The refreshment house was dark and smokey, just the way the Nebari girl like them. Anonymity was one of the attractions of dark dives like this one, the perfect atmosphere for a little fun, relaxation... and maybe a little snurching if the opportunity arose.
Crichton looked around the establishment nervously, his eyes settling on the table of ten law enforcement personnel off to the left for what seemed like the hundred time. The group must have been off-duty judging by the way they drank and caroused like any of the other patrons surrounding them.
"I dunno, Pip," John finally said. "I don't like the company we have here. I think it's too dangerous."
Chiana gave him one of her trademark smirks. Scratch the snurching idea she mentally told herself, the human obviously wasn't in the mood to play along.
"Blez out, Crichton. They're just the local police, not Peacekeepers. They don't know nothin' about us."
"Yeah, but they're trained and supplied by Peacekeepers to enforce their laws. Grayza's liable to have sent wanted beacons this far out. The smart thing to do would be to gather up Sputnik and leave, pronto."
"And miss all the fun of hiding out right under their noses?" Chiana asked with a wide grin. "And besides... who says we always do the smart thing?"
The only thing that could make it a bigger coup would be to figure out a way to have the lawmen pay for their drinks, she thought to herself, her grin turned wicked.
Crichton rolled his eyes seeing there would be no reasoning with the girl. Chiana had had a rough time of it during her time away from Moya and the relative safety of the group. Something traumatizing had happened to the young Nebari female that she was still unwilling to talk about and she often had periods of anger and reckless behavior. John hoped the side trip to the refreshment house she asked for would head off another of her tantrums.
Now that Crichton thought about it, Chiana's strange behavior actually started to surface shortly before the crew went their separate ways for a while. There was that time on the last re-supply trip where she disappeared for a few solar days and they eventually picked her up in a planetary escape capsule after she commed Moya with her location. She refused to talk about where she'd been that time also. She'd returned bloody and bruised, but that occasionally happened to Chiana, though usually not as badly as she was this time. The girl had looked as if she been in an all-out-brawl and had come out on the losing end. John had thought that she had simply crashed the wrong rich man's party, gotten into her usual trouble and then stole the escape pod to get away. It must have been some party too, because what the human could see of her clothing, it was totally trashed and she was wrapped up in an expensive looking black cloak made of some type of heavy silk that was way too large for her. At the time he idly wondered if the garment was the only loot she managed to walk away with from that apparently luckless caper. Oddly, as far as he knew, she still had the cloak. She refused to let anyone else look at or touch the garment and had hid it away somewhere instead of selling it like she normally did with her booty.
The only other out of place thing about the event to John's remembrance was that the air lock control panel on the escape ship appeared to have been destroyed by having something incredibly sharp rip through it. But in the Territories odd things were the norm. Still, it had taken Aeryn over half an arn to cut the craft's hatch off with a plasma torch, a chore which left the ex-Peacekeeper hot and sweaty with several minor burns from spitting molten metal. Afterwards, the Nebari girl's refusal to offer an explanation for her where-abouts didn't endear her to the Sebacean woman much.
For the few shorts days they reminded together aboard Moya after that, Chiana was somewhat withdrawn at times and even when talking about her plans to go and find her brother, Nerri, she had a hint of edginess about her. Unfortunately, John was having his own problems coming to terms with Aeryn's decision to leave without him and he could spare the Nebari waif little thought.
Chiana leaned back in her seat, pleased that she gotten her way in the debate with the human for the time being. John muttering to himself what a bad idea staying was under his breath, but not exactly insisting they leave, gave her an odd sense of satisfaction. It wasn't often she got her way with any of her crewmates.
She liked spending time alone with Crichton. He seemed to be the only one of the crew who truly understood her. When it came time to talk about what had happen to her, she was sure he would be the one she'd seek out to unburden herself. She couldn't bring herself to do it yet, however. There was just too many mixed feelings about her time as a Syndicate prisoner under a death sentence and what had happen to her while she was out on her own searching for Nerri and the Nebari Résistance. The fact that the two events occurred so closely together in such a short span of time didn't help her sort out her thoughts much.
The outing with Crichton was only marred by Sikozu's presence with them. Luckily, the red headed female seemed content to wander around the tavern, sticking her educated nose into other patron's conversations. Chiana snickered to herself secretly at the thought of one the aforementioned patrons taking a poke at girl's intrusive snout. It'd serve the snide tralk right.
She glanced back over at her tablemate; John still wore a glum expression so she decided not to torment the man too much longer. She would do her best to stay out of trouble, enjoy their quick drinks, and then go. After all, she had gotten her way with the stop into the drinking hole. Why spoil the small triumph with an ugly scene at the end about when it was time to leave? She could be gracious when the mood suited her... and John was going out of his way to help her through her troubles without being intrusive until she was ready to talk about them. So she guessed she owed him at least that.
She downed part of her glass of Raslek and was enjoying the warm feeling it gave her all the way down to her belly when she felt it - the fine hairs at the back of her neck standing up and feeling like they were charged with static electricity. "Oh frell! Not another attack!" she thought to herself in a moment of panic. They had been coming less and less often of late and she was hoping that eventually whatever was causing them would go away. She waited for the future to show her what it had in store and braced herself for the blindness she knew would follow. The vision didn't materialize, instead she felt her eyes being irresistibly drawn in the direction of the Inn's entrance... and the tall black-cloaked figure that was now making it's way across the tavern floor.
The figure moved like a ghost. The dim lights and the hanging smoke in the place making it look surreal from where she sat. She kept waiting for the sound of footsteps to accompany the figure as it moved, but she knew that hearing them would be highly unlikely in the murmuring din of the refreshment house.
