"It is not for you to forgive my sins, that liberation can only come from the gods.
... And the gods are rarely in a forgiving mood."
- Dymi Tome of Judgment -
Cassius Zom'Darmarh, regent Sakmahar of the Forth Dymi Tribe, raised his head from where it was resting on one loosely balled fist as first shaman Lokyu entered his tent. The Shaman made a curt bow at the waist and waited for his liege to speak first as was tribe custom.
"What word, Lokyu?" Cassius asked, attempting to keep the anxiety out of his voice.
"There is success, my Sakmahar," Lokyu reported.
The regent sat up straighter in his low chair at the other older man's words. Lokyu was his oldest and most trusted adviser, and a loyal friend to Cassius' family going back to when his father rules the Forth Dymi Tribe. Letting the old Shaman see his apprehension at the news would not cost him any loss of honor with
Lokyu... the adviser knew his ruler had waited a long time for this positive report.
"They have been found? It is the one we seek?" Cassius asked.
"It is, Sire."
"You're absolutely sure?"
"There is no doubt. He is with them," responded Lokyu once again.
Cassius banged one fist on the low table besides him in a display of triumph. Lokyu smiled at the younger man as the worry in his eyes changed to something more resembling hope. It had been a long time since the young ruler spirits had been lifted even this little the Shaman thought to himself.
"Finally... after over a cycle," Cassius said out loud more to himself then his advisor, "There may be a chance for justice and a way to resolve these dark times that have befallen us." His head snapped up to regard the older man once more. "Has the lure been set? Was the bait taken?"
Lokyu nodded his head, his loose gray hair falling slight down from under his unfastened farz'haad, the combination headdress and face veil his desert people wore while traveling the vast sands of the world called Jahrodda. Outworlders simply called the desert planet - Forge.
"The outworlders we seek have been contacted by your off world agents," the Shaman told Cassius. "Just as we suspected, they believed our lure and are now on the way here to seek the device they want."
"How long until they arrive?" asked the regent.
Lokyu pursed his lips in thought. "If all goes well and there is no interference by outside forces such as the Peacekeepers or the Syndicate who hunt them... they should be here within three solar days from now. We have some of our people watching the landing facilities in the trading port."
"And the black marketer, Methos?" Cassius than inquired of the old man.
"He suspects nothing. He does not know of the visitors' pending arrival nor what they will be looking for," the first shaman told him. "He has a reputation of sometimes being a most difficult man to bargain with... and I have taken the precaution of making sure his key suppliers will be slow in filling his order for the device should they strike a deal. We should be able to keep the outworlders here long enough for us to do what we must."
Cassius leaned back in his seat and appeared to relax somewhat. A genuine smile graced his thin lips for the first time in ages.
"You've thought of everything, my old friend," the regent said.
Lokyu bowed again. "It is my purpose to service my Sakmahar and tribe." The smile the old man returned said that he really considered his help to the younger man more than just his duty.
Cassius didn't besmirch the shaman's honor by calling attention to the real reasons he worked so hard and long on the plan to lure the outworlders to their homeworld. Lokyu had been just as much a father to Cassius and Tohmaus growing up as had Zorhyha, their natural father and last ruler of the Forth Dymi Tribe. Now Tohmaus, Cassius' younger brother was dead. Cut down dishonorably in the prime of life.
And as of this moment, the creature responsible for his death was on his way here - to Forge.
Cassius, Regent of the Forth Dymi Tribe, would see that blood-debt paid no matter what the cost.
Any other outcome was unacceptable... and to his shame, he privately thought something more precious than family or tribe honor rested on it.
Methos looked across the table at the humanoid male seated there and let a sly grin grace his rough features.
"What did you say your name was again?" he asked.
"Cassidy. Butch Cassidy," the light haired man replied.
"So, Cassidy," Methos said as he leaned back in his chair, "How may I be of service to you?"
Methos folded his hands in before him as if praying while he waited for the other male to state his business. The man called Cassidy placed both elbows on the table, hands folded with fingers interlocked in front of him in an off-kilter mimic of the black marketeer. He leaned in toward Methos as if he didn't wish anyone else to over hear what he had to say. Not that it would matter much in this place, being that almost every being present in the room was employed by him in one fashion or another.
"My friends and I would like to purchase a piece of Peacekeeper tech," the man revealed. "I heard you were the man to see about getting the right connections."
Methos' eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Really? You don't say?" he replied noncommittally. "And exactly what kind of PK tech are we discussing here?"
"I really don't think you need to know exactly what I want," Cassidy countered, "You just need to introduce me to the right people and collect your fee."
Methos played with the edge of his empty Raslek glass for a few microts before answering.
"I'm afraid I do, Mr. Cassidy" he finally said, "Otherwise how will I know how much to charge for my services in sending you in the right direction?"
Cassidy frowned and set back in his seat to regard the other man for a moment. Methos could see the man debating with himself whether or not to reveal the information to him. The black marketer was a patient being - he could afford to wait until the other man made his decision.
"All right," Cassidy finally said a micron later, "I'm looking for an exhaust-deresonator."
Methos eyes lit up. "That's highly illegal tech for a nonmilitary ship, my friend," he said.
Cassidy nodded his head impatiently.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm aware of that," Cassidy stated, "Do you know somebody who has one or not?"
The relaxed smile on Methos' face widen considerably. The only reason somebody would want such a device is because they wanted to cover their tracks and not allow their ship to be tracked over long distances by the law. He sensed a killing in credits to be made for arranging this deal. Only a profitable smuggler would want a device to mask a ship's emission signature - or could afford to buy one!
"I might know someone," he relented slyly. "However, I'll have to increase my fee for becoming involved in something so... illegal."
Cassidy's blue eyes narrowed to slits. "Increase by how much?" he asked.
