Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

CARLA

“So what are you going to do with all your fat loots?” Carla asked.

They were in the games lounge, seated at a small table. Massive screens covered the walls, playing various races from elsewhere. Carla recognized something that resembled a dog race, if dogs were tall, slender rats. They looked cute, actually. There was a horse-type race with riders, a race with raptors large enough to carry a person, and a race with tigers. Just regular tigers. At the end of the race, the losing tigers mauled the winner, so maybe it wasn’t really a race but a chase to the death, and the wrongness of that disturbed her. There was even a race with a fleet of single-person starships traversing an asteroid field. The crowd cheered at the collisions.

Carla had no concerns about being overheard. The crowd made enough noise to mask their conversation, and with so much going on, no one paid attention to the gargoyle and his human pet.

Ari shuffled a deck of playing cards. It wasn’t a standard deck like back home with fifty-two cards in a deck and suits. This deck was composed of seventy artifacts, each with a special ability. Abilities stacked to make the player’s hand more powerful or mitigated the effectiveness of the opponent’s hand. Unless the game assigned numerical values to the artifacts, then it was a bunch of math. Carla never bothered to learn. She preferred dice.

He spread the cards face down across the table. “Pick a card,” he said, ignoring her question.

“You’re not going to impress me with your tricks,” she said, dutifully picking a card.

“Excellent choice. Do not show it to me. Add it to the deck and shuffle.” He brought the tip of his wing forward to cover his face.

Carla struggled to shuffle with any sort of grace as the cards were larger than the standard deck back home and a smidge too big to handle comfortably. Satisfied that the cards had been randomized, she slid the deck across the table.

“What got you into the antique dealer business?” she asked.

He skillfully shuffled the deck, the cards flying from one hand to another. “I told you. A friend found it. She gave me her share?—”

“To rescue the elusive Darla, yeah,” she said. “But what’s the long-term plan?”

“I told you my plan. Rescue humans and set them up with enough funds to live a comfortable life.”

“I have some thoughts?—”

“I am astounded,” he replied in a flat tone. He split the deck in two and showed her the top card. “Is this your card?”

It was, but she lied and said, “Nope. Mine was the spider with five eyes with the rope around the neck.”

“That is a strand of silk. It is symbolic,” he said, giving her a harsh look as if he knew she lied. He shuffled the cards again and repeated the card selection process, spreading the cards face down on the table.

“First, there are other people besides humans who are slaves. Does your contract with your benefactor specifically say rescue only humans or just that one human in particular?” Carla selected a card. It was the same spider wearing the silk around its neck like a noose.

She glared at him, uncertain how he managed to pull that off.

“Your card,” he said, sounding quite pleased with himself. “Twenty people was the agreed -upon number, if you must know.”

“So not just humans.” Carla nodded her head. “Good. Second observation, you don’t seem to be utilizing your assets effectively.”

Ari looked at her like she had grown a second head.

“I went to school. I know words,” she said, her tone a touch defensive.

“I am aware that you know words. You are extremely loquacious.” He shuffled the cards again.

Smartass gargoyle.

“Look, I just mean that you have a lot of resources, but you’re doing everything by yourself. Those twenty people will take you forever. Hire someone to help.”

“What positions do you propose?”

It took her a solid thirty seconds to parse that he meant job positions, not… other stuff. Stuff she had no business thinking about because she just met this guy a few days ago. Her sister was in mortal peril, and she should not be fantasizing about jumping the alien gargoyle’s bones.

“Umm, dudes with guns. Lots of them. Pew-pew-pew up the place and liberate all the people,” she said, demonstrating her astounding tactic with finger guns.

“What is to prevent the dudes with guns from murdering me and helping themselves to my fortune?” He spread the cards face down across the table. “Draw a card.”

“Well, nothing, I guess, but some hired muscle wouldn’t hurt.” She drew a card. The damn spider again.

Making a frustrated noise, she tossed the card at Ari. He grinned, as if pleased with his trick. “I am muscle enough. I do not need to hire another person who will betray me or rob me, likely both.”

Fair. She said, “You’re one person and you can’t be everywhere at once. At least hire someone to fly the ship.”

“I manage.”

She snorted. “Barely.”

His wings fluttered. “You are hardly an expert.”

“I’ve got eyes,” she snapped back. “You use the autopilot and can’t change course when it’s running.”

“I was led to believe that Earth was technologically primitive. When did you gather your extensive knowledge of interstellar vessels and navigation?” He shuffled the cards, elegant in his tailored suit and looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Don’t try to make me feel ignorant by using a lot of fancy words,” she warned. “Not that I have to explain anything, but Poppy is a bit of a trainspotter. That’s not the right word. She geeks out over the ships and I get to listen to her list all the specs.”