For a split microt, Chiana suddenly found herself back in a damp cell. The sour smell of the unwashed bodies pressing down on her, the cruel laughter and the rough hands tearing at her clothes...
The visualization made her breath hitch in her chest.
"Pip? What is it?" asked Crichton with concern as she abruptly rose from her seat, almost as if in a trace.
"Are you having another attack?" John went on to ask.
Chiana didn't hear the apprehension in John's voice, her attention riveted on the black cloak... trying to make out the being's features through the bar's haze. The cloak's deep hood made the task even harder.
"That cloak looks just like..." she said barely louder than a whisper. She cut the mental reflection off; lots of races still wore cloak-like garments. It didn't mean anything.
The figure headed straight for the table of off-duty lawmen across the room from John and Chiana. As it neared the group, it reached up a hand and pulled down the cloak's hood. Chiana saw light glimmer off dark metal covering the back of the being's hand like a half-glove. She could at least make out that he was humanoid. The figure reminded her of...
"No," she denied in a murmur.
"Chi, for the last frellin' time... what's going on?" John insisted, his hand inching closer to Winnona.
She squinted but could still not make out the man's face clearly from across the room. Suddenly the figure seemed to go through a kind of metamorphosis. The being seemed to flow from the surreal to the physical. Chiana then realized she appeared to be the only one paying attention to the cloaked apparition. Patrons startled in their seats and waitresses suddenly swerved to avoid colliding with the tall figure as if he'd abruptly appeared out of thin air. It was almost as if the figure had been invisible to everyone but her until it wished itself to be seen. Mesmerized, she watched as the group of off-duty police officers noticed the dark figure looming over them. All conversation at the table ceased unexpectedly.
"What the frell do you want?" demanded one of the officers, the tone of his command voice cutting through the ruckus of the refreshment house. The huge room became silent as other conversations died as well.
In response, the man threw back his cloak... exposing a pair of holstered auto-fire pulse pistols... and armor the color of gunmetal.
"What the dren...?" started a female officer.
The man drew both pistols and opened fire on the table in an ear-splitting roar of automatic pulse fire. Three of the unlucky men were taken still with their drinking glasses in their hands. The rapid-fire pulse bolts blowing them backwards out of their chairs and crashing into the wall behind them.
In the flashing light of his guns, Chiana finally saw his face.
"I-It can't be... it's not possible!" Chiana said to herself as the remaining cops went for their own weapons and what cover they could find.
"Chiana! Get down!" cried Crichton as he kicked over their table and yanked the still standing girl down beside him behind the makeshift barricade. Winnona filled his hand. Screams filled the room as other patrons scrambled for safety away from the firefight. He hoped Sikozu was doing the same wherever she was in the room.
"He's dead. I saw him... he's dead," Chiana muttered perplexed.
"What the hell are you talking about?" John exclaimed as he peeked around the edge of their overturned table. The battle seemed to be limited between the cloaked man and the lawmen. Two more bodies lay with smoldering bolts holes through them. The remaining five returned fire but the cloaked figure dodged and ducked... picking them off one by one seemingly at will; the auto-guns eventually chewing through whatever piece of furniture an officer hid behind. The next three died in quick secession then one of the auto pistols fell silent as it ran out of Chakan oil, the weapon's rate of fire was so fast it could drained a standard Chakan cartridge in microts. The remaining two lawmen took that opportunity as their only chance to escape with their lives. Both rose from behind the overturned furniture at the same time. The closest man pointing his pulse pistol at his attacker, in a blur the cloaked man crossed the distance separating them. He swatted the pistol aside just as it went off, barely missing his head. In one motion, the attacker slammed his empty gun into the officer's face, blood spurted and facial bones cracked, and in the next instant he was beside the stunned lawman. One savage twist of armor covered arms and his neck broke audibly. The last policeman deciding it better to flee than share his comrades' fates, tried to duck down and dodge around the tall man. Crichton heard a metallic ringing sound and the cloaked man made a casual backhand swipe at the passing lawman without looking. There was a sound like ripping clothe and with a grunt the man fell to the floor dead - the back of his neck torn out. John could now see the pair of serrated blades protruding over the top of attacker's fist, originating from the man's gauntlet-like forearm brace. He flexed his hand and the blades slid back into their housing with a second evil hissing ring that sent a chill down his spine.
"Holy freakin' shades of Predator," the human muttered.
The killer paused a moment to survey the damage he wrought. Satisfied that all his opponents were dead he bent and picked up his empty pistol and holstered it. He turned and headed for the door, occasionally kicking a piece of broken furniture out of his way with an armored boot.
Crichton was relieved to see the man leaving and glad he decided not to continue the killing spree with the rest of the customers hiding about the trashed tavern. He watch over one side of the table while Chiana, still muttering incoherently to herself, watch from the opposite side.
"Just a few more steps and he'll be gone," John murmured to himself. Winnona was still in his sweating hand but somehow she was of little assurance after what he'd just seen.
As luck would have it, Sikozu chose that moment to pop up from behind cover. John cursed as the cloaked man spun in her direction, his still charged pulse pistol leveling itself between her eyes.
Sikozu swallowed hard as she realized her mistake in emerging from hiding too soon. Separated by less then a drec, her bright green eyes locked with the assassin's dead ones. The moment seemed to go on for cycles as she waited for the pulse blast that never came.
"Shrike Enforcer," she murmured before she could stop herself. The man's attire gave him away easily to someone who had traveled Scarren space.
