Melton had just won his fifth straight hand of jinga-cards against Jessom and was gathering up his winnings when the front window of the shop they used as a front for their slaver operation exploded inward and a man-sized lump crashed limply to the floor.
"What the frell!" shouted Jessom as he leaped to his feet, knocking over the table and several chairs in the process. Melton lumbered to his feet just a microt behind him and had to dodge the flying furniture.
Both men pulled their compact pulse pistols from concealment and pointed them at the moaning heap on the floor. They edged closer, keeping the man lying on the dirty carpet covered.
"Who the frell is it?" hissed Melton.
Jessom used the toe of his boot to flip the body over onto it's back so they could see it's face.
"It's that idiot, Kippso," said Melton in surprise.
"What the yotz happened to him?" Jessom asked.
Both men suddenly became aware that they were no longer alone in the room with the unconscious Kippso. Looking back over at the smashed front window they saw a dark figure squatting balanced on the broken window's sill, looking like a silent bird of prey. The three figures stared silently at each other for what seemed like forever but could only have been a few microts in real time.
"Knock - knock," it finally said.
"Dren!" shouted Jesson as he reacted and spun toward the figure, punching his pistol in the intruder's direction. The figure seemed to flow shapelessly off the windowsill. Before Jessom could bring the firearm to bear on the dark shape, an armor-clad hand caught his gun hand, keeping him from being able to successfully point the weapon. There was a hissing of razor sharp metal being drawn and in an eye blink, a length of steel sliced up through the wrist of the arm holding the pulse pistol. The grasp on his gun hand suddenly gone, Jesson drew back his arm and gazed dumbfounded at the stump where his limb use to be... a microt later he started to scream. Still holding the severed hand and pulse-pistol, Berret slammed them both into Melton's face with stunning force. The fat man's head snapped backwards and he staggered rearward stopping only after he fell onto their card table, his weight crushing it flat. His hands automatically going to his damaged face, he dropped his own weapon. Both pulse pistols and the detached limb flew off to be lost somewhere among the overturned and recently smashed furniture in the storefront.
After looking about the store for more hidden enemies, Berret re-sheathed his sword. He stepped over Kippso's unconscious body and pushed the bleeding Jessom over to stand next to the dazed Melton. The slaver trying to wrap a clothe around his fresh stump to stop the bleeding.
"My hand! You frelling bastard..." he said almost in tears from the shock, "Look what you did to my hand."
"Such is life," said Berret dispassionately, "I have some questions for you."
The Shrike's casual dismissal of the damage he'd caused and the sudden loss of his limb angered the slave trader. Jessom attempted to stand up straighter and then demanded through teeth clench against the burning pain in his arm,
"Who the frell are you? Don't you know who you're frellin' with? You're a dead man!" he said around gasps of agony. Berret casually looked around the shop again before answering the slave runner's threat.
"My good friend... Kippso there," he began, ignoring the threat, "Tells me you're running an illegal slaving ring here."
"He's frelling dead too!" snarled Jessom and then delivered a vicious kick to Kippso's ribs. The man's limp body didn't respond to the sudden impact of the slaver's boot.
"Whatever, that is not my concern," said the Shrike. "What does concern me is that you and your employer have recently acquired a Nebari female... a young Nebari female. I want to know where she is?"
Jessom made an attempt to smile evilly believing he'd finally found some leverage over the intruder.
"Oh yeah, I remember her. She's going to fetch a good price on the block. She frelled us all in the backroom before the boss picked her up, had a real party with her. She was the wildest ride I ever had," he said tauntingly.
Berret leaned in closer to the man; silver-tinted eyes gleaming like ice chips, "Doubtful... I don't smell her on you."
The slaver pulled away from the Shrike's alien stare and odd statement, "What are you? Part Luxan?"
"No," answered Berret. "Something - much - worse."
"It doesn't matter, she's probably been sold to a pleasure house by now," Jesson sneered. "She's probably already on her back and frelling her sweet eema off for her keep at this very microt."
"She had better not be... for all your sakes," the Shrike warned. "I'm only going to ask you one more time. Where did your employer take her?"
"Get frelled!" spat Jesson as he squared his jaw in defiance.
"Wrong answer," Berret said calmly. In a blur the sword left it's scabbard and Jessom's head leaped off his neck. The recovered Melton, who was still standing next to the late Jessom, was showered with the blood that was spurting from his partner's neck. Jessom's head hit the floor three microts before his body even started to slump in that direction. Berret waited patiently until the body was out of the way and then laid the blade of his bloodstained sword on the wide-eyed Melton's shoulder. The man looked at the Shrike in fear as the assassin asked him in an off-handed, but emotionless voice,
"Do you think I over-reacted?"