"Triple my usual price."
Cassidy snorted, gave a small knowing smile, and then shook his head.
"I'll give you half again your usual payment and no more," the man counter offered.
Methos grin broadened and his eyes twinkled in amusement. He gave Cassidy credit for trying to bargain, but this was his place and his rules. Surely the man had to know that the dark tavern was full of his men besides the two and a half drec tall bodyguard standing directly behind his seat. Methos chose to do his business at the table in the rear corner of the rundown Saloon, with his back to the wall. The black marketeer himself sat facing the main room where he could see everything including the front entrance and anyone who came into the tavern. The location also forced the other man to sit in the less advantaged position of having his back turned to it.
"Surely, my friend... you realize that this is not a negotiation?" Methos asked.
"No," responded Cassidy, "Its what I like to call an eema frelling."
Methos spread his hands wide as if to proclaim he was powerless to change the manner of things. "It is what it is," he told the man across from him. "It is the nature of my business."
Cassidy nodded his head in agreement. "Well, in that case... I guess we'll look elsewhere for our goods."
"You will find nowhere else to look," Methos replied with a confident smile.
"We'll see," said Cassidy as he started to stand up to leave.
"Just one microt, my friend," the black marketer interrupted. "There is the small matter of a tiny service charge for my time you've used."
"You've got to be joking?"
"Indeed, I am not," Methos replied.
Cassidy gave a small snicker. "You expect me to pay you for trying to screw me?" he asked. "I usually expect dinner first before someone frells me."
"I'm a busy man, Cassidy. Time is money. You can pay me now and then you may leave. When you come back to deal with me, and you will come back if you want the deresonator, you will again pay another fee for my time."
Cassidy stunned the other man by barking another quick laugh and saying, "Not a chance, Bucko!"
Methos' smile rapidly turned to an annoyed frown. "Perhaps you haven't been paying attention to where you are? My men surround you and you won't leave here until I decide to let you leave. I suggest you pay the fee now before I double the price as a penalty for being an irritation."
Cassidy's smirk turned dark as he bent over closer to Methos.
"Tell me," he drawled, "Do you think... you're a bad man? A real hard case?"
The statement was odd, but Methos caught the gist of it. "I can assure you, I am a bad man," the criminal replied. He bared his teeth at Cassidy in a feral grin of his own. "I am the last 'bad man' you want to cross."
Cassidy straightened up and his look turned wicked. As if he were enjoying a joke that Methos had yet to understand.
"I don't think you're as bad as you think you are," Cassidy said casually. " 'Ret... tell Doctor Strangelove who's bad."
A dark shape moved into Methos' peripheral vision from the rear and someone thrust an armor-covered fist in front of his face.
"I... am bad," said a graveyard voice from behind Methos and twin serrated blades shot out over the metal covered fist with a loud steel-on-steel hiss, the closest edge of the nearest blade being only a few henta from his chin. His eyes traveled up the metal-sheathed arm to settle on the nearly soulless eyes of a cloaked draped male humanoid standing behind him. He had no idea how the man had come to be there and he anxiously wondered what had happened to his bodyguard. Metho's found the tall guard crumbled up unconscious in the corner behind them after a quick search of the room with his eyes. Somehow, the cloaked man had not only managed to get behind them, but had also taken out the huge Cryrillian mercenary he'd hired without making a sound to alert anyone.
"Your comrade is somewhat... indisposed at the moment," the man with the blades said.
Methos turned back to Cassidy who had sat back down with a satisfied smile. The black marketer wondered why the rest of his men hadn't come to his aid yet - a quick peek over Cassidy's shoulder told him the rest of the story in an instant.
The Nebari tralk that had wandered into the tavern shortly before the meeting was sitting at his back-up man's table with a silver palm pulse pistol dug in under the guard's chin. The short-barreled gun forced the man's head back at an uncomfortable angle and the gray girl seemed bored with the happenings as she casually continued to drink from her glass with her free hand. The Nebari woman saw Methos' gaze on her and she gave him a small evil grin accompanied with a dark chuckle in return.
At the bar, another younger Sebacean man who resembled Cassidy in a way had the barkeep and several other customers covered with a Peacekeeper pulse pistol in each hand. Across the room, a woman with long midnight hair and a long overcoat had taken to standing on the top of a table and had the rest of the room covered with an automatic pulse rifle she pulled out from under the coat.
The front door suddenly swung open and his watchman who covered the street in front of the place was roughly pushed into the Inn followed by another Sebacean man armed with a second pulse rifle and a Delvian girl twirling a large knife around the fingers of one slim hand. Slung low on her hip, Methos caught a glimpse of a holstered pulse gun under her coat. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, the back door burst wide open and a huge Luxan strode in with the unconscious body of the man who guarded the back alley slung over one broad shoulder. The warrior dumped the man unceremoniously on the floor by the Cryrillian and walked over to Cassidy.
"That's all of them," the Luxan rumbled to the humanoid.
Cassidy tilted his head and regarded Methos. "Looks like things have taken a turn into the crapper," he said.
"This changes nothing," the black marketer replied stubbornly. "You all can't stay here keeping everyone at gunpoint forever."
"I don't think we'll have too," answered the man called Cassidy with a smile. "How we doin', Sundance?" he called out.
"Everything is under control here," replied the dark-haired woman. "Just give the word." She emphasized the statement by pointing her weapon at the nearest man.
"Pip? Sing out," Cassidy said next.
The Nebari girl reached over and took the back-up man's drink from him. "Other then the cheap Raslek, I'm ready for some fun," she purred and then sipped at his mug.
"Flash Gordon? Heavy Dee?"
The Luxan had unfolded his Qualta blade into a rifle. "Who do you want me to kill first?" the warrior growled out.