The comment seemed to break the stalemate, the dead eyes blinked once and the man slowly lowered his weapon. Without further act or comment, the Enforcer turned and strode from the refreshment house.
Crichton scrambled out from behind the table after the shattered door swung shut behind the cloaked man.
"Of all the stupid..." he started to berate Sikozu. "Are you all right?" he finished instead.
"I'm perfectly fine, Crichton," Sikozu replied somewhat testily. "Though my clothing is now dirty from crawling around on this disgustingly filthy floor."
"You'll live," John shot back. "Pip? You okay?"
"Yeah, John... I'm fine," Chiana said as she joined them, still looking as if in a daze.
"What the frell was that?" he asked no one in particular.
"I believe," Sikozu said in the tone of voice she used while lecturing her less intelligent crewmates, "That was a Syndicate Enforcer... an underworld assassin."
John heaved a heavy sigh. "Great! Just our luck he chose here where we were to do a hit."
Chiana had wandered toward the doorway with a look of bewilderment. John called her back.
"Chi, get away from the door in case he decides to come back," he warned.
Chiana shook her head. "That was 'Ret," she said quietly.
"What?" asked Crichton, cocking his head in her direction to better hear her.
"That was 'Ret... though it can't be. He's dead," she said louder. "I saw him die, John."
"Ret? You mean you know that guy?" John asked incredibly.
Chiana slowly nodded. "Berret... he was someone I met... while I was away from Moya."
"Just how did you come to meet a Scarren Black Syndicate Enforcer?" Sikozu asked suspiciously.
Chiana swallowed and began to shakily explain, "He's not... er, he was... but he's not anymore.
It's too long to go into now... but he saved my life."
Crichton thought a microt then turned to Sikozu asking, "If he's a Scarren assassin... why did he look Sebacean?"
"The Syndicate mostly uses slaves with control collars as their Enforcers. He was probably captured somewhere and turned into a Shrike some time ago," answered the redheaded girl.
"That would figure," said John. "Okay it should be safe enough for us to get the frell outta here now. Let's go before some of those cops buddies show up and start asking questions."
Crichton led the way out but was stopped by a still troubled Chiana.
"How can it be him?" she asked, hoping Crichton would have an answer or reasonable explanation for her. "Berret died saving me... I saw."
"Look! I dunno, Chiana. Maybe he has a twin or it was a clone or something. Now's not the time to figure this out," the human told her. "Now we have to move and get our collective eema outta here!"
"Yeah, a twin or a clone... that has ta be it," Chiana mumbled. She couldn't bring herself to believe that Berret was alive and well... and working for the Syndicate again.
Crichton led the Nebari girl out by the arm with Sikozu following close behind. The streets outside were still in an uproar from the slaughter inside the refreshment house. Several witnesses were excitingly pointing out the direction the killer traveled in to other bystanders. Unfortunately they each claimed the suspect went in a different direction, and no two directions agreed with each other.
The trio made it safely away from the area of disturbance and headed for the spaceport and their waiting Transport Pod.
"One things for certain," John told Chiana after they were safely on their way to the port. "When we get back to Moya you're gonna tell us what happened to you out there... and how you met this assassin."
Half an arn later the black-cloaked man found himself in the basement of a run-down trader's shop. Without hesitation he strode to a large crate parked against one of the basement walls and felt for the hidden latch. The side of the packing crate swung open to reveal a short staircase and another heavy door.
The Shrike descended the stairs and passed through the door. Another dim corridor faced him and he traveled it, unconcerned about the hidden eyes he knew were watching him as he passed.
He passed through several more rooms until he came to the one he wanted, without announcing himself he swept aside the dirty curtain that served the chamber as a door. Inside he found the being he'd come to see.
The creature looked up from the papers it was reading. At seeing the Shrike, it set the papers down on a short table next to the cushions it was sitting on, it seemed to be expecting the assassin. The being sitting on the cushions was humanoid in size and basic body shape, it had mandibles protruding from along side its mouth and the many faceted gold eyes of an insect. The light gleamed off its hard exoskeleton as it moved.
The Shrike moved closer to the creature, drawing both pulse pistols he held them out as if he were about to fire them again and then let them fall to the short table with a double thud. Wet blood left on the one pistol from the officer he'd smashed in the face before killing, splattered the insect man's paperwork. The being seemed non-pulsed by the act or the mess it left.
"Did you accomplish it?" the humanoid-like insect asked in an oddly clicking voice that issued from its translator device. The oval shaped translator hung from a chain around what passed for the insectiod's neck.
"I did as you instructed," replied the assassin in an emotionless tone.
"You killed all of them?"
"All eight plus two others who were with them."
The creature rose to its feet in the quick scurrying manner the species had. The Shrike recognized its mandibles move into the position that the Zem'Fury insectiods used in place of a smile.
"Excellent!" it cried in an excited chitter, "We've struck a blow for freedom for my people! This is indeed a cause for celebration. Our hive-brothers are avenged with the execution of their murderers."
The Zem'Fury noticed the Shrike's still bank expression. It scuttled in a half-circled around the tall assassin as it regarded him.
"What's the matter, my friend? You should be joyous about the deed you accomplished today. Justice has been served."
The man who called himself Berret slightly turned his head to gaze at the insect being with half-dead eyes.
"Where should there be joy in gunning down half-drunken men no matter what their crimes?" he asked. "And why the public eradication? The same purpose would have been served if they were eradicated in a more quiet manner and setting."
"But the establishment wouldn't have gotten the message as clearly that we will no longer accept the brutality or the countless murders of my people at the hands of their overseers. That message has to be clear or it will do no good - we will not take it any longer, and that we will fight for our rights as free creatures." The being tilted its head and worked its mandibles as if in deep thought. "Are you having second thoughts about your promise to help in our cause?" it asked after a moment.