Melton hastily shook his head in the negative, his fat jowls jiggling with the effort.
"Good then," said the Shrike with a pleased smile that held a slight hint of insanity in it. "Same question. Same consequences."
Chiana had been rushed off to the slave cells and cleaned up by a group of house slaves. An older female slave under the overseer's direction used make-up to hide the bruise that Verser had given her. The man finally left the room with parting instructions for her not to mess or smear the make-up under pain of more punishment from the small electric box that Lucsen had used on her. Chiana heard the thick bolt of the lock slide home as the heavy wooden door was secured behind him. Laid out on the sleeping pallet next to her was the skimpy loin-clothe that she was told she would wear when her prospective buyer examined her. She was to be practically naked in front of a total stranger and sold like a piece of property, which is what she'd found she'd become. They had allowed her to wear her own clothing until the customer arrived so she wouldn't ruin the flimsy loin-clothe. Despite her resolve not to, she almost allowed herself to let the tears fall that she'd been holding back. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes.
"Why did she ever leave Moya?" she thought to herself. Once she was sold and smuggled off planet the others would never be able to find her again. That is if they even tried looking. As far as they knew she had left the Leviathan of her own free will. With her luck, they might decide to respect her decision and let her go her own way and not search for her at all. She reached into the small secret pocket she had sewn into her outfit and pulled out the bonding earrings. Her capturers had missed the little pocket with its tiny treasure when they had searched her. With a small sob, she realized she would never have the chance to ask Berret if he would consider bonding to her. She would never get to show him how important he had become to her, to tell him of what she believed their future could be if he would only give them a chance. She'd thought the earrings where so perfect for them when she saw them; she even paid for them honestly out of her small stash of currency... she had done everything right. Now because of one twist of fate, she would never see his face again. Starting to sob harder, she knelt on the floor and waited to accept what fate had in store for her.
Almost an arn later a servant nervously entered Lucsen's private study. The slave master looked up from his ledger books as the servant cleared his throat and said,
"Pardon me, sir... but you have an unexpected visitor."
Lucsen waved the butler off, "Tell whoever it is to go away and come back tomorrow. I'm preparing to entertain an important guest tonight."
The servant again cleared his throat and apprehensively went on. "I think you might want to see this man, sir. He's from the Syndicate... he's an Enforcer."
Lucsen dropped his pen and turned pale, "A Shrike? Here? Now?" he asked.
The servant nodded his almost totally bald head, "Yes, Sir. He's waiting in the guest lounge."
"What does he want? I've already sent off the Syndicate's percentage of this half cycle's profits. Everything should be all right," he said worriedly.
"He only said he wishes to speak with you about an important matter," answered the butler.
"I see," said Lucsen as he rose from his chair. "I'll see to our visitor. Find Verser and tell him to make sure everything is ready for our client. Tell him to prepare the special room in case our Nebari slut has to be restrained while she's being 'inspected'."
"As you wish, sir," the man said as he followed Lucsen out the study's door.
Lucsen walked down to the room used to greet guests and he found his hands sweating. "Calm!" he thought to himself. If the Syndicate had sent the Shrike to assassinate him, the Enforcer would not have knocked on his front door and simply announced it. It had to be something else that the Black Syndicate wanted. It sometimes wasn't unusual for them to send an Enforcer to rely changes in percentage payouts, having a professional killer as your contract breaker helped to stop most of the disagreements and arguments from ever arising in most cases. As his business was quite lucrative, Lucsen wouldn't mind too much having to pay a little extra more to the crime syndicate for protection and license to continue operating in the Territories. Lucsen entered lounge to find the tall, black-cloaked and hooded man, standing in the middle of the room silently waiting. He let out a pent up breath he didn't realize he was holding. "At least this Enforcer is a humanoid," he thought. It made him nervous when the assassins where of another species. You never could tell with them what they might do. He'd heard that some of the alien Enforcers like to eat their prey... sometimes while it was still alive.
"How can I be of service to you?" he asked trying to sound at ease and friendly.
The man's armor covered arms appeared from under his cloak and lowered the hood from his head. Lucsen's eyes tracked the deadly icon covered gauntlets and he suppressed a shutter knowing the nefarious bladed weapons they hid. He was so intent on the weapons, he almost forgot to look at the man's face.
He was Sebacean and he then realized the few times he'd seen an Enforcer, one had never removed their hood and revealed their face before.
"I've come for a slave," the Shrike announced.
"Of course. Which Scarren house do you serve? I know all the preferences of the Syndicate heads that deal or are interested in slaves. I'm sure I have or can find what your master needs."
"No need to know the house, just show me your slaves and I will find the one I want," replied the Enforcer.
Something was odd here, thought Lucsen. The man's voice was unemotional and detached but there was a strange tone to it. His eyes were very alert for a Shrike; they didn't quite have the dead stare most of them had.