"Everything's cool, Daddy-O," answered the armed man at the bar.
"Yo, Teach! Blue Jr.?"
The Sebacean man with the pulse rifle swung his weapon around to cover the room.
"We are ready to commence the mayhem at your whim, Mr. Cassidy," he said in a highly cultured voice that was at odds with his unshaven rogue appearance.
"Yes, I need a new ear necklace," put in the blue woman who had taken out her pulse weapon.
The man besides her did a double taken, and unseen to the rest of the room mouthed, "Ears?" in question.
The Delvian girl slightly shrugged her shoulders and gave him a tiny smile and twirled the knife once again in her free hand.
Cassidy turned his attention back to the table he was at and Methos.
"Mr. Sandman... a demonstration if you will," he said.
The cloaked man gave Cassidy a small nodded and the blades on his forearm flashed down and back up at the empty Raslek glass sitting on the table in front of Methos.
Instead of shattering from the impact, it looked as if the man had missed his target.
Until the glass suddenly split in two lengthwise and the halves fell over.
Metho's stared opened mouth at the destroyed drinking container, he didn't know of anything sharp enough to cut glass that fast without breaking it. He found himself shuttering at what the blades would do to flesh if the cloaked man decided to use them on him.
"Now," said Cassidy, "I think we have an understanding of the current situation. If not, I'll give you a few more microts to think it over again. But I have to be honest with you... my friend with the Ginsus on his arms is not as understanding as I am... nor as patient."
Methos looked up again at the silent man behind him and saw his emotionless face. He turned back to Cassidy.
"It seems I have no other option," he admitted.
"No, not really," agreed Cassidy. "But I'm a fair man so I'll tell you what. To show there are no hard feelings - my original offer still stands. Half again your usual fee if you send us to the right people."
Methos looked about the Inn at the armed collection of beings who had so easily out-maneuvered his people. It didn't take him very long to decide that this was a group of people he didn't want to end up on the bad side of. Besides, perhaps there just might be a chance to do business with this Cassidy again sometime. A party who needs covert military tech to do business just might need other things in the future - things he could provide. It may turn out to be more profit for him down the road if he gave in a bit this time. He turned his attention back to the waiting man at the table.
"Mr. Cassidy... it appears you and your associates have made a deal."
Some arns later, Chiana frowned and upturned her boot. The grimace on her black lips increased as pale tan sand continued to cascade from her footwear, building a pile of grit on the tavern's tabletop.
"Why's there gotta' be so much frelling sand on this eema-backwards planet?" she asked the group around her. "And why can't we have gone somewhere nicer?"
"Because this is where the man with the magic connections is, Pip," John Crichton told the Nebari.
The human took a drink from the bottle in his hand and leaned his chair back up against the wall behind him. After making contact with the black marketeer, Methos, the group had retreated to a much more upscale refreshment house to wait for Methos to contact them when he'd found what they were looking for. Even though the Inn was in a better area, the crewmates were still on guard for trouble or betrayal.
D'argo watched what Chiana was doing, rolled his eyes and scowled.
"And why do you have to empty your boots out on the table?" he asked in his familiar rumble.
The gray girl shrugged her shoulder and replaced her boot. Besides her, Berret sighed lightly to himself. Chiana was bored here on the desert world and she was looking for ways to entertain herself by annoying her crewmates.
"Ugh!" Sean Crichton broke in as he made a twisted face at the beverage in his hand, "I wanna know why everything here is lukewarm?"
"Probably because the natives of this world are by tradition nomadic... and had no way to transport refrigeration units even after they invented them," supplied Andar. "Warm drinks have become a custom and way of life here."
Malika smiled as the Sebacean man explained this theory.
"They would probably make the same face you just did if you handed them a cold Fellip Nectar," she added.
"I'd settle for even one of them right now, you'd think they'd chill them for visitors though?" Sean shot back. "Hey, Chiana! Since we got plenty of sun and sand, wanna go out and work on our tans in a while?" The younger human quipped the remark with a sly bob of eyebrows.
"Nebari don't tan," the girl replied matter-of-factly from across the table.
"They don't? Bummer," Sean said. "I use to love laying out on the beach in Malibu."
"I use to love the surf in Waikiki," John reminisced. He glanced over at the cloaked and armored Shrike. "J.B., aren't you hot in all that?"
"No," replied the ex-assassin simply. And indeed the Shrike didn't seem to be bothered by the heat as the rest of the group was. John concluded it must be something in his augmented microbes that kept him comfortable while wearing his Enforcer garb.
Crichton then shrugged. "Well... it's a hopeless thought anyway, Sean. We got plenty of sand but the nearest large bodies of water are near the polar icecaps."
"So much for surfing," Sean concluded and shot the cap from his bottle across the table with a snap from a fingertip. Idly Berret snatched it out of the air as it passed by his shoulder. He absently inspected the bottle top and then tossed it away.
"Well, you still have plenty of the sun and sand part," cooed Chiana mischievously. "Maybe you can talk Berret into sunbathing with you?" She glanced out of the sides of her eyes for her friend's reaction to the comment.
"I think not," Berret replied before Sean could also voice a veto to the idea.
"But you could use a little color," she teased.
"So could you," he countered straight faced.
The Nebari chuckled and stuck out her tongue. Berret was getting better at his comebacks she was pleased to see. She took a drink of her tepid beverage and noticed one of the serving girls giving Berret a shy glance out of the corner of her eyes as she walked passed the group. The Nebari had noticed the young girl's attention of the Shrike sometime earlier and as usual; Berret seemed to be oblivious to what was right in front of his nose. She decided to have some more fun at the ex-Enforcer's expense.
Chiana prodded him in the arm and when she had Berret's attention, pointed the waitress out to him.
