Razov

RAZOV

I moved through the Metro, my eyes firmly affixed on the path ahead of me rather than the dazzling businesses and homes built into the side of the cavernous station walls. Here, the most well-heeled of the station's denizens dwelt. Station security had a heavy, heavy presence.

Two officers glared at me openly as I passed. One of them muttered an insult and promised to keep an eye on me. If I had been the type to smirk, I'd have done so then. Both officers were, of course, on Alkard's payroll. They wouldn't interfere with Fang business. On the contrary, they would help facilitate it.

But appearances had to be kept up. No weapons were allowed in the Metro section. Even the station security guards only used truncheons and stun blasters. The fact was, there wasn't much overt crime going on in the Metro.

There was still crime, of course. It just happened behind closed doors. The slave auctions might have taken place in the Under, but the people who spent the money at such events dwelled almost exclusively in the Metro.

I passed by two finely-dressed Talimarians, their tentacled faces constantly moving in a heated debate.

"The Uune made the Metro for use as a giant heat sink," said the one with purple hued tentacles waving wildly. "By building inside of it, we are risking the lives of everyone on Thodos III station."

"You idiot," said the one with green tentacles. "People have lived in the Metro for centuries. It was one of the first places in the station to open shops. If something bad were going to happen, it would have happened a long time before now."

"I'm not an idiot."

"Yes, you are. You believed that theory that we were all really in a massive simulation and the station doesn't really exist?—"

I was glad to leave their silly speculation behind. Who cared why the Uune had made this section of the station with this particular, cavernous design? Or why power and fresh water were so abundant in the Metro?

It didn't matter. The only people who knew for sure were the Uune themselves, and they weren't talking. No one even knew if they were really sentient, or something akin to hive-minded insects, acting purely on instinct and mutual benefit.

One thing was for sure. The Metro was not a place where I found myself often. My talents lay among causing great mayhem and destruction, two things generally frowned upon in the Metro.

Alkard was fancy and polite enough to get by around the Metro. So was Makar, the smooth-talking assassin. But as for me, I stuck out a bit.

Which was fine with me. I didn't care much for this place.

All of that fanciness and glitz was just a veneer hiding the tawdry truth beneath. I preferred the Promenade, or even the Under. You knew where you stood in those places.

In the Metro? Who knew?

I took one of the round hover cars prevalent in this sector. The place was just too huge, not to mention too high, to be navigated on foot.

And this was an errand that needed to be taken care of quickly. Another thread in the tangle of our missing weapons shipment. Time was running out to get that sorted.

I drifted toward the top of the Metro, until the domed roof of the station hull was only thirty feet overhead. I parked the air car beside a restaurant whose banner proclaimed it the Nebula. Fanciest place to eat on the station, at least as far as I knew.

I headed straight into the front door and walked right past the confused hostess.

"Sir, you need to wait to be seated," she called.

"Ain't here to eat, doll." I glanced back. For a dame with tentacles for hair, she was kinda cute. "When I come back through, have your phone number ready for me, and I'll show you a good time."

I sauntered through the lobby. The well-heeled clientele looked over at me, their faces drawn in fear. I had that effect on people. Like most Vinduthi, I stood very tall, with horns on my brow. I also had the signature glowing sigils on the left side of my body, a surprisingly mellow aquamarine hue.

All of those things weren't unusual for a Vinduthi. But I stood a full head taller than the rest of mykind.

I didn't know exactly why people were so afraid of me. When I was younger, it had hurt my feelings, until I realized I didn't need to concern myself. All that mattered was completing my mission in the quickest, most efficient manner possible.

If people had to be hurt, they had to be hurt. If someone had to die, they died. I always saw the job through to the end. Always. And anyone who got in my way was liable to end up in the medical bay for months, eating through tubes and straws…if they were lucky.

I made it into the back of the house, seeking out the Mondian restaurant manager.

"I'm back, Freyto," I said, coming to a halt and putting my hands on my hips. "You got anything for me today, or what?"

Freyto frowned, his dragon-like, pinkish face wrinkled with worry.

"I'm sorry, Master Razov. I have tried to find out how the assassin gained entry to our restaurant, but I have not?—"

"For fuck's sake, Freyto, stop calling me Master. Maybe Alkard gets off on it, but I don't have time for that bullshit. Now, since you're already apologizing and pissing your pants, I assume that you didn't find anything out for me. That's okay."