"Well, that will take some time. We have many slaves to chose from," Lucsen replied.
The Shrike stepped forward and took Lucsen by the arm, then gave him what could almost be a friendly smile. A smile Lucsen noticed, that didn't touch the Enforcer's strange blue eyes in the slightest.
"Then we should get started. Take me to where you keep them," the assassin instructed.
"As you wish, Lord Shrike," answered the slave master. Something was definitely wrong here but he wasn't sure what. He began to lead the Enforcer toward what he called his showroom. Reaching into his pocket he keyed a warning device that would alert his men. Once in the showroom they would be constantly monitored. If he uttered a keyword, the security system would over-ride and the room would fill with armed men in a microt. Until he was sure the Shrike wasn't who he said he was and representing the Syndicate, he'd play his cards close. There was no way he was going to risk the Black Syndicate's anger, but if the man turned out to be a phony... he wouldn't leave here alive.
Chiana heard voices coming from the other room. She dried her eyes and readied herself for what was to come. No one had arrived and instructed her to change into the revealing loin-clothe yet, but she'd already decided that she wouldn't don the tiny piece of material without a fight. Let them mark her up, maybe they would beat her so badly that no one would want her. If she where lucky, maybe Verser would slip up and kill her by mistake. She'd rather die then be owned. With a sad chuckle she realized how much she had change. Cycles before she would have done anything she had to do to survive. Now she was wishing for death before dishonor, somewhere along the way D'argo had began to rub off on her... or she had become so use to being free that she couldn't bear the thought of being chained again. She could hear other doors opening and closing and different female voices along with the rattle of chains. She pressed her ear against the thick door to see if she could hear what was being said on the other side. She could hear the slave handlers ushering slaves in and out, the sound of Lucsen's voice praising the attributes of each slave, and frell her... she thought she could her the sound of Berret's voice in the next room. Her mind was definitely playing tricks on her. Another sniffle escaped her as she thought of the human she would never lay eyes on again. She leaned back against the door and got her emotions under control. Through the heavy wood she heard somebody mention the word "Nebari" and then more loud voices as if people were arguing.
"This is it," she thought. "Any microt they're going to come thought that door and drag me out."
She pressed her ear against the door once more and this time she heard,
"You have something that belongs to me, Lucsen. The Nebari girl... I want her now!"
"Berret," murmured Chiana wishfully... and then all hezmana broke loose in the next room.
Berret let Lucsen parade several slaves in front of him, but none of them were Chiana. The more collared prisoners he saw the more his anger began to smolder. He rejected each and every one until Lucsen asked in exasperation,
"Can you tell me what kind of slave exactly the Syndicate is looking for? Maybe then we can narrow down the choices."
The Shrike smiled malevolently, "I never said I was with the Syndicate."
Lucsen faltered. He thought the man might be an imposter but he never expected him to come out and admit it freely. Seeing the stunned look on the slaver's face, Berret continued as if it were business as usual.
"But since you asked. I'm looking for a Nebari girl. About yea tall," he said, holding his hand up at approximately Chiana's height. "Hair cut short, fuzzy shoulder pads and a real bad disposition. I'm told you have her here."
"You're... you're... MAD!" stammered Lucsen. "Who do you think you are coming here?" he said in disbelieve.
"So I've been told, Lucsen," answered Berret offhandedly. "As to who I think I am. I'm the man who's going to frell your day all up... in a very bad way if I don't get what I want."
"You're insane," Lucsen said again in disbelieve.
Berret moved like lighting and grabbed the man by his expensive suit then pulled him in close.
"We've been over that already," he said in a hissing whisper and then picked him up off the floor. The unarmed slave handlers backed away from the angry Shrike, tripping over several cringing slaves in their haste to get away.
"You have something that belongs to me, Lucsen. The Nebari girl... I want her now!" Berret growled.
Shocked for a few microts, Lucsen finally rasped out one word, "Scroll-lock!"
Behind him, several doors slammed open as their locks electronically released with the code word, next there came the sound of people rushing into the room behind him.
"Shit," Berret said.
The surprised Shrike dropped the slave trader and turned his head to look behind him, the room was filling with armed men. Lucsen pointed at the Berret and screeched, "Kill him! Kill him now!"
Berret snarled like D'argo in a foul mood and the blades shot out of his right hand gauntlet as he took a wild swing at the slave master. The man squeaked in panic at the weapon's sudden appearance and dived for the floor. The tips of the blades tore through the fabric of his luxurious jacket as they nearly missed him. Cursing as the man scurried out a doorway, Berret drew both pulse-pistols and opened fire on the hired gunmen at almost the same instant they did on him.