"Somebody's had their eye on you since we walked in," she cooed.
Berret followed her glance and inspected the girl with his usual emotionless gaze.
"She is a server," the Shrike replied as he turned back, "It is her function to be aware of her customer's needs."
Chiana shook her head, barely containing the smirk at having set Berret up so easily.
"Uh-ah, a girl can tell," she teased, "She has the weegees for you, my boy."
Berret frowned as he realized Chiana was playing at tormenting him once again.
"You are mistaken," he told her tonelessly. Refusing to rise to her baiting.
"No, I'm not," Chiana insisted with a grin. "Why don't you go over and talk to her and find out for yourself if I'm right."
"I think not. If you are so interested in her, why don't you go over 'yourself' and talk to her," Berret countered. The Shrike secretly congratulated himself on daftly turning the tables on the small Nebari female.
Chiana placed one gloved forefinger against her cheek in thought and twisted her lips up in concentration.
"You know..." she said a few microts later, "She is kind of cute. Maybe I will."
She turned to look back at Berret with a purely straight look on her pretty face. The Shrike returned the gesture with one of sudden befuddlement. Across the table from them, Andar hid a developing grin behind one closed fist as he watched the interplay between the ex-assassin and Nebari thief.
Berret narrowed his eyes as he waited for Chiana's facade to breakdown. But it was soon apparent that the gray girl was going to outlast his patience with the situation.
"You are incorrigible," the Shrike finally said. "Its there nothing that you won't do?" he asked.
Chiana again screwed up her full black lips as if considering the question seriously. A moment later she leaned in close and began whispering in Berret's ear.
As she spoke, the expression on Berret's face turned from one of eye-opening surprise to out right repulsion.
"That IS disgusting," he said as he pulled away from the girl, "Even for Rygel!"
Chiana reached for her drink with a growing evil smile.
"That's why I wouldn't do it," she said. She turned her head away from Berret slightly and gave the watching Andar a sly wink of one eye.
Despite himself, the Sebacean man began to snicker. Berret seemed to notice for the first time that the ex-teacher had been an audience to Chiana and his discussion.
"What are you laughing at?" Berret asked the other man. Andar had been around the Shrike long enough now to be able to tell the subtle differences in his toneless voice. Someone else might have thought the ex-assassin's question to have been directed at him with an underlying menace for laughing at the Shrike. Andar could tell that his shipmate was more annoyed with having been toyed with by his gray companion. Still it was part of the ever-ongoing game to appear chastised at being caught enjoying Chiana's sport, so he dutifully held up one appeasing hand.
"Who me?" Andar asked innocently, "Nothing, nothing at all." He cut off his chuckle by pretending to cover a cough with fist.
Berret grimaced even further, but then appeared to decide it wasn't worth the effort to keep up the charade and let his face slide back into its normal emotionless state. It appeared Chiana was going to have to find her fun elsewhere. The gray girl didn't seem to mind that her friend stopped playing and turned her attention to another topic.
"We sure did a number on that Methos guy," she said to the table-at-large. "Did you see the look on that frennik's face when I stuck my pistol between his third and forth chin."
"He had only one chin," Berret interrupted to correct idly.
"You're messing up a good drinking story," Chiana responded sourly to the Shrike. "I was up close to him, he had more flab than Rygel. Even the hand he was running up and down my leg had a couple of extra chins on it."
"I'm sure he did," added in Aeryn in somewhat uncharacteristic humor.
The Nebari girl smiled at having the ex-Peacekeeper vindicate her version of the tale. Seeing he wasn't going to win a debate about how many chins Chiana's man actually had, Berret heaved a light sigh and gave up.
"As you wish," he mumbled.
Sean guffawed outright, while John grinned openly at the ex-assassin's perplexity. The older Crichton decided that since the gray girl had brought up the meeting with the Black Marketer, he could ask the Shrike a question he'd been wondering about, seeing he missed some things that had taken place in the room while his attention was focused solely on Methos.
"How did you get behind that monster of a bodyguard without anyone seeing or hearing you?" he asked Berret. In return, the ex-Enforcer looked at the human as if the answer to his inquiry should have been very obvious.
"I walked," came the reply.
It was Crichton's turn to blink at the other man. Chiana watched the exchange with an ever-widening smirk on her lips. Finally she couldn't hold in the laughter any longer as both men continued to look at each other, both apparently waiting for the other to ask another foolish question.
"That's my boy," she giggled out. "Never give up a secret and always leave them wondering."
Berret turned his quizzical look at his gray companion and wondered what she found so amusing. There was no 'secret' as far as he was concerned. How he neutralized the bodyguard should have been plainly evident to anyone who had been present and paying attention. The look he gave her seemed to amuse the Nebari female even more. Chiana turned back to the rest of the table and teased,
"Retty would make a very talented burglar."
"I would not!" Berret protested, but no one seemed to have heard him over the scattered laughter at the table.
"You should know, Chiana," Malika said with just a little bit of serious bit in the remark. She still wasn't completely sure how she felt about the Nebari girl... and it didn't help matters much that two solar days out from the planet they were now on, she discovered that Chiana had snurched several items from her quarters. The resulting altercation had almost resulted in blows, and would have if the rest of the crew hadn't separated the pair and made them go to different ends of Moya until they cooled off.
The Nebari narrowed her dark eyes and the smile on her face turned sly with a tone of sarcasm.
"After your performance today, I wouldn't talk," she said with a snide tilt of head.
"What's that suppose to mean?" the young Delvian half-growled back, getting ready to rise from her seat. Andar's eyes shot open large at Malika's tone. "Uh-oh, here we go again," he muttered.
Chiana's eyes abruptly twinkled with merry laughter and her grin turned back into a good-natured one.
"Ears?" she asked in giddy joviality.
