Red was his favorite color.
He kept red glasses in the window of shop, admiring the way they caught the light and shot ruby red beams on the walls during the day.
He peered over the counter.
No real customers yet.
Taking advantage of the lull, he counted his currency, pleased to note business had recently taken an upward turn.
Yes, business had been limping after that terrible day he'd been taken into custody by the Monarcheans to be questioned for his part in a dishonest scheme, but he'd cut all ties with that planet now. He had made a deal, his testimony against the main perpetrator, Reha, for lesser charges.
His time had been served.
The shop on Platea had been in the care of a relative while he was away and while, unfortunately, that relation had inherited none of his business sense, no one had been able to simply seize the business from him.
He'd been careful Up at the front, the legitimate business transactions of an antique dealer occurred. Only after hours, in the back, did the more questionable transactions ensue.
The bells in the shop's doorway tinkled.
He listened to the footfalls of the new arrivals, but did not look up as he finished up his last bit of counting. In his experience, most customers liked to browse before they bought.
A pair of footsteps approached the counter. Before he could look up, a voice from the past said, "Beni! Good to see you. Still in business?"
The benign words held no threat, but a shiver ran down his spine as he recognized the speaker.
Beni pushed closed his drawer, gathering his nerves. He pasted a smile on his face. "What can I do for you, Captain Valentine?"
"Remember that item I bought from you?"
How could he forget it? "Of course."
"I was the highest bidder. The others--Who were they?"
"You know, I hardly remember." Beni shrugged. "I do business with so many--"
"Let me jog your memory." Beka pointed over her shoulder. "Remember him?"
Looking over, Beni nearly froze on the spot. It was the Nietzschean! The Nietzschean who had tracked him down and dragged him before the Monarchean officials. The tall Nietzschean stared darkly back at him and pulled a round, inflated ball from behind his back.
A ball?
For a moment, Beni was puzzled. Why in the world was the Nietzschean carrying a ball?
As if in answer, Tyr Anasazi tossed the ball against the ceiling and caught it again. Then, he began to dribble it vigorously across the shop floor.
Beni watched as the ball traveled in dangerous proximity to an antique vase and a vintage crystalline stand. The shopkeeper's face dropped all pretense of a smile.
That was answer enough to Beka's question. She held up a vid flexi with a picture displayed. "So let me put this another way. Did one of your bidders happen to be this man, Rafael Valentine?"
Beni watched the delicate glasses and goblets rattling in the window display next to where Tyr had stationed himself. "Yes," he replied.
Beka nodded and withdrew the flexi. "When was the last time you saw him?"
Beni pondered the question. His glance wandered to the Nietzschean who had succeeded in knocking the ball to the floor and letting it bounce up again in a rather rhythmic, ominous beat.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Beni answered, "Several days ago, I think."
"And what did he want?"
Beni shook his head. "It is against my policy to share information about my customers."
The ball bounced fiercely, sailing higher and higher with each rebound, treacherously close to the precious red glasses.
Thump thud. Thump thud. Thump thud.
He thought quickly. Yes, that scoundrel Rafe Valentine had come to see him. Beni remembered exactly what he wanted. Among other things, he'd wanted the names of the other bidders for that cursed Nietzschean artifact that Beni now wished had never come into his possession. Or else, as Rafe had so cheerily put it, the rumor mill might just broadcast that Beni was a rat. Stool pigeon. And what self-respecting criminal clientele would do business with someone who might just as easily turn them over to the authorities as part of the bargain?
Rafe Valentine got what he wanted.
Short in stature, Beni was not short in brains. The faster Beka Valentine got what she wanted, the faster she would leave and take that destructive Nietzschean with her. "A name."
"A name?" Beka frowned. "Who?"
"A name for himself," Beni replied. "A new identity." Beni anticipated her next question and answered it promptly. "In order to travel."
"Where?"
"Why would he tell me that?"
"He wouldn't. But you'd be the one to find out. So, tell me?"
Thump-thud. Thump-thud. Thump-thud.
So he told them.
Thump-thud. Thump-thud. Thump--
Beka nodded at the information and gestured to Tyr. "Let's go."
Beni cringed as the Nietszchean threw the ball up into the air adjacent to the window display.
Then, he gasped with relief.
The ball didn't complete its arc downwards. It touched and settled in a shallow basket of a hanging flower arrangement, setting the basket swaying slightly.
His cross-examiners departed the way they had come.
The door slammed shut behind them so loudly its vibrations were felt throughout the room.
The ball wobbled. With the sudden uneven distribution of the weight, the hanging basket tilted.
The ball rolled.
The basket tipped.
Beni winced.
Dislodged, the ball fell from its precarious perch. It glanced off the window pane, and dropped directly upon the glasses in the window display underneath it.
Glasses rolled, knocking into others with splintering noises, the upsetting domino effect resulted in a series of smashes and crashes. Those pieces that were unharmed in the initial knockdown did not survive their impact with the floor below.
The shopkeeper surveyed the scene silently.
Staring at the fallen red shards, something inside him fell and shattered as well.
A Valentine had bested him twice in the last week.
Forget about the business. Perhaps it was time to close up shop. For good.
Move. Retire.
Find a place where there were no Valentines.
Beka and Tyr walked along towards where the Eureka Maru was docked. As they went, Beka grinned sideways at him.
"What?" Tyr asked, catching her glance.
"That ball!" Beka burst. "I can't get over the fact that you threatened Beni with a basketball. And once more, that it actually worked!" She gave up trying to hold back her laughter.
