrils in suicide attacks meant to distract the Hivers while other warriors grabbed the amplification stones. As Opodi Talhem had predicted, many souls were lost, but four sturdy soldiers emerged from the cavern with the glowing amplification stones.
Upon the snowy crest of an ice shelf on B'hira, Opodi stood one last time with Azavatitch and the diminished army. She held one of the cylinders in her hands. Three Lyiri warriors bore the other three in baggy brown sacks.
"Take each amplification stone as far as you can from this place," she urged. "Tell no one where you have hidden them. Pray that they are never found."
"And what of your stone?" Azavatitch inquired.
A weak smile crept across the ancient Kamir's time-worn face. "It is imperative that we make certain that in the unlikely event that the three star-scattered stones are found again, no one may hope to find the fourth. For that reason, I shall make one final translation, through space and time, to a world that none can hope to reach. There, I shall lay this final stone to rest. There, I will end my days."
Soon after, she found herself near a cliff of imposing black stone pillars that had been formed by eruptions of a volcano that spilled lava into the sea. The rocks looked like cubes and hexagons, as if they had been delicately crafted by stonemasons. A battered sign along the road passing between the cliff and the forest read: "Depo-dong 600m."
Great waves crashed against the cliff as Opodi Talhem negotiated a natural jetty made from the stones, which looked remarkably similar to the Kamir amplifier cylinder. Once she reached the end of the jetty, she extended the amplifier component over the water and let it drop with a splash.
My service to the universe is at an end, she thought. Opodi settled cross-legged on the bumpy surface of the jetty. She didn't mind the mild discomfort. Life was discomfort, after all. Oblivion would come soon enough.
She smiled serenely as she watched a rustic fishing boat moving through the mist along the island coast. A tan-skinned bipedal creature, apparently a sentient tool user, cast a net behind the boat. A worker then, she thought. Gatherer. No threat to even a dying Kamir.
Opodi Talhem ended then, fading from existence, secure in the belief that she had ultimately prevailed against the monster who had slaughtered her people.
She could not have been more wrong.