“Split the deck,” Ari said, setting the deck on the table. Carla cut it in half and half again, before sliding the deck back to him. He placed the cards face down on the table in an elaborate pattern. “And your friend’s interests make you familiar with how to operate a highly complex vessel. How foolish of me not to understand.”

He placed the last card in the center of the wheel.

That fucking spider again.

“Fine,” she said, grabbing the card. She attempted to rip it in half, but the paper was laminated and wouldn’t tear. “I lied about the card, and I was guessing about the autopilot. Happy?”

“Please return my card.” He held out his hand expectantly.

“No. This is my card now.”

“You are being childish.”

“Yes.” She stuffed the card into the side of her bra. Hardly the most secure spot, but worth it for the look of shock on his face.

Ari made that noise that wasn’t quite a laugh, like the sound of fluttering wings and gravel. She couldn’t explain it better.

“Since you have so many opinions,” he said, gathering up the remaining cards, “what would you do with the fortune if it were yours?”

“Volcano lair,” she said without a moment’s hesitation. “Mid-century modern, all space age with glass and chrome. There’d be a waterfall, maybe natural or maybe manmade, I haven’t decided, but it’s in the middle of my receiving room. You know, the kind of feature that makes you think what the fuck and intimidate my foes. An octopus tank would be nice, too, but they’re clever. I read an article about an octopus in an aquarium that kept unlocking its tank, so maybe not. Sharks would do. Is that cliche? Fuck it. I’m leaning into all the cliches.”

Ari stared at her. “I understood half of what you said. You would not use your fortune to help others?”

“No,” she answered, wrinkling her nose for comedic effect. “I’m in my villain era.”

“That is very selfish of you.”

“Oh, and you’re some paragon of virtue? What’s the provenance of your collection? Was it all ethically obtained? Have you repatriated the pieces that were stolen? Returned them to museums?” She could use fancy words, too, dammit. “Or are you just sitting on it like a dragon in his hoard?”

“It is not so easy. I must consider the economy of the situation.”

That gave her pause. “Do you mean that if you offloaded too much of the loot, it’d drive down the value?”

“Precisely. By carefully selecting who I sell my collection to, I am maximizing my potential to help.”

“Why not go to an untapped market? There are other planets.”

“No,” he said, offering no other explanation.

Carla glanced around the lounge to make sure they were being overlooked. The amount of people mingling in the lounge had steadily increased since they arrived. Between conversation and the noise from the media screens, no one paid them any mind. Still, she spoke in a quiet voice, “What you need is a fence.”

A look of confusion crossed his face. “My ship is mobile. A barrier to secure the perimeter would be a temporary measure and ineffective.”

So, this was a problem with the translator chip. Often, it took the literal meaning of a word, and idioms were lost. Ari probably had the very best chip money could buy implanted, but some things didn’t translate.

“Not a fence, a fence, someone with the right connections to sell the goods for you,” she said.

Something snagged Ari’s attention. He no longer looked at her but at a fixed point over her shoulder. Carla turned around, breaking the first rule of playing it cool, and spotted nothing out of the ordinary.

He stood abruptly from the table. “We must leave. Now.”

ARI

Ari grabbed Carla by the wrist and dragged her away.

“What’s going on?” she asked, stumbling to keep up.

“No time to explain. Hurry.” He pushed through the crowd, his tail lashing from side to side and knocking into those not quick enough to step out of the way, aware of the disturbance he caused.

Had the Khargal Patrol spotted him? His wings itched, wanting to spread wide to block him and Carla from view.

“I hate it when they say that in the movies. Just spit it out,” Carla said.

“There is no time?—”

“No, wrong answer.” She dug her heels in, as if refusing to take another step. “I thought the entire point of this farce was to be seen.”

There truly was no time for this. Patrol agents worked their way through the crowd, growing closer.

Ari had removed his implanted identity chip when he fled his home planet, but the Patrol’s scanners were capable of identification with genetic material. The likelihood of the Patrol being there for him was slim—however flattering to imagine Khargal law enforcement would go to all that trouble for his humble self—but he had no intention of catching their attention.

This situation was his fault. He had grown complacent with the luxury and perceived safety of the resort; now, he dodged the Patrol from his homeworld.

Unsuccessfully.

Static filled every screen and portable device in the area, followed by an announcement. “Attention, Khargal citizen. Halt. Yield for inspection.” The Patrol had cut into the feed for their proclamation, possibly broadcasting to the entire complex.

Ari kept moving, his hand firmly planted in the middle of Carla’s back to push her forward. There would be no yielding for inspection.

“There is a small matter about a warrant for my arrest. Now, please hurry, but do not be obvious about it.” He prepared himself for teasing or mockery. He glanced behind them. The crowd had parted for the Khargal Patrol. Scarlet red uniforms, severe, featureless visors hiding their faces, and weapons in hand had that effect.