"Seven... eight... nine," the Shrike counted his opponents to himself as he hit the ground and rolled behind a heavy desk for cover. Not a good situation he considered. Especially worse now that Lucsen had managed to get away and he still hadn't learned if Chiana was still there in the building or if she'd already been sold. Pulse bolt slammed into the other side of the desk and he began to think he should have waited until the others could have come with him on the rescue mission. As usual where Chiana was concerned, he didn't always do the logical thing. If this wasn't love, then he didn't know what was. It was too bad he had realized it too late. One man tried to scramble toward a couch closer to the Shrike's position and Berret shot him through the chest for his troubles.
"Eight." He muttered to himself, feeling slightly uplifted that the odds were slowly narrowing. A few microts later two more men rushed into the room and took cover. "Oh frell," said Berret to himself. "That would just figure."
The ex-assassin knew that his time was running out. Soon there would be too many men converging on the room and then no one would be escaping the slave house. He had to do something quick or he was dead right here, but he didn't have the slightest idea how he was going to get out of this. He was beginning to think that he had failed the Nebari girl and as he'd seen Zhaan do a hundred times he looked toward the heavens and asked the Goddess for help in his desperate time. Just as he finished the quick prayer the Pa'u had taught him it dawned on him what he was looking at.
"Ask and thou will receive," he murmured.
The ceiling above his head was made entirely of Kromian slate marble. Very expensive, very thick, very heavy... and had a very nasty habit of shattering into very sharp pieces when it broke. Grinning with the maliciousness of his idea, Berret set both pistols' power levels to high. Waiting for a lull in the battle, he sprang up over the top of his cover and unloaded both pistols into the ceiling above the other group of armed men. Ducking back down, he crawled into the cubbyhole of the desk and waited for the results. There was a sharp cracking and then pieces of the heavy slate began to rain down throughout the room. Razor-sharp hunks of the stone fell and speared into the floor and desktop around Berret. Across the room men began to scream as they were cut to ribbons. The fall seemed to go on forever but actually only lasted a few microts. When it stopped, the only sound left in the room was the moaning of the men left wounded. Berret uncurled from under the desk and cautiously surveyed the damage. It looked like most of the security men were dead or severely wounded, but upon seeing the Shrike, one tried to raise his pulse rifle to get one last desperate shot at him.
Berret shot the man in the head and then moved closer to inspect the rest of his opponents. There were only two others left alive, one with big sections of slate piercing his body was attempting to crawl toward the door weaponless so Berret ignored him. The other was gurgling out his last breath and would be soon joining the rest of his comrades in death.
Reinforcements where sure to be on the way so Berret started to kick open cell doors searching for Chiana.
The first couple he tried held nothing but screaming slaves and he bid them leave to be out of his way. He could feel the clock running down and he started shouting her name. Each time he repeated it, it was answered with silence. He felt his heart grow heavy with the thought that he was too late and she was already gone. Kicking open the last cell, Berret had to face the reality that the Nebari wasn't there.
"CHIANA!" he shouted as loud as he could from the middle of the empty show room.
He was certain now he was too late when there was still no answering shout in return. His fury grew as he vowed to find Lucsen and wring the truth out of him about where he had sold her, even if it took him the rest of his life. With the last cell opened, the released slaves had fled from the room and without their constant screaming and crying the room grew more hushed.
"Chiana," Berret whispered in despair and then turned to leave the room to begin his hunt for Lucsen.
A low thumping noise from somewhere inside the wrecked room caught his attention just as he was about to exit. He tracked the source to a heavy wooden door off to one side. The door was different from the metal security doors that the other slaves where locked behind so he had ignored it thinking it was another entrance to the showroom. As he drew closer he realized someone was pounding on it from the other side. He was just reaching for the door latch when he heard his name being called from behind the thick slab of wood.
"Berret!" The shout was muffled, but he was sure who it was.
"Chiana!" he cried and his heart leaped for joy. "I'm here, Chiana!" he called as he pulled on the door to no avail. The solid door wouldn't budge nor could the door be kicked in as it flexed with each frantic blow he delivered. Chiana was yelling something to him through the door but he couldn't make out what it was. Frustrated with the obstacle, he called to her,
"Stand clear, I'm going to shoot the lock off!"
He received a muffled acknowledgement from the girl. Berret gave her a few microts to back way and then fired two bolts into the locking mechanism. The lock shattered and the Shrike kicked the door open. A beaten and bruised Chiana rushed out and leaped up to throw her arms around his neck.
"I knew you'd come! I knew you'd come for me," she murmured against his shoulder.
Berret hugged the girl tightly to him for a microt and then forced himself to push her away.