"It is?" Freyto asked with cautious optimism.

"Yeah, it's fine. Here, put it there."

I held my hand out as if for a human-style handshake.

"Oh, okay," Freyto said. My hand closed around the scaled alien's own. Then I squeezed.

Freyto cried out, falling to his knees and trying without success to withdraw his hand from my vice-like grip. I've cultivated incredible grip strength. It comes in handy, because I can put my hand on a guy's shoulder and make it look all companionable like…only I grind his busted bones to powder every time he even twitches in a way I don't like.

"Yeah, it's okay that people think they can take a shot at one of us and get away with it. It's okay that when you needed help cleaning up that little indiscretion of yours, you called on us and we took care of it for you. And it's totally okay that you think you can dick me around and tell me that you don't know anything?—"

My percomm buzzed in his back pocket and I glanced apologetically at Freyto.

"Excuse me, this won't take a moment."

I did not relent with my grip one bit as I answered the call. Alkard's face appeared on the 2-D screen.

"Razov, what's your status?"

"I'm following up with the manager of the Nebula, boss," I said. "So far, he acts like he doesn't know anything, though."

"Forget him. Right now, we have something potentially even bigger."

"Bigger, boss man? All right."

"Come back to the Fallen Star right away. It's too sensitive for comms."

"I'm on my way."

I turned to Freyto and shrugged.

"Looks like it's your lucky day." I let go of the manager's hand at last. Freyto cried out, staring at his broken fingers. "Now, you'd better have something for me next time, or I won't just break your damn fingers, I'll fucking cut them off. You feel me?"

"I feel you," Freyto said, looking at his broken, grotesquely twisted hand. "I'm sorry Master?—"

I cocked an eyebrow under my horns.

"—I mean, I..."

I turned my back on Freyto and left the restaurant. I didn't have time to hit the hostess up for her number. I had a job to do.

I headed back to the Promenade, the central deck where our family held the most sway. Here there were even more lights than in the Metro. If the Metro deck was subdued elegance, then the Promenade was glitz and glamor.

I made my way out onto one of the station's many ‘wings,' a narrowed section of hull whose purpose remained arcane. Even the wings, though narrower than the main promenade, were more than wide enough for ten to walk abreast between the business establishments.

Once I entered the darker world of the Fallen Star, I relaxed a bit. The colors were a bit darker, the décor enticing. Inside, a patron could do pretty much anything that might separate him from a few credits, or a lot of credits.

There was a full bar with drinks ranging from rot gut homemade brew to sophisticated ales and wines from across the galaxy. If the patrons weren't into libations, they could try their hands at the games of chance the Fallen Star offered.

And if they weren't into gambling, they could step out around the back and purchase ‘spices' with which to enhance their evening.

And finally, if none of the tempting things would not suffice, there were the women. Every one of the indentured danced, and those that wanted the extra work were available for more ‘intimate' performances for the right price.

We Vinduthi actually paid our indentures in real credits, and allowed them to keep a portion of their tips. Thus, our dancers were the happiest on the station, and lured many patrons off the promenade's glitzy decks.

I worked my way through the club and down a set of steps. No velvet rope or signage necessary here. No one would dare go down those steps unless they were a member of Alkard's inner circle.

I walked down the hallway on the lowest level of the club. If I kept going, I would run right into the ‘interrogation' room, where many sentients had met their screaming death.

The wise talked quickly. The stubborn lasted only a little longer before they broke as well.

I turned off to the left instead, entering the inner sanctum of the Fangs. Alkard looked up from a tablet he held in his hands, meeting my gaze.

"We've received a message from Mera."

"Your mate's missing friend?" I was taken aback. Mera had been missing for months. Chances were, she was dead or off the station. I hadn't expected to hear anything about Mera except that her body had been found.

"A one way communication from deep in the Under. We can't narrow it down more than a thousand foot radius, though. You're going to have to do this the Razov Way."

Alkard almost grinned at the old joke, and a familiar warmth of pride spread through me.

Doing things the Razov Way—the hard way—is what I did best.

Woe to anyone who stood in my way.