Berret thought a few microts. "No," he finally said. "I'm just questioning some of your methods. It doesn't seem likely that you will gain public support for your cause if we continue to endanger innocent bystanders in our operations." Unbidden, the young redheaded girl he'd almost shot came to mind.
"These are extreme times for our struggle. Those eight men and women beat and then executed three hive-brothers simply for being out after curfew. Their punishment was just as swift and as public," replied the Zem'Fury. "My people are oppressed. Regulated almost to the status of slaves with no rights or protections. We perform the labors that are too dangerous or that no one else wants too... while the Eilaans and their Roentgen dogs reap the benefits."
Berret's usually passive face developed into a deep frown. He'd hear variations of the story dozens of times before. The Zem'Fury performed most of the hazardous jobs around the trade city. For their efforts and sacrifices they were treated as less then second-class citizens. Many sections of the city were off limits to them and the murder of one of the hive barely raised an eyebrow among the upper classes. The Eilaan were the humanoid species on the planet that shared power with the Roentgen, who were an unusual species. They were large for the most part, almost as tall as Luxans with tough skin that had the texture of tree bark. Berret believed they were floral based like Delvians. They also had horn-like thorns that protruded from their bodies in mostly random locations as a sort of natural defense. From what the Shrike could learn, the Zem'Fury and the Roentgen had a long history of violence between their peoples.
"You can see we have no other choice but to fight back," the insectiods said, breaking Berret out of his thoughts.
"Yes, I understand," the Shrike responded. "You are correct. No one should live as a slave to another being."
The answer seemed to satisfy the Zem'Fury. "I'm pleased that you still agree with us."
Berret nodded. "If you have nothing more... I will return to my quarters now."
The insectiods dismissed the assassin. As the curtain slid closed behind the Shrike, another one opened and a second Zem'Fury scurried into the room. It's exoskeleton lightly clicking.
"I do not like this," the second insectiod said. The second being waved its arms, clicked its mandibles, and released certain minuet scents into the air to communicate with its leader. "What will happen if the Shrike learns what our real agenda is?"
"I do not think that is a concern," replied the first Zem'Fury from its cushion seat after it turned its translator off. "The assassin believes he is fighting for a noble cause. His hatred for those who had enslaved him makes him blind to anything else. As long as he thinks he's helping end other's slavery... he will be compliant to our requests."
"Still," hissed the other, "He could be dangerous to us if he found out."
"If that looks as if it might be a problem, I suppose we could arrange for him to be caught by the Eilaan and Roentgen. I suppose they would very much like to get their hands on the killer of their ten law officers."
The second Zem'Fury worked its mandibles furiously. "I hope you're right... for all our sakes."
Berret entered his spartan room and threw his cloak on the bed. As soon as he'd closed the door behind him a wave of exhaustion swept over him. He held up both arms in front of him and with a thought both biomechanical braces released their hold on his forearms. He tossed both pieces of armor with their hidden blades onto the bed besides his cloak. He slowly removed the rest of his armor and it seemed to him that the protective plates had become heavier and heavier each time he donned them. After he removed everything except his armored boots he made his way over to his washstand and splashed cold water in his face. He glanced up into the reflective surface behind the stand and saw a haggard countenance staring back at him.
The dark circles under his eyes seemed to grow darker everyday - "too much death" he told himself.
A mild pain flared in his mid-section reminding him that he's been neglecting to feed the microbes. Today's operation had only required enhanced speed to dodge the pulse bolts fired at him, so he concluded they could wait awhile longer until he got around to finding something suitable to eat.
He ran one hand through his raggedly cut dark hair. The long braid he'd originally had having become a causality of his miraculous escape from Arckatius' estate. After Chiana's escape pod had lunched and the Syndicate men had broken into the pod chamber, a stray pulse bolt had ignited one of the fuel storage tanks. Berret's tough Acquarian silk cloak, armor, and the fact that he was able to roll up against one of the steel support braces for the chamber saved him from being burned alive like the Syndicate men when the tank blew. He was able to leave the escape chamber with little more injuries then scorched hair and a few minor burns. Shortly thereafter, the second fuel supply tank exploded which caused a massive fire in the crime lord's fortress-like home. In the confusion he managed to make it to the hanger and steal a Wraith class ship and get away.
The whole series of events had been a freak act of nature. He fully expected to die there in the escape pod chamber, now here he was... free, but still killing at someone else's bidding. Was he really free then?
If the Nebari girl were here, she could probably tell him. It had been awhile since he thought about the girl. He use to wonder constantly if she made it back to her friends. After joining the Zem'Fury cause he'd had little time to spare thinking about the Nebari female. Lately she'd been reduced to the occasion flash of dark eyes in-between bloody nightmares. He thought about her haunting voice and realized he'd not felt that odd feeling of... pleasure... he got when she softly sang for him from inside her cell since that time.
There was something missing he realized suddenly. His life was still full of fighting and killing... but no beauty. Maybe a cause wasn't worth fighting for without something to off balance the violence.
Berret sighed to himself. "The girl... the girl..." he thought, she probably hadn't thought about him once since her get away... and why should she? She was a thief and he was a Syndicate Enforcer who merely shared a common goal of escape at the time. Even if he could find her again... for what purpose? What could he ask of her? He was what the Syndicate made him... a proficient killer. He was good at it and he could only hope that he'd chosen the right cause to put his talents to use.