Not even Malika could keep a straight face after being reminded.
... And the gods are rarely in a forgiving mood."
- Dymi Tome of Judgment -
Cassius Zom'Darmarh, regent Sakmahar of the Forth Dymi Tribe, raised his head from where it was resting on one loosely balled fist as first shaman Lokyu entered his tent. The Shaman made a curt bow at the waist and waited for his liege to speak first as was tribe custom.
"What word, Lokyu?" Cassius asked, attempting to keep the anxiety out of his voice.
"There is success, my Sakmahar," Lokyu reported.
The regent sat up straighter in his low chair at the other older man's words. Lokyu was his oldest and most trusted adviser, and a loyal friend to Cassius' family going back to when his father rules the Forth Dymi Tribe. Letting the old Shaman see his apprehension at the news would not cost him any loss of honor with
Lokyu... the adviser knew his ruler had waited a long time for this positive report.
"They have been found? It is the one we seek?" Cassius asked.
"It is, Sire."
"You're absolutely sure?"
"There is no doubt. He is with them," responded Lokyu once again.
Cassius banged one fist on the low table besides him in a display of triumph. Lokyu smiled at the younger man as the worry in his eyes changed to something more resembling hope. It had been a long time since the young ruler spirits had been lifted even this little the Shaman thought to himself.
"Finally... after over a cycle," Cassius said out loud more to himself then his advisor, "There may be a chance for justice and a way to resolve these dark times that have befallen us." His head snapped up to regard the older man once more. "Has the lure been set? Was the bait taken?"
Lokyu nodded his head, his loose gray hair falling slight down from under his unfastened farz'haad, the combination headdress and face veil his desert people wore while traveling the vast sands of the world called Jahrodda. Outworlders simply called the desert planet - Forge.
"The outworlders we seek have been contacted by your off world agents," the Shaman told Cassius. "Just as we suspected, they believed our lure and are now on the way here to seek the device they want."
"How long until they arrive?" asked the regent.
Lokyu pursed his lips in thought. "If all goes well and there is no interference by outside forces such as the Peacekeepers or the Syndicate who hunt them... they should be here within three solar days from now. We have some of our people watching the landing facilities in the trading port."
"And the black marketer, Methos?" Cassius than inquired of the old man.
"He suspects nothing. He does not know of the visitors' pending arrival nor what they will be looking for," the first shaman told him. "He has a reputation of sometimes being a most difficult man to bargain with... and I have taken the precaution of making sure his key suppliers will be slow in filling his order for the device should they strike a deal. We should be able to keep the outworlders here long enough for us to do what we must."
Cassius leaned back in his seat and appeared to relax somewhat. A genuine smile graced his thin lips for the first time in ages.
"You've thought of everything, my old friend," the regent said.
Lokyu bowed again. "It is my purpose to service my Sakmahar and tribe." The smile the old man returned said that he really considered his help to the younger man more than just his duty.
Cassius didn't besmirch the shaman's honor by calling attention to the real reasons he worked so hard and long on the plan to lure the outworlders to their homeworld. Lokyu had been just as much a father to Cassius and Tohmaus growing up as had Zorhyha, their natural father and last ruler of the Forth Dymi Tribe. Now Tohmaus, Cassius' younger brother was dead. Cut down dishonorably in the prime of life.
And as of this moment, the creature responsible for his death was on his way here - to Forge.
Cassius, Regent of the Forth Dymi Tribe, would see that blood-debt paid no matter what the cost.
Any other outcome was unacceptable... and to his shame, he privately thought something more precious than family or tribe honor rested on it.
Methos looked across the table at the humanoid male seated there and let a sly grin grace his rough features.
"What did you say your name was again?" he asked.
"Cassidy. Butch Cassidy," the light haired man replied.
"So, Cassidy," Methos said as he leaned back in his chair, "How may I be of service to you?"
Methos folded his hands in before him as if praying while he waited for the other male to state his business. The man called Cassidy placed both elbows on the table, hands folded with fingers interlocked in front of him in an off-kilter mimic of the black marketeer. He leaned in toward Methos as if he didn't wish anyone else to over hear what he had to say. Not that it would matter much in this place, being that almost every being present in the room was employed by him in one fashion or another.
"My friends and I would like to purchase a piece of Peacekeeper tech," the man revealed. "I heard you were the man to see about getting the right connections."
Methos' eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Really? You don't say?" he replied noncommittally. "And exactly what kind of PK tech are we discussing here?"
"I really don't think you need to know exactly what I want," Cassidy countered, "You just need to introduce me to the right people and collect your fee."
Methos played with the edge of his empty Raslek glass for a few microts before answering.
"I'm afraid I do, Mr. Cassidy" he finally said, "Otherwise how will I know how much to charge for my services in sending you in the right direction?"
Cassidy frowned and set back in his seat to regard the other man for a moment. Methos could see the man debating with himself whether or not to reveal the information to him. The black marketer was a patient being - he could afford to wait until the other man made his decision.
"All right," Cassidy finally said a micron later, "I'm looking for an exhaust-deresonator."
Methos eyes lit up. "That's highly illegal tech for a nonmilitary ship, my friend," he said.
Cassidy nodded his head impatiently.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm aware of that," Cassidy stated, "Do you know somebody who has one or not?"
The relaxed smile on Methos' face widen considerably. The only reason somebody would want such a device is because they wanted to cover their tracks and not allow their ship to be tracked over long distances by the law. He sensed a killing in credits to be made for arranging this deal. Only a profitable smuggler would want a device to mask a ship's emission signature - or could afford to buy one!
"I might know someone," he relented slyly. "However, I'll have to increase my fee for becoming involved in something so... illegal."
Cassidy's blue eyes narrowed to slits. "Increase by how much?" he asked.
"Triple my usual price."