"We still have to get out of here. Can you travel?" he asked, while giving her a quick inspection for injuries. Chiana nodded and Berret passed her one of his pulse-pistols. Grabbing one of her hands, he led the way out.
"What the frell!" shouted Jessom as he leaped to his feet, knocking over the table and several chairs in the process. Melton lumbered to his feet just a microt behind him and had to dodge the flying furniture.
Both men pulled their compact pulse pistols from concealment and pointed them at the moaning heap on the floor. They edged closer, keeping the man lying on the dirty carpet covered.
"Who the frell is it?" hissed Melton.
Jessom used the toe of his boot to flip the body over onto it's back so they could see it's face.
"It's that idiot, Kippso," said Melton in surprise.
"What the yotz happened to him?" Jessom asked.
Both men suddenly became aware that they were no longer alone in the room with the unconscious Kippso. Looking back over at the smashed front window they saw a dark figure squatting balanced on the broken window's sill, looking like a silent bird of prey. The three figures stared silently at each other for what seemed like forever but could only have been a few microts in real time.
"Knock - knock," it finally said.
"Dren!" shouted Jesson as he reacted and spun toward the figure, punching his pistol in the intruder's direction. The figure seemed to flow shapelessly off the windowsill. Before Jessom could bring the firearm to bear on the dark shape, an armor-clad hand caught his gun hand, keeping him from being able to successfully point the weapon. There was a hissing of razor sharp metal being drawn and in an eye blink, a length of steel sliced up through the wrist of the arm holding the pulse pistol. The grasp on his gun hand suddenly gone, Jesson drew back his arm and gazed dumbfounded at the stump where his limb use to be... a microt later he started to scream. Still holding the severed hand and pulse-pistol, Berret slammed them both into Melton's face with stunning force. The fat man's head snapped backwards and he staggered rearward stopping only after he fell onto their card table, his weight crushing it flat. His hands automatically going to his damaged face, he dropped his own weapon. Both pulse pistols and the detached limb flew off to be lost somewhere among the overturned and recently smashed furniture in the storefront.
After looking about the store for more hidden enemies, Berret re-sheathed his sword. He stepped over Kippso's unconscious body and pushed the bleeding Jessom over to stand next to the dazed Melton. The slaver trying to wrap a clothe around his fresh stump to stop the bleeding.
"My hand! You frelling bastard..." he said almost in tears from the shock, "Look what you did to my hand."
"Such is life," said Berret dispassionately, "I have some questions for you."
The Shrike's casual dismissal of the damage he'd caused and the sudden loss of his limb angered the slave trader. Jessom attempted to stand up straighter and then demanded through teeth clench against the burning pain in his arm,
"Who the frell are you? Don't you know who you're frellin' with? You're a dead man!" he said around gasps of agony. Berret casually looked around the shop again before answering the slave runner's threat.
"My good friend... Kippso there," he began, ignoring the threat, "Tells me you're running an illegal slaving ring here."
"He's frelling dead too!" snarled Jessom and then delivered a vicious kick to Kippso's ribs. The man's limp body didn't respond to the sudden impact of the slaver's boot.
"Whatever, that is not my concern," said the Shrike. "What does concern me is that you and your employer have recently acquired a Nebari female... a young Nebari female. I want to know where she is?"
Jessom made an attempt to smile evilly believing he'd finally found some leverage over the intruder.
"Oh yeah, I remember her. She's going to fetch a good price on the block. She frelled us all in the backroom before the boss picked her up, had a real party with her. She was the wildest ride I ever had," he said tauntingly.
Berret leaned in closer to the man; silver-tinted eyes gleaming like ice chips, "Doubtful... I don't smell her on you."
The slaver pulled away from the Shrike's alien stare and odd statement, "What are you? Part Luxan?"
"No," answered Berret. "Something - much - worse."
"It doesn't matter, she's probably been sold to a pleasure house by now," Jesson sneered. "She's probably already on her back and frelling her sweet eema off for her keep at this very microt."
"She had better not be... for all your sakes," the Shrike warned. "I'm only going to ask you one more time. Where did your employer take her?"
"Get frelled!" spat Jesson as he squared his jaw in defiance.
"Wrong answer," Berret said calmly. In a blur the sword left it's scabbard and Jessom's head leaped off his neck. The recovered Melton, who was still standing next to the late Jessom, was showered with the blood that was spurting from his partner's neck. Jessom's head hit the floor three microts before his body even started to slump in that direction. Berret waited patiently until the body was out of the way and then laid the blade of his bloodstained sword on the wide-eyed Melton's shoulder. The man looked at the Shrike in fear as the assassin asked him in an off-handed, but emotionless voice,
"Do you think I over-reacted?"
Melton hastily shook his head in the negative, his fat jowls jiggling with the effort.