Instead, Carla grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, and gave a quick nod. “Why didn’t you just say that? Casual fleeing. Can do. Come on, don’t stand around flapping your jaw.”

They pushed through the crowd, past the gamblers with eyes fixed on screens, past the people conversing over drinks, and toward the back to the service exit. From there, they could exit through the kitchen to a loading dock. Casually fleeing, as Carla described.

A Patrol agent materialized from nothingness, suddenly very present and blocking their path. The male was featureless behind the visor, like a machine. “Halt! Khargal citizen, submit to an identity scan.”

“No, thank you,” Carla said.

“It is mandatory,” the male said, turning the blank visor to face Carla.

Her shoulders drew back. After only a few days, Ari recognized that she was preparing herself for a fight. Perhaps not physical—humans were underwhelming when it came to being a physical threat—but certainly verbal.

“Under what authority?” Carla demanded.

“I am empowered by the High Council of Duras to enforce its laws.”

“This isn’t Duras.”

The Patrol guard turned that blank faceplate toward Ari, ignoring Carla. “Khargal, present your identity.”

“As deeply as I wish to comply, I cannot. I do not have one,” Ari said.

“Impossible. Every Khargal is given an implant.”

“It is an amusing story,” Ari said, completely rambling and unsure where this fabrication would take him. “My parents were very devout members of an obscure religion whose beliefs prevented them from being constantly monitored by an overreaching government, or so they claimed. Also, no dairy. We grew our own food to avoid pesticides, but the compound was isolated, so there wasn’t much of a choice. Start farming or start starving, beloved leader always said.”

“Sounds like a cult. Were your parents in a cult?” Carla asked.

“No, it was a cooperative.”

“Definitely a cult. Did you have to wear special clothes and or shave your head?”

“A simple uniform makes everyone more efficient. That is not unusual.” Ari’s wings shivered, taking delight in how Carla improvised easily with the obviously fictional tale.

“Sounds suspicious,” she said. “But no dairy? No, thank you.”

The Patrol guard’s attention bounced between Carla and Ari, expression hidden by the visor.

“Enough,” he said, pressing a device to the nearest bit of Ari’s exposed flesh, his wings.

Ari felt the pinch of the device taking a genetic sample.

Such an act was beyond rude. It broke the most basic tenet of Khargal society: do not touch another’s wings. Touching a tail couldn’t be helped. They evolved to help with balance and spatial awareness. Tails were always brushing against something, mapping out the shape of the world, but wings… No.

“You broke three different protocols,” Ari said, now irritated. Beyond the issue with wings, he paid an exorbitant amount to the resort with the understanding that undesirables like law enforcement were kept out. The Patrol must have offered a hefty bribe to be admitted, which made Ari question who they were after. Surely not him. He had an active warrant, yes, but he was hardly important. Inconsequential even.

Still, now they had his genetic profile. Time for a hasty exit.

Ari spun on his heel, grabbing the pistol from the male’s hip. It went off with the barest of pressure, hitting the agent’s foot. The male hopped back, shouting as if that little blast was the greatest pain he had ever known.

The surrounding crowd fell silent; the only noise was the wailing of the injured Patrol agent. Pistols and various handheld weapons perfectly capable of ruining a day materialized. Tension filled the air, and no one breathed, waiting. One wrong move and the place would erupt into violence.

Carla, an agent of chaos, seemed unconcerned by the delicate balance. She grabbed a drinks tray from a nearby table and slammed it across the back of the first available body, which happened to be the Patrol agent. Ari’s tail grabbed the agent’s leg near the ankle and pulled. The agent shouted in pain as he tumbled to the ground.

Chaos broke out among the crowd. Shots were fired. Punches thrown. Tables knocked to the ground and glass shattered.

“I am embarrassed for you,” Ari told the still -wailing agent. “Making such a production over a little injury.”

“You shot me!”

“Yes, with your own weapon,” he agreed, his voice cheerful.

Ari stepped over the howling male. His skin shifted, hardening to resist damage from a stray shot, but Carla had no such protection. He disliked this human vulnerability. It seemed like an evolutionary flaw.

“We are leaving unless there is something else you need me to explain,” he said.

Carla swung the serving tray, connecting with another person who got too close. Her hair had worked itself out of the braid, golden strands swaying about her shoulders like it was caught in a summer zephyr. A fierceness settled over her face and hardened her eyes.

He knew that expression well. She wore it when she threatened to end him. How marvelous to see it again.

She was a menace and he wanted nothing more than to witness and admire her particular brand of havoc.

“I’m good,” she said, whirling around to face him.

Yes, he could tell. Very good. He had no doubt she could do this all night, or at least until the Patrol agents apprehended her.

As delightful as this was, one of them had to be the sensible one and flee.

“Now,” he said, grabbing his menace and tossing her over his shoulder.