Cassidy snorted, gave a small knowing smile, and then shook his head.
"I'll give you half again your usual payment and no more," the man counter offered.
Methos grin broadened and his eyes twinkled in amusement. He gave Cassidy credit for trying to bargain, but this was his place and his rules. Surely the man had to know that the dark tavern was full of his men besides the two and a half drec tall bodyguard standing directly behind his seat. Methos chose to do his business at the table in the rear corner of the rundown Saloon, with his back to the wall. The black marketeer himself sat facing the main room where he could see everything including the front entrance and anyone who came into the tavern. The location also forced the other man to sit in the less advantaged position of having his back turned to it.
"Surely, my friend... you realize that this is not a negotiation?" Methos asked.
"No," responded Cassidy, "Its what I like to call an eema frelling."
Methos spread his hands wide as if to proclaim he was powerless to change the manner of things. "It is what it is," he told the man across from him. "It is the nature of my business."
Cassidy nodded his head in agreement. "Well, in that case... I guess we'll look elsewhere for our goods."
"You will find nowhere else to look," Methos replied with a confident smile.
"We'll see," said Cassidy as he started to stand up to leave.
"Just one microt, my friend," the black marketer interrupted. "There is the small matter of a tiny service charge for my time you've used."
"You've got to be joking?"
"Indeed, I am not," Methos replied.
Cassidy gave a small snicker. "You expect me to pay you for trying to screw me?" he asked. "I usually expect dinner first before someone frells me."
"I'm a busy man, Cassidy. Time is money. You can pay me now and then you may leave. When you come back to deal with me, and you will come back if you want the deresonator, you will again pay another fee for my time."
Cassidy stunned the other man by barking another quick laugh and saying, "Not a chance, Bucko!"
Methos' smile rapidly turned to an annoyed frown. "Perhaps you haven't been paying attention to where you are? My men surround you and you won't leave here until I decide to let you leave. I suggest you pay the fee now before I double the price as a penalty for being an irritation."
Cassidy's smirk turned dark as he bent over closer to Methos.
"Tell me," he drawled, "Do you think... you're a bad man? A real hard case?"
The statement was odd, but Methos caught the gist of it. "I can assure you, I am a bad man," the criminal replied. He bared his teeth at Cassidy in a feral grin of his own. "I am the last 'bad man' you want to cross."
Cassidy straightened up and his look turned wicked. As if he were enjoying a joke that Methos had yet to understand.
"I don't think you're as bad as you think you are," Cassidy said casually. " 'Ret... tell Doctor Strangelove who's bad."
A dark shape moved into Methos' peripheral vision from the rear and someone thrust an armor-covered fist in front of his face.
"I... am bad," said a graveyard voice from behind Methos and twin serrated blades shot out over the metal covered fist with a loud steel-on-steel hiss, the closest edge of the nearest blade being only a few henta from his chin. His eyes traveled up the metal-sheathed arm to settle on the nearly soulless eyes of a cloaked draped male humanoid standing behind him. He had no idea how the man had come to be there and he anxiously wondered what had happened to his bodyguard. Metho's found the tall guard crumbled up unconscious in the corner behind them after a quick search of the room with his eyes. Somehow, the cloaked man had not only managed to get behind them, but had also taken out the huge Cryrillian mercenary he'd hired without making a sound to alert anyone.
"Your comrade is somewhat... indisposed at the moment," the man with the blades said.
Methos turned back to Cassidy who had sat back down with a satisfied smile. The black marketer wondered why the rest of his men hadn't come to his aid yet - a quick peek over Cassidy's shoulder told him the rest of the story in an instant.
The Nebari tralk that had wandered into the tavern shortly before the meeting was sitting at his back-up man's table with a silver palm pulse pistol dug in under the guard's chin. The short-barreled gun forced the man's head back at an uncomfortable angle and the gray girl seemed bored with the happenings as she casually continued to drink from her glass with her free hand. The Nebari woman saw Methos' gaze on her and she gave him a small evil grin accompanied with a dark chuckle in return.
At the bar, another younger Sebacean man who resembled Cassidy in a way had the barkeep and several other customers covered with a Peacekeeper pulse pistol in each hand. Across the room, a woman with long midnight hair and a long overcoat had taken to standing on the top of a table and had the rest of the room covered with an automatic pulse rifle she pulled out from under the coat.
The front door suddenly swung open and his watchman who covered the street in front of the place was roughly pushed into the Inn followed by another Sebacean man armed with a second pulse rifle and a Delvian girl twirling a large knife around the fingers of one slim hand. Slung low on her hip, Methos caught a glimpse of a holstered pulse gun under her coat. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, the back door burst wide open and a huge Luxan strode in with the unconscious body of the man who guarded the back alley slung over one broad shoulder. The warrior dumped the man unceremoniously on the floor by the Cryrillian and walked over to Cassidy.
"That's all of them," the Luxan rumbled to the humanoid.
Cassidy tilted his head and regarded Methos. "Looks like things have taken a turn into the crapper," he said.
"This changes nothing," the black marketer replied stubbornly. "You all can't stay here keeping everyone at gunpoint forever."
"I don't think we'll have too," answered the man called Cassidy with a smile. "How we doin', Sundance?" he called out.
"Everything is under control here," replied the dark-haired woman. "Just give the word." She emphasized the statement by pointing her weapon at the nearest man.
"Pip? Sing out," Cassidy said next.
The Nebari girl reached over and took the back-up man's drink from him. "Other then the cheap Raslek, I'm ready for some fun," she purred and then sipped at his mug.
"Flash Gordon? Heavy Dee?"
The Luxan had unfolded his Qualta blade into a rifle. "Who do you want me to kill first?" the warrior growled out.
"Everything's cool, Daddy-O," answered the armed man at the bar.