He turned and swept his equipment off his bed and flopped down on the sagging mattress. He closed his eyes and tried to push all further thoughts out of his head. Somehow, those dark eyes kept creeping up on him whenever he let his guard down.
Crichton looked around the establishment nervously, his eyes settling on the table of ten law enforcement personnel off to the left for what seemed like the hundred time. The group must have been off-duty judging by the way they drank and caroused like any of the other patrons surrounding them.
"I dunno, Pip," John finally said. "I don't like the company we have here. I think it's too dangerous."
Chiana gave him one of her trademark smirks. Scratch the snurching idea she mentally told herself, the human obviously wasn't in the mood to play along.
"Blez out, Crichton. They're just the local police, not Peacekeepers. They don't know nothin' about us."
"Yeah, but they're trained and supplied by Peacekeepers to enforce their laws. Grayza's liable to have sent wanted beacons this far out. The smart thing to do would be to gather up Sputnik and leave, pronto."
"And miss all the fun of hiding out right under their noses?" Chiana asked with a wide grin. "And besides... who says we always do the smart thing?"
The only thing that could make it a bigger coup would be to figure out a way to have the lawmen pay for their drinks, she thought to herself, her grin turned wicked.
Crichton rolled his eyes seeing there would be no reasoning with the girl. Chiana had had a rough time of it during her time away from Moya and the relative safety of the group. Something traumatizing had happened to the young Nebari female that she was still unwilling to talk about and she often had periods of anger and reckless behavior. John hoped the side trip to the refreshment house she asked for would head off another of her tantrums.
Now that Crichton thought about it, Chiana's strange behavior actually started to surface shortly before the crew went their separate ways for a while. There was that time on the last re-supply trip where she disappeared for a few solar days and they eventually picked her up in a planetary escape capsule after she commed Moya with her location. She refused to talk about where she'd been that time also. She'd returned bloody and bruised, but that occasionally happened to Chiana, though usually not as badly as she was this time. The girl had looked as if she been in an all-out-brawl and had come out on the losing end. John had thought that she had simply crashed the wrong rich man's party, gotten into her usual trouble and then stole the escape pod to get away. It must have been some party too, because what the human could see of her clothing, it was totally trashed and she was wrapped up in an expensive looking black cloak made of some type of heavy silk that was way too large for her. At the time he idly wondered if the garment was the only loot she managed to walk away with from that apparently luckless caper. Oddly, as far as he knew, she still had the cloak. She refused to let anyone else look at or touch the garment and had hid it away somewhere instead of selling it like she normally did with her booty.
The only other out of place thing about the event to John's remembrance was that the air lock control panel on the escape ship appeared to have been destroyed by having something incredibly sharp rip through it. But in the Territories odd things were the norm. Still, it had taken Aeryn over half an arn to cut the craft's hatch off with a plasma torch, a chore which left the ex-Peacekeeper hot and sweaty with several minor burns from spitting molten metal. Afterwards, the Nebari girl's refusal to offer an explanation for her where-abouts didn't endear her to the Sebacean woman much.
For the few shorts days they reminded together aboard Moya after that, Chiana was somewhat withdrawn at times and even when talking about her plans to go and find her brother, Nerri, she had a hint of edginess about her. Unfortunately, John was having his own problems coming to terms with Aeryn's decision to leave without him and he could spare the Nebari waif little thought.
Chiana leaned back in her seat, pleased that she gotten her way in the debate with the human for the time being. John muttering to himself what a bad idea staying was under his breath, but not exactly insisting they leave, gave her an odd sense of satisfaction. It wasn't often she got her way with any of her crewmates.
She liked spending time alone with Crichton. He seemed to be the only one of the crew who truly understood her. When it came time to talk about what had happen to her, she was sure he would be the one she'd seek out to unburden herself. She couldn't bring herself to do it yet, however. There was just too many mixed feelings about her time as a Syndicate prisoner under a death sentence and what had happen to her while she was out on her own searching for Nerri and the Nebari Résistance. The fact that the two events occurred so closely together in such a short span of time didn't help her sort out her thoughts much.
The outing with Crichton was only marred by Sikozu's presence with them. Luckily, the red headed female seemed content to wander around the tavern, sticking her educated nose into other patron's conversations. Chiana snickered to herself secretly at the thought of one the aforementioned patrons taking a poke at girl's intrusive snout. It'd serve the snide tralk right.
She glanced back over at her tablemate; John still wore a glum expression so she decided not to torment the man too much longer. She would do her best to stay out of trouble, enjoy their quick drinks, and then go. After all, she had gotten her way with the stop into the drinking hole. Why spoil the small triumph with an ugly scene at the end about when it was time to leave? She could be gracious when the mood suited her... and John was going out of his way to help her through her troubles without being intrusive until she was ready to talk about them. So she guessed she owed him at least that.
She downed part of her glass of Raslek and was enjoying the warm feeling it gave her all the way down to her belly when she felt it - the fine hairs at the back of her neck standing up and feeling like they were charged with static electricity. "Oh frell! Not another attack!" she thought to herself in a moment of panic. They had been coming less and less often of late and she was hoping that eventually whatever was causing them would go away. She waited for the future to show her what it had in store and braced herself for the blindness she knew would follow. The vision didn't materialize, instead she felt her eyes being irresistibly drawn in the direction of the Inn's entrance... and the tall black-cloaked figure that was now making it's way across the tavern floor.
The figure moved like a ghost. The dim lights and the hanging smoke in the place making it look surreal from where she sat. She kept waiting for the sound of footsteps to accompany the figure as it moved, but she knew that hearing them would be highly unlikely in the murmuring din of the refreshment house.