"Good then," said the Shrike with a pleased smile that held a slight hint of insanity in it. "Same question. Same consequences."
Chiana had been rushed off to the slave cells and cleaned up by a group of house slaves. An older female slave under the overseer's direction used make-up to hide the bruise that Verser had given her. The man finally left the room with parting instructions for her not to mess or smear the make-up under pain of more punishment from the small electric box that Lucsen had used on her. Chiana heard the thick bolt of the lock slide home as the heavy wooden door was secured behind him. Laid out on the sleeping pallet next to her was the skimpy loin-clothe that she was told she would wear when her prospective buyer examined her. She was to be practically naked in front of a total stranger and sold like a piece of property, which is what she'd found she'd become. They had allowed her to wear her own clothing until the customer arrived so she wouldn't ruin the flimsy loin-clothe. Despite her resolve not to, she almost allowed herself to let the tears fall that she'd been holding back. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes.
"Why did she ever leave Moya?" she thought to herself. Once she was sold and smuggled off planet the others would never be able to find her again. That is if they even tried looking. As far as they knew she had left the Leviathan of her own free will. With her luck, they might decide to respect her decision and let her go her own way and not search for her at all. She reached into the small secret pocket she had sewn into her outfit and pulled out the bonding earrings. Her capturers had missed the little pocket with its tiny treasure when they had searched her. With a small sob, she realized she would never have the chance to ask Berret if he would consider bonding to her. She would never get to show him how important he had become to her, to tell him of what she believed their future could be if he would only give them a chance. She'd thought the earrings where so perfect for them when she saw them; she even paid for them honestly out of her small stash of currency... she had done everything right. Now because of one twist of fate, she would never see his face again. Starting to sob harder, she knelt on the floor and waited to accept what fate had in store for her.
Almost an arn later a servant nervously entered Lucsen's private study. The slave master looked up from his ledger books as the servant cleared his throat and said,
"Pardon me, sir... but you have an unexpected visitor."
Lucsen waved the butler off, "Tell whoever it is to go away and come back tomorrow. I'm preparing to entertain an important guest tonight."
The servant again cleared his throat and apprehensively went on. "I think you might want to see this man, sir. He's from the Syndicate... he's an Enforcer."
Lucsen dropped his pen and turned pale, "A Shrike? Here? Now?" he asked.
The servant nodded his almost totally bald head, "Yes, Sir. He's waiting in the guest lounge."
"What does he want? I've already sent off the Syndicate's percentage of this half cycle's profits. Everything should be all right," he said worriedly.
"He only said he wishes to speak with you about an important matter," answered the butler.
"I see," said Lucsen as he rose from his chair. "I'll see to our visitor. Find Verser and tell him to make sure everything is ready for our client. Tell him to prepare the special room in case our Nebari slut has to be restrained while she's being 'inspected'."
"As you wish, sir," the man said as he followed Lucsen out the study's door.
Lucsen walked down to the room used to greet guests and he found his hands sweating. "Calm!" he thought to himself. If the Syndicate had sent the Shrike to assassinate him, the Enforcer would not have knocked on his front door and simply announced it. It had to be something else that the Black Syndicate wanted. It sometimes wasn't unusual for them to send an Enforcer to rely changes in percentage payouts, having a professional killer as your contract breaker helped to stop most of the disagreements and arguments from ever arising in most cases. As his business was quite lucrative, Lucsen wouldn't mind too much having to pay a little extra more to the crime syndicate for protection and license to continue operating in the Territories. Lucsen entered lounge to find the tall, black-cloaked and hooded man, standing in the middle of the room silently waiting. He let out a pent up breath he didn't realize he was holding. "At least this Enforcer is a humanoid," he thought. It made him nervous when the assassins where of another species. You never could tell with them what they might do. He'd heard that some of the alien Enforcers like to eat their prey... sometimes while it was still alive.
"How can I be of service to you?" he asked trying to sound at ease and friendly.
The man's armor covered arms appeared from under his cloak and lowered the hood from his head. Lucsen's eyes tracked the deadly icon covered gauntlets and he suppressed a shutter knowing the nefarious bladed weapons they hid. He was so intent on the weapons, he almost forgot to look at the man's face.
He was Sebacean and he then realized the few times he'd seen an Enforcer, one had never removed their hood and revealed their face before.
"I've come for a slave," the Shrike announced.
"Of course. Which Scarren house do you serve? I know all the preferences of the Syndicate heads that deal or are interested in slaves. I'm sure I have or can find what your master needs."
"No need to know the house, just show me your slaves and I will find the one I want," replied the Enforcer.
Something was odd here, thought Lucsen. The man's voice was unemotional and detached but there was a strange tone to it. His eyes were very alert for a Shrike; they didn't quite have the dead stare most of them had.