"Yo, Teach! Blue Jr.?"
The Sebacean man with the pulse rifle swung his weapon around to cover the room.
"We are ready to commence the mayhem at your whim, Mr. Cassidy," he said in a highly cultured voice that was at odds with his unshaven rogue appearance.
"Yes, I need a new ear necklace," put in the blue woman who had taken out her pulse weapon.
The man besides her did a double taken, and unseen to the rest of the room mouthed, "Ears?" in question.
The Delvian girl slightly shrugged her shoulders and gave him a tiny smile and twirled the knife once again in her free hand.
Cassidy turned his attention back to the table he was at and Methos.
"Mr. Sandman... a demonstration if you will," he said.
The cloaked man gave Cassidy a small nodded and the blades on his forearm flashed down and back up at the empty Raslek glass sitting on the table in front of Methos.
Instead of shattering from the impact, it looked as if the man had missed his target.
Until the glass suddenly split in two lengthwise and the halves fell over.
Metho's stared opened mouth at the destroyed drinking container, he didn't know of anything sharp enough to cut glass that fast without breaking it. He found himself shuttering at what the blades would do to flesh if the cloaked man decided to use them on him.
"Now," said Cassidy, "I think we have an understanding of the current situation. If not, I'll give you a few more microts to think it over again. But I have to be honest with you... my friend with the Ginsus on his arms is not as understanding as I am... nor as patient."
Methos looked up again at the silent man behind him and saw his emotionless face. He turned back to Cassidy.
"It seems I have no other option," he admitted.
"No, not really," agreed Cassidy. "But I'm a fair man so I'll tell you what. To show there are no hard feelings - my original offer still stands. Half again your usual fee if you send us to the right people."
Methos looked about the Inn at the armed collection of beings who had so easily out-maneuvered his people. It didn't take him very long to decide that this was a group of people he didn't want to end up on the bad side of. Besides, perhaps there just might be a chance to do business with this Cassidy again sometime. A party who needs covert military tech to do business just might need other things in the future - things he could provide. It may turn out to be more profit for him down the road if he gave in a bit this time. He turned his attention back to the waiting man at the table.
"Mr. Cassidy... it appears you and your associates have made a deal."
Some arns later, Chiana frowned and upturned her boot. The grimace on her black lips increased as pale tan sand continued to cascade from her footwear, building a pile of grit on the tavern's tabletop.
"Why's there gotta' be so much frelling sand on this eema-backwards planet?" she asked the group around her. "And why can't we have gone somewhere nicer?"
"Because this is where the man with the magic connections is, Pip," John Crichton told the Nebari.
The human took a drink from the bottle in his hand and leaned his chair back up against the wall behind him. After making contact with the black marketeer, Methos, the group had retreated to a much more upscale refreshment house to wait for Methos to contact them when he'd found what they were looking for. Even though the Inn was in a better area, the crewmates were still on guard for trouble or betrayal.
D'argo watched what Chiana was doing, rolled his eyes and scowled.
"And why do you have to empty your boots out on the table?" he asked in his familiar rumble.
The gray girl shrugged her shoulder and replaced her boot. Besides her, Berret sighed lightly to himself. Chiana was bored here on the desert world and she was looking for ways to entertain herself by annoying her crewmates.
"Ugh!" Sean Crichton broke in as he made a twisted face at the beverage in his hand, "I wanna know why everything here is lukewarm?"
"Probably because the natives of this world are by tradition nomadic... and had no way to transport refrigeration units even after they invented them," supplied Andar. "Warm drinks have become a custom and way of life here."
Malika smiled as the Sebacean man explained this theory.
"They would probably make the same face you just did if you handed them a cold Fellip Nectar," she added.
"I'd settle for even one of them right now, you'd think they'd chill them for visitors though?" Sean shot back. "Hey, Chiana! Since we got plenty of sun and sand, wanna go out and work on our tans in a while?" The younger human quipped the remark with a sly bob of eyebrows.
"Nebari don't tan," the girl replied matter-of-factly from across the table.
"They don't? Bummer," Sean said. "I use to love laying out on the beach in Malibu."
"I use to love the surf in Waikiki," John reminisced. He glanced over at the cloaked and armored Shrike. "J.B., aren't you hot in all that?"
"No," replied the ex-assassin simply. And indeed the Shrike didn't seem to be bothered by the heat as the rest of the group was. John concluded it must be something in his augmented microbes that kept him comfortable while wearing his Enforcer garb.
Crichton then shrugged. "Well... it's a hopeless thought anyway, Sean. We got plenty of sand but the nearest large bodies of water are near the polar icecaps."
"So much for surfing," Sean concluded and shot the cap from his bottle across the table with a snap from a fingertip. Idly Berret snatched it out of the air as it passed by his shoulder. He absently inspected the bottle top and then tossed it away.
"Well, you still have plenty of the sun and sand part," cooed Chiana mischievously. "Maybe you can talk Berret into sunbathing with you?" She glanced out of the sides of her eyes for her friend's reaction to the comment.
"I think not," Berret replied before Sean could also voice a veto to the idea.
"But you could use a little color," she teased.
"So could you," he countered straight faced.
The Nebari chuckled and stuck out her tongue. Berret was getting better at his comebacks she was pleased to see. She took a drink of her tepid beverage and noticed one of the serving girls giving Berret a shy glance out of the corner of her eyes as she walked passed the group. The Nebari had noticed the young girl's attention of the Shrike sometime earlier and as usual; Berret seemed to be oblivious to what was right in front of his nose. She decided to have some more fun at the ex-Enforcer's expense.
Chiana prodded him in the arm and when she had Berret's attention, pointed the waitress out to him.
"Somebody's had their eye on you since we walked in," she cooed.