For a split microt, Chiana suddenly found herself back in a damp cell. The sour smell of the unwashed bodies pressing down on her, the cruel laughter and the rough hands tearing at her clothes...
The visualization made her breath hitch in her chest.
"Pip? What is it?" asked Crichton with concern as she abruptly rose from her seat, almost as if in a trace.
"Are you having another attack?" John went on to ask.
Chiana didn't hear the apprehension in John's voice, her attention riveted on the black cloak... trying to make out the being's features through the bar's haze. The cloak's deep hood made the task even harder.
"That cloak looks just like..." she said barely louder than a whisper. She cut the mental reflection off; lots of races still wore cloak-like garments. It didn't mean anything.
The figure headed straight for the table of off-duty lawmen across the room from John and Chiana. As it neared the group, it reached up a hand and pulled down the cloak's hood. Chiana saw light glimmer off dark metal covering the back of the being's hand like a half-glove. She could at least make out that he was humanoid. The figure reminded her of...
"No," she denied in a murmur.
"Chi, for the last frellin' time... what's going on?" John insisted, his hand inching closer to Winnona.
She squinted but could still not make out the man's face clearly from across the room. Suddenly the figure seemed to go through a kind of metamorphosis. The being seemed to flow from the surreal to the physical. Chiana then realized she appeared to be the only one paying attention to the cloaked apparition. Patrons startled in their seats and waitresses suddenly swerved to avoid colliding with the tall figure as if he'd abruptly appeared out of thin air. It was almost as if the figure had been invisible to everyone but her until it wished itself to be seen. Mesmerized, she watched as the group of off-duty police officers noticed the dark figure looming over them. All conversation at the table ceased unexpectedly.
"What the frell do you want?" demanded one of the officers, the tone of his command voice cutting through the ruckus of the refreshment house. The huge room became silent as other conversations died as well.
In response, the man threw back his cloak... exposing a pair of holstered auto-fire pulse pistols... and armor the color of gunmetal.
"What the dren...?" started a female officer.
The man drew both pistols and opened fire on the table in an ear-splitting roar of automatic pulse fire. Three of the unlucky men were taken still with their drinking glasses in their hands. The rapid-fire pulse bolts blowing them backwards out of their chairs and crashing into the wall behind them.
In the flashing light of his guns, Chiana finally saw his face.
"I-It can't be... it's not possible!" Chiana said to herself as the remaining cops went for their own weapons and what cover they could find.
"Chiana! Get down!" cried Crichton as he kicked over their table and yanked the still standing girl down beside him behind the makeshift barricade. Winnona filled his hand. Screams filled the room as other patrons scrambled for safety away from the firefight. He hoped Sikozu was doing the same wherever she was in the room.
"He's dead. I saw him... he's dead," Chiana muttered perplexed.
"What the hell are you talking about?" John exclaimed as he peeked around the edge of their overturned table. The battle seemed to be limited between the cloaked man and the lawmen. Two more bodies lay with smoldering bolts holes through them. The remaining five returned fire but the cloaked figure dodged and ducked... picking them off one by one seemingly at will; the auto-guns eventually chewing through whatever piece of furniture an officer hid behind. The next three died in quick secession then one of the auto pistols fell silent as it ran out of Chakan oil, the weapon's rate of fire was so fast it could drained a standard Chakan cartridge in microts. The remaining two lawmen took that opportunity as their only chance to escape with their lives. Both rose from behind the overturned furniture at the same time. The closest man pointing his pulse pistol at his attacker, in a blur the cloaked man crossed the distance separating them. He swatted the pistol aside just as it went off, barely missing his head. In one motion, the attacker slammed his empty gun into the officer's face, blood spurted and facial bones cracked, and in the next instant he was beside the stunned lawman. One savage twist of armor covered arms and his neck broke audibly. The last policeman deciding it better to flee than share his comrades' fates, tried to duck down and dodge around the tall man. Crichton heard a metallic ringing sound and the cloaked man made a casual backhand swipe at the passing lawman without looking. There was a sound like ripping clothe and with a grunt the man fell to the floor dead - the back of his neck torn out. John could now see the pair of serrated blades protruding over the top of attacker's fist, originating from the man's gauntlet-like forearm brace. He flexed his hand and the blades slid back into their housing with a second evil hissing ring that sent a chill down his spine.
"Holy freakin' shades of Predator," the human muttered.
The killer paused a moment to survey the damage he wrought. Satisfied that all his opponents were dead he bent and picked up his empty pistol and holstered it. He turned and headed for the door, occasionally kicking a piece of broken furniture out of his way with an armored boot.
Crichton was relieved to see the man leaving and glad he decided not to continue the killing spree with the rest of the customers hiding about the trashed tavern. He watch over one side of the table while Chiana, still muttering incoherently to herself, watch from the opposite side.
"Just a few more steps and he'll be gone," John murmured to himself. Winnona was still in his sweating hand but somehow she was of little assurance after what he'd just seen.
As luck would have it, Sikozu chose that moment to pop up from behind cover. John cursed as the cloaked man spun in her direction, his still charged pulse pistol leveling itself between her eyes.
Sikozu swallowed hard as she realized her mistake in emerging from hiding too soon. Separated by less then a drec, her bright green eyes locked with the assassin's dead ones. The moment seemed to go on for cycles as she waited for the pulse blast that never came.
"Shrike Enforcer," she murmured before she could stop herself. The man's attire gave him away easily to someone who had traveled Scarren space.
The comment seemed to break the stalemate, the dead eyes blinked once and the man slowly lowered his weapon. Without further act or comment, the Enforcer turned and strode from the refreshment house.