"Well, that will take some time. We have many slaves to chose from," Lucsen replied.
The Shrike stepped forward and took Lucsen by the arm, then gave him what could almost be a friendly smile. A smile Lucsen noticed, that didn't touch the Enforcer's strange blue eyes in the slightest.
"Then we should get started. Take me to where you keep them," the assassin instructed.
"As you wish, Lord Shrike," answered the slave master. Something was definitely wrong here but he wasn't sure what. He began to lead the Enforcer toward what he called his showroom. Reaching into his pocket he keyed a warning device that would alert his men. Once in the showroom they would be constantly monitored. If he uttered a keyword, the security system would over-ride and the room would fill with armed men in a microt. Until he was sure the Shrike wasn't who he said he was and representing the Syndicate, he'd play his cards close. There was no way he was going to risk the Black Syndicate's anger, but if the man turned out to be a phony... he wouldn't leave here alive.
Chiana heard voices coming from the other room. She dried her eyes and readied herself for what was to come. No one had arrived and instructed her to change into the revealing loin-clothe yet, but she'd already decided that she wouldn't don the tiny piece of material without a fight. Let them mark her up, maybe they would beat her so badly that no one would want her. If she where lucky, maybe Verser would slip up and kill her by mistake. She'd rather die then be owned. With a sad chuckle she realized how much she had change. Cycles before she would have done anything she had to do to survive. Now she was wishing for death before dishonor, somewhere along the way D'argo had began to rub off on her... or she had become so use to being free that she couldn't bear the thought of being chained again. She could hear other doors opening and closing and different female voices along with the rattle of chains. She pressed her ear against the thick door to see if she could hear what was being said on the other side. She could hear the slave handlers ushering slaves in and out, the sound of Lucsen's voice praising the attributes of each slave, and frell her... she thought she could her the sound of Berret's voice in the next room. Her mind was definitely playing tricks on her. Another sniffle escaped her as she thought of the human she would never lay eyes on again. She leaned back against the door and got her emotions under control. Through the heavy wood she heard somebody mention the word "Nebari" and then more loud voices as if people were arguing.
"This is it," she thought. "Any microt they're going to come thought that door and drag me out."
She pressed her ear against the door once more and this time she heard,
"You have something that belongs to me, Lucsen. The Nebari girl... I want her now!"
"Berret," murmured Chiana wishfully... and then all hezmana broke loose in the next room.
Berret let Lucsen parade several slaves in front of him, but none of them were Chiana. The more collared prisoners he saw the more his anger began to smolder. He rejected each and every one until Lucsen asked in exasperation,
"Can you tell me what kind of slave exactly the Syndicate is looking for? Maybe then we can narrow down the choices."
The Shrike smiled malevolently, "I never said I was with the Syndicate."
Lucsen faltered. He thought the man might be an imposter but he never expected him to come out and admit it freely. Seeing the stunned look on the slaver's face, Berret continued as if it were business as usual.
"But since you asked. I'm looking for a Nebari girl. About yea tall," he said, holding his hand up at approximately Chiana's height. "Hair cut short, fuzzy shoulder pads and a real bad disposition. I'm told you have her here."
"You're... you're... MAD!" stammered Lucsen. "Who do you think you are coming here?" he said in disbelieve.
"So I've been told, Lucsen," answered Berret offhandedly. "As to who I think I am. I'm the man who's going to frell your day all up... in a very bad way if I don't get what I want."
"You're insane," Lucsen said again in disbelieve.
Berret moved like lighting and grabbed the man by his expensive suit then pulled him in close.
"We've been over that already," he said in a hissing whisper and then picked him up off the floor. The unarmed slave handlers backed away from the angry Shrike, tripping over several cringing slaves in their haste to get away.
"You have something that belongs to me, Lucsen. The Nebari girl... I want her now!" Berret growled.
Shocked for a few microts, Lucsen finally rasped out one word, "Scroll-lock!"
Behind him, several doors slammed open as their locks electronically released with the code word, next there came the sound of people rushing into the room behind him.
"Shit," Berret said.
The surprised Shrike dropped the slave trader and turned his head to look behind him, the room was filling with armed men. Lucsen pointed at the Berret and screeched, "Kill him! Kill him now!"
Berret snarled like D'argo in a foul mood and the blades shot out of his right hand gauntlet as he took a wild swing at the slave master. The man squeaked in panic at the weapon's sudden appearance and dived for the floor. The tips of the blades tore through the fabric of his luxurious jacket as they nearly missed him. Cursing as the man scurried out a doorway, Berret drew both pulse-pistols and opened fire on the hired gunmen at almost the same instant they did on him.