Berret followed her glance and inspected the girl with his usual emotionless gaze.
"She is a server," the Shrike replied as he turned back, "It is her function to be aware of her customer's needs."
Chiana shook her head, barely containing the smirk at having set Berret up so easily.
"Uh-ah, a girl can tell," she teased, "She has the weegees for you, my boy."
Berret frowned as he realized Chiana was playing at tormenting him once again.
"You are mistaken," he told her tonelessly. Refusing to rise to her baiting.
"No, I'm not," Chiana insisted with a grin. "Why don't you go over and talk to her and find out for yourself if I'm right."
"I think not. If you are so interested in her, why don't you go over 'yourself' and talk to her," Berret countered. The Shrike secretly congratulated himself on daftly turning the tables on the small Nebari female.
Chiana placed one gloved forefinger against her cheek in thought and twisted her lips up in concentration.
"You know..." she said a few microts later, "She is kind of cute. Maybe I will."
She turned to look back at Berret with a purely straight look on her pretty face. The Shrike returned the gesture with one of sudden befuddlement. Across the table from them, Andar hid a developing grin behind one closed fist as he watched the interplay between the ex-assassin and Nebari thief.
Berret narrowed his eyes as he waited for Chiana's facade to breakdown. But it was soon apparent that the gray girl was going to outlast his patience with the situation.
"You are incorrigible," the Shrike finally said. "Its there nothing that you won't do?" he asked.
Chiana again screwed up her full black lips as if considering the question seriously. A moment later she leaned in close and began whispering in Berret's ear.
As she spoke, the expression on Berret's face turned from one of eye-opening surprise to out right repulsion.
"That IS disgusting," he said as he pulled away from the girl, "Even for Rygel!"
Chiana reached for her drink with a growing evil smile.
"That's why I wouldn't do it," she said. She turned her head away from Berret slightly and gave the watching Andar a sly wink of one eye.
Despite himself, the Sebacean man began to snicker. Berret seemed to notice for the first time that the ex-teacher had been an audience to Chiana and his discussion.
"What are you laughing at?" Berret asked the other man. Andar had been around the Shrike long enough now to be able to tell the subtle differences in his toneless voice. Someone else might have thought the ex-assassin's question to have been directed at him with an underlying menace for laughing at the Shrike. Andar could tell that his shipmate was more annoyed with having been toyed with by his gray companion. Still it was part of the ever-ongoing game to appear chastised at being caught enjoying Chiana's sport, so he dutifully held up one appeasing hand.
"Who me?" Andar asked innocently, "Nothing, nothing at all." He cut off his chuckle by pretending to cover a cough with fist.
Berret grimaced even further, but then appeared to decide it wasn't worth the effort to keep up the charade and let his face slide back into its normal emotionless state. It appeared Chiana was going to have to find her fun elsewhere. The gray girl didn't seem to mind that her friend stopped playing and turned her attention to another topic.
"We sure did a number on that Methos guy," she said to the table-at-large. "Did you see the look on that frennik's face when I stuck my pistol between his third and forth chin."
"He had only one chin," Berret interrupted to correct idly.
"You're messing up a good drinking story," Chiana responded sourly to the Shrike. "I was up close to him, he had more flab than Rygel. Even the hand he was running up and down my leg had a couple of extra chins on it."
"I'm sure he did," added in Aeryn in somewhat uncharacteristic humor.
The Nebari girl smiled at having the ex-Peacekeeper vindicate her version of the tale. Seeing he wasn't going to win a debate about how many chins Chiana's man actually had, Berret heaved a light sigh and gave up.
"As you wish," he mumbled.
Sean guffawed outright, while John grinned openly at the ex-assassin's perplexity. The older Crichton decided that since the gray girl had brought up the meeting with the Black Marketer, he could ask the Shrike a question he'd been wondering about, seeing he missed some things that had taken place in the room while his attention was focused solely on Methos.
"How did you get behind that monster of a bodyguard without anyone seeing or hearing you?" he asked Berret. In return, the ex-Enforcer looked at the human as if the answer to his inquiry should have been very obvious.
"I walked," came the reply.
It was Crichton's turn to blink at the other man. Chiana watched the exchange with an ever-widening smirk on her lips. Finally she couldn't hold in the laughter any longer as both men continued to look at each other, both apparently waiting for the other to ask another foolish question.
"That's my boy," she giggled out. "Never give up a secret and always leave them wondering."
Berret turned his quizzical look at his gray companion and wondered what she found so amusing. There was no 'secret' as far as he was concerned. How he neutralized the bodyguard should have been plainly evident to anyone who had been present and paying attention. The look he gave her seemed to amuse the Nebari female even more. Chiana turned back to the rest of the table and teased,
"Retty would make a very talented burglar."
"I would not!" Berret protested, but no one seemed to have heard him over the scattered laughter at the table.
"You should know, Chiana," Malika said with just a little bit of serious bit in the remark. She still wasn't completely sure how she felt about the Nebari girl... and it didn't help matters much that two solar days out from the planet they were now on, she discovered that Chiana had snurched several items from her quarters. The resulting altercation had almost resulted in blows, and would have if the rest of the crew hadn't separated the pair and made them go to different ends of Moya until they cooled off.
The Nebari narrowed her dark eyes and the smile on her face turned sly with a tone of sarcasm.
"After your performance today, I wouldn't talk," she said with a snide tilt of head.
"What's that suppose to mean?" the young Delvian half-growled back, getting ready to rise from her seat. Andar's eyes shot open large at Malika's tone. "Uh-oh, here we go again," he muttered.
Chiana's eyes abruptly twinkled with merry laughter and her grin turned back into a good-natured one.
"Ears?" she asked in giddy joviality.
Not even Malika could keep a straight face after being reminded.