Crichton scrambled out from behind the table after the shattered door swung shut behind the cloaked man.
"Of all the stupid..." he started to berate Sikozu. "Are you all right?" he finished instead.
"I'm perfectly fine, Crichton," Sikozu replied somewhat testily. "Though my clothing is now dirty from crawling around on this disgustingly filthy floor."
"You'll live," John shot back. "Pip? You okay?"
"Yeah, John... I'm fine," Chiana said as she joined them, still looking as if in a daze.
"What the frell was that?" he asked no one in particular.
"I believe," Sikozu said in the tone of voice she used while lecturing her less intelligent crewmates, "That was a Syndicate Enforcer... an underworld assassin."
John heaved a heavy sigh. "Great! Just our luck he chose here where we were to do a hit."
Chiana had wandered toward the doorway with a look of bewilderment. John called her back.
"Chi, get away from the door in case he decides to come back," he warned.
Chiana shook her head. "That was 'Ret," she said quietly.
"What?" asked Crichton, cocking his head in her direction to better hear her.
"That was 'Ret... though it can't be. He's dead," she said louder. "I saw him die, John."
"Ret? You mean you know that guy?" John asked incredibly.
Chiana slowly nodded. "Berret... he was someone I met... while I was away from Moya."
"Just how did you come to meet a Scarren Black Syndicate Enforcer?" Sikozu asked suspiciously.
Chiana swallowed and began to shakily explain, "He's not... er, he was... but he's not anymore.
It's too long to go into now... but he saved my life."
Crichton thought a microt then turned to Sikozu asking, "If he's a Scarren assassin... why did he look Sebacean?"
"The Syndicate mostly uses slaves with control collars as their Enforcers. He was probably captured somewhere and turned into a Shrike some time ago," answered the redheaded girl.
"That would figure," said John. "Okay it should be safe enough for us to get the frell outta here now. Let's go before some of those cops buddies show up and start asking questions."
Crichton led the way out but was stopped by a still troubled Chiana.
"How can it be him?" she asked, hoping Crichton would have an answer or reasonable explanation for her. "Berret died saving me... I saw."
"Look! I dunno, Chiana. Maybe he has a twin or it was a clone or something. Now's not the time to figure this out," the human told her. "Now we have to move and get our collective eema outta here!"
"Yeah, a twin or a clone... that has ta be it," Chiana mumbled. She couldn't bring herself to believe that Berret was alive and well... and working for the Syndicate again.
Crichton led the Nebari girl out by the arm with Sikozu following close behind. The streets outside were still in an uproar from the slaughter inside the refreshment house. Several witnesses were excitingly pointing out the direction the killer traveled in to other bystanders. Unfortunately they each claimed the suspect went in a different direction, and no two directions agreed with each other.
The trio made it safely away from the area of disturbance and headed for the spaceport and their waiting Transport Pod.
"One things for certain," John told Chiana after they were safely on their way to the port. "When we get back to Moya you're gonna tell us what happened to you out there... and how you met this assassin."
Half an arn later the black-cloaked man found himself in the basement of a run-down trader's shop. Without hesitation he strode to a large crate parked against one of the basement walls and felt for the hidden latch. The side of the packing crate swung open to reveal a short staircase and another heavy door.
The Shrike descended the stairs and passed through the door. Another dim corridor faced him and he traveled it, unconcerned about the hidden eyes he knew were watching him as he passed.
He passed through several more rooms until he came to the one he wanted, without announcing himself he swept aside the dirty curtain that served the chamber as a door. Inside he found the being he'd come to see.
The creature looked up from the papers it was reading. At seeing the Shrike, it set the papers down on a short table next to the cushions it was sitting on, it seemed to be expecting the assassin. The being sitting on the cushions was humanoid in size and basic body shape, it had mandibles protruding from along side its mouth and the many faceted gold eyes of an insect. The light gleamed off its hard exoskeleton as it moved.
The Shrike moved closer to the creature, drawing both pulse pistols he held them out as if he were about to fire them again and then let them fall to the short table with a double thud. Wet blood left on the one pistol from the officer he'd smashed in the face before killing, splattered the insect man's paperwork. The being seemed non-pulsed by the act or the mess it left.
"Did you accomplish it?" the humanoid-like insect asked in an oddly clicking voice that issued from its translator device. The oval shaped translator hung from a chain around what passed for the insectiod's neck.
"I did as you instructed," replied the assassin in an emotionless tone.
"You killed all of them?"
"All eight plus two others who were with them."
The creature rose to its feet in the quick scurrying manner the species had. The Shrike recognized its mandibles move into the position that the Zem'Fury insectiods used in place of a smile.
"Excellent!" it cried in an excited chitter, "We've struck a blow for freedom for my people! This is indeed a cause for celebration. Our hive-brothers are avenged with the execution of their murderers."
The Zem'Fury noticed the Shrike's still bank expression. It scuttled in a half-circled around the tall assassin as it regarded him.
"What's the matter, my friend? You should be joyous about the deed you accomplished today. Justice has been served."
The man who called himself Berret slightly turned his head to gaze at the insect being with half-dead eyes.
"Where should there be joy in gunning down half-drunken men no matter what their crimes?" he asked. "And why the public eradication? The same purpose would have been served if they were eradicated in a more quiet manner and setting."
"But the establishment wouldn't have gotten the message as clearly that we will no longer accept the brutality or the countless murders of my people at the hands of their overseers. That message has to be clear or it will do no good - we will not take it any longer, and that we will fight for our rights as free creatures." The being tilted its head and worked its mandibles as if in deep thought. "Are you having second thoughts about your promise to help in our cause?" it asked after a moment.