"Seven... eight... nine," the Shrike counted his opponents to himself as he hit the ground and rolled behind a heavy desk for cover. Not a good situation he considered. Especially worse now that Lucsen had managed to get away and he still hadn't learned if Chiana was still there in the building or if she'd already been sold. Pulse bolt slammed into the other side of the desk and he began to think he should have waited until the others could have come with him on the rescue mission. As usual where Chiana was concerned, he didn't always do the logical thing. If this wasn't love, then he didn't know what was. It was too bad he had realized it too late. One man tried to scramble toward a couch closer to the Shrike's position and Berret shot him through the chest for his troubles.
"Eight." He muttered to himself, feeling slightly uplifted that the odds were slowly narrowing. A few microts later two more men rushed into the room and took cover. "Oh frell," said Berret to himself. "That would just figure."
The ex-assassin knew that his time was running out. Soon there would be too many men converging on the room and then no one would be escaping the slave house. He had to do something quick or he was dead right here, but he didn't have the slightest idea how he was going to get out of this. He was beginning to think that he had failed the Nebari girl and as he'd seen Zhaan do a hundred times he looked toward the heavens and asked the Goddess for help in his desperate time. Just as he finished the quick prayer the Pa'u had taught him it dawned on him what he was looking at.
"Ask and thou will receive," he murmured.
The ceiling above his head was made entirely of Kromian slate marble. Very expensive, very thick, very heavy... and had a very nasty habit of shattering into very sharp pieces when it broke. Grinning with the maliciousness of his idea, Berret set both pistols' power levels to high. Waiting for a lull in the battle, he sprang up over the top of his cover and unloaded both pistols into the ceiling above the other group of armed men. Ducking back down, he crawled into the cubbyhole of the desk and waited for the results. There was a sharp cracking and then pieces of the heavy slate began to rain down throughout the room. Razor-sharp hunks of the stone fell and speared into the floor and desktop around Berret. Across the room men began to scream as they were cut to ribbons. The fall seemed to go on forever but actually only lasted a few microts. When it stopped, the only sound left in the room was the moaning of the men left wounded. Berret uncurled from under the desk and cautiously surveyed the damage. It looked like most of the security men were dead or severely wounded, but upon seeing the Shrike, one tried to raise his pulse rifle to get one last desperate shot at him.
Berret shot the man in the head and then moved closer to inspect the rest of his opponents. There were only two others left alive, one with big sections of slate piercing his body was attempting to crawl toward the door weaponless so Berret ignored him. The other was gurgling out his last breath and would be soon joining the rest of his comrades in death.
Reinforcements where sure to be on the way so Berret started to kick open cell doors searching for Chiana.
The first couple he tried held nothing but screaming slaves and he bid them leave to be out of his way. He could feel the clock running down and he started shouting her name. Each time he repeated it, it was answered with silence. He felt his heart grow heavy with the thought that he was too late and she was already gone. Kicking open the last cell, Berret had to face the reality that the Nebari wasn't there.
"CHIANA!" he shouted as loud as he could from the middle of the empty show room.
He was certain now he was too late when there was still no answering shout in return. His fury grew as he vowed to find Lucsen and wring the truth out of him about where he had sold her, even if it took him the rest of his life. With the last cell opened, the released slaves had fled from the room and without their constant screaming and crying the room grew more hushed.
"Chiana," Berret whispered in despair and then turned to leave the room to begin his hunt for Lucsen.
A low thumping noise from somewhere inside the wrecked room caught his attention just as he was about to exit. He tracked the source to a heavy wooden door off to one side. The door was different from the metal security doors that the other slaves where locked behind so he had ignored it thinking it was another entrance to the showroom. As he drew closer he realized someone was pounding on it from the other side. He was just reaching for the door latch when he heard his name being called from behind the thick slab of wood.
"Berret!" The shout was muffled, but he was sure who it was.
"Chiana!" he cried and his heart leaped for joy. "I'm here, Chiana!" he called as he pulled on the door to no avail. The solid door wouldn't budge nor could the door be kicked in as it flexed with each frantic blow he delivered. Chiana was yelling something to him through the door but he couldn't make out what it was. Frustrated with the obstacle, he called to her,
"Stand clear, I'm going to shoot the lock off!"
He received a muffled acknowledgement from the girl. Berret gave her a few microts to back way and then fired two bolts into the locking mechanism. The lock shattered and the Shrike kicked the door open. A beaten and bruised Chiana rushed out and leaped up to throw her arms around his neck.
"I knew you'd come! I knew you'd come for me," she murmured against his shoulder.
Berret hugged the girl tightly to him for a microt and then forced himself to push her away.
"We still have to get out of here. Can you travel?" he asked, while giving her a quick inspection for injuries. Chiana nodded and Berret passed her one of his pulse-pistols. Grabbing one of her hands, he led the way out.