Berret thought a few microts. "No," he finally said. "I'm just questioning some of your methods. It doesn't seem likely that you will gain public support for your cause if we continue to endanger innocent bystanders in our operations." Unbidden, the young redheaded girl he'd almost shot came to mind.
"These are extreme times for our struggle. Those eight men and women beat and then executed three hive-brothers simply for being out after curfew. Their punishment was just as swift and as public," replied the Zem'Fury. "My people are oppressed. Regulated almost to the status of slaves with no rights or protections. We perform the labors that are too dangerous or that no one else wants too... while the Eilaans and their Roentgen dogs reap the benefits."
Berret's usually passive face developed into a deep frown. He'd hear variations of the story dozens of times before. The Zem'Fury performed most of the hazardous jobs around the trade city. For their efforts and sacrifices they were treated as less then second-class citizens. Many sections of the city were off limits to them and the murder of one of the hive barely raised an eyebrow among the upper classes. The Eilaan were the humanoid species on the planet that shared power with the Roentgen, who were an unusual species. They were large for the most part, almost as tall as Luxans with tough skin that had the texture of tree bark. Berret believed they were floral based like Delvians. They also had horn-like thorns that protruded from their bodies in mostly random locations as a sort of natural defense. From what the Shrike could learn, the Zem'Fury and the Roentgen had a long history of violence between their peoples.
"You can see we have no other choice but to fight back," the insectiods said, breaking Berret out of his thoughts.
"Yes, I understand," the Shrike responded. "You are correct. No one should live as a slave to another being."
The answer seemed to satisfy the Zem'Fury. "I'm pleased that you still agree with us."
Berret nodded. "If you have nothing more... I will return to my quarters now."
The insectiods dismissed the assassin. As the curtain slid closed behind the Shrike, another one opened and a second Zem'Fury scurried into the room. It's exoskeleton lightly clicking.
"I do not like this," the second insectiod said. The second being waved its arms, clicked its mandibles, and released certain minuet scents into the air to communicate with its leader. "What will happen if the Shrike learns what our real agenda is?"
"I do not think that is a concern," replied the first Zem'Fury from its cushion seat after it turned its translator off. "The assassin believes he is fighting for a noble cause. His hatred for those who had enslaved him makes him blind to anything else. As long as he thinks he's helping end other's slavery... he will be compliant to our requests."
"Still," hissed the other, "He could be dangerous to us if he found out."
"If that looks as if it might be a problem, I suppose we could arrange for him to be caught by the Eilaan and Roentgen. I suppose they would very much like to get their hands on the killer of their ten law officers."
The second Zem'Fury worked its mandibles furiously. "I hope you're right... for all our sakes."
Berret entered his spartan room and threw his cloak on the bed. As soon as he'd closed the door behind him a wave of exhaustion swept over him. He held up both arms in front of him and with a thought both biomechanical braces released their hold on his forearms. He tossed both pieces of armor with their hidden blades onto the bed besides his cloak. He slowly removed the rest of his armor and it seemed to him that the protective plates had become heavier and heavier each time he donned them. After he removed everything except his armored boots he made his way over to his washstand and splashed cold water in his face. He glanced up into the reflective surface behind the stand and saw a haggard countenance staring back at him.
The dark circles under his eyes seemed to grow darker everyday - "too much death" he told himself.
A mild pain flared in his mid-section reminding him that he's been neglecting to feed the microbes. Today's operation had only required enhanced speed to dodge the pulse bolts fired at him, so he concluded they could wait awhile longer until he got around to finding something suitable to eat.
He ran one hand through his raggedly cut dark hair. The long braid he'd originally had having become a causality of his miraculous escape from Arckatius' estate. After Chiana's escape pod had lunched and the Syndicate men had broken into the pod chamber, a stray pulse bolt had ignited one of the fuel storage tanks. Berret's tough Acquarian silk cloak, armor, and the fact that he was able to roll up against one of the steel support braces for the chamber saved him from being burned alive like the Syndicate men when the tank blew. He was able to leave the escape chamber with little more injuries then scorched hair and a few minor burns. Shortly thereafter, the second fuel supply tank exploded which caused a massive fire in the crime lord's fortress-like home. In the confusion he managed to make it to the hanger and steal a Wraith class ship and get away.
The whole series of events had been a freak act of nature. He fully expected to die there in the escape pod chamber, now here he was... free, but still killing at someone else's bidding. Was he really free then?
If the Nebari girl were here, she could probably tell him. It had been awhile since he thought about the girl. He use to wonder constantly if she made it back to her friends. After joining the Zem'Fury cause he'd had little time to spare thinking about the Nebari female. Lately she'd been reduced to the occasion flash of dark eyes in-between bloody nightmares. He thought about her haunting voice and realized he'd not felt that odd feeling of... pleasure... he got when she softly sang for him from inside her cell since that time.
There was something missing he realized suddenly. His life was still full of fighting and killing... but no beauty. Maybe a cause wasn't worth fighting for without something to off balance the violence.
Berret sighed to himself. "The girl... the girl..." he thought, she probably hadn't thought about him once since her get away... and why should she? She was a thief and he was a Syndicate Enforcer who merely shared a common goal of escape at the time. Even if he could find her again... for what purpose? What could he ask of her? He was what the Syndicate made him... a proficient killer. He was good at it and he could only hope that he'd chosen the right cause to put his talents to use.
He turned and swept his equipment off his bed and flopped down on the sagging mattress. He closed his eyes and tried to push all further thoughts out of his head. Somehow, those dark eyes kept creeping up on him whenever he let his guard down.