"That is nothing to laugh over," Tyr retorted, grinning in spite of himself. "Now, I have to thank Dylan for it."
"For the basketball?"
"No," said Tyr. "But I may admit that bouncing ball attacks hold some merit after all."
Beka started to reply, but Tyr stiffened suddenly. Beka took note. "What is it?"
Tyr's head inclined slightly, indicating behind them.
Beka understood. Silence fell between them.
Alerted, she matched his step and they moved forward more quickly.
Reaching an intersection, the two dodged suddenly to the right and turned the corner.
Here, the cohorts stopped. In full accord, they waited.
Their shadow was easy to spot.
A figure, bent forward and running, wearing a hooded long jacket and a backpack. Its harried steps came to a halt at the unexpected sight of its waiting quarry. The hood fell back and a familiar face was revealed.
Neeki looked both surprised and relieved to have been discovered. "I wanted to join the search," she stammered. "I wanted to do something."
It was now clear to see that the "backpack" wasn't one. Instead, Neeki had folded back her wings and disguised them as a pack. Not many Monarcheans traveled abroad. She would be much less noticeable this way.
Tyr glanced at Beka. It was her call.
Beka pondered. "If you come with us, you'd have to do what I tell you, when I tell you."
Neeki nodded in agreement.
"Well then, welcome aboard," said Beka, heartily. "Now, let's move. We have a lot of space to cover."
"Of course, it's the genuine article. Would I lie to you?" The dark-haired speaker managed to smile even with the furry hands of his interrogator clamped around his neck.
The Nightsider wiggled his nose with displeasure, then relaxed his grip and let the con fall back to the floor. "You're worth more to me alive then dead, Valentine. Be glad of that."
Rafe coughed involuntarily as his body slapped the hard deck of the station's corridor, but he quickly changed to an upright position, dusted himself off, and rose to his feet. He even dared to straighten the collar of his jacket. Nightsiders...all talk, no action. Overgrown rats! He despised them. Unfortunately, he also owed this particular Nightsider a great sum of thrones.
Raskin shook his head at the human. "I should have never hired you. You had no business traveling through Arena's Path. It's a known pirate's haunt."
"It was a short cut," Rafe countered.
"One that cost me my whole shipment!" shouted Raskin.
"So you took my ship. Why don't we forget this whole deal and call it even?"
"Don't think so. Now." Raskin leaned over to look into Rafe's face. "This Nietzschean antiquity thingamagig. Nietzscheans will pay a grand fortune for it?"
"You can bet on it."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, young tadpole. You have nothing to wager--I've taken everything you own. Be glad you still wear the clothes on your back," the Nightsider replied. He rubbed his hands together, greedily. "So, you're saying you'll be able to pay as soon as you dispose of this item?"
Rafe gave a grand nod. "That's what I'm saying."
"And you have it here...now? Hidden somewhere? Here, perhaps, on the drift?"
Rafe chuckled. "What do you take me for? A fool? I never reveal my secrets."
Raskin stomped his foot like a child. "I want to know!" he whined.
"Yeah," Rafe crossed his arms and took a step backwards. Though he didn't have much respect for Nightsiders, he did have a healthy respect for the tough assorted thugs that often accompanied them. "So you can totally cut me out right here? Well, that's a bad plan. See the Nietzscheans are willing to deal with me. But they'd trust you even less than me."
Raskin showed his teeth. "Alright," he snuffled. "But if you don't contact me within the next three days, I'm coming after you. And in our next meeting I won't be so forgiving."
Raskin stomped off.
A smart remark tripped to the end of his tongue, but Rafe held it back, knowing that Nightsiders had amazing ears.
Turning to go, Rafe was startled by the sound of clapping. Then, he heard a voice.
"I must hand it to you, Rafe." The voice chuckled. "You've got a knack for wheedling your way out of hard situations."
Rafe looked around but all he saw were shadows in the corridor. He called out, softly, hardly able to believe she would be able to catch up with him so swiftly. "Little Sister?"
Beka stepped into the light. "Hello, Big Brother. Mind telling me why you duped an entire planet into thinking the Andromeda sent you?" As she spoke her accusation, she took a step forward.
"Look, Rocket. It wasn't as bad as all that." Rafe took a step back but collided with a solid, big object. Looking over his shoulder he found himself staring into the face of Tyr Anasazi. He turned back to Beka and gestured to Tyr. "I see you brought some company."
"Yes, because this is one situation your fast talking is not going to get you out of. Rafe Valentine, by the authority given me by the Monarchean government, I am placing you under arrest."
Rafe gave Beka a charmingly, boyish pout and held out his arms. "What? No hug?"
A staring match began. Beka held a stern look on her face for a full thirty seconds, but Rafe's grin was infectious. It spread to her own face along with a near fit of laughter.
"You weasel!" Beka cried, launching a mock attack on Rafe and the battle ended in a hug. Beka pulled back and punched her brother's shoulder. "Monarchea is outraged. They want to lock you up and throw away the key!"
"But I didn't do any harm," Rafe protested.
Beka continued, "When I found my music in the Monarchean museum--"
Rafe quirked an eyebrow. "What were you doing looking that closely at the museum displays?"
"I wouldn't have had to if a certain person hadn't gone around posing as Ambassador of Peace. What sunspot were you staring into when you came up with that title?" Beka gave Rafe an accusatory glare. "Who set that extra trigger to the alarm system--The proper alarm codes had been entered, so even if that box was moved it shouldn't have--"
Rafe smiled, cordially. "Oh c'mon, Rocket. It's not like they would have executed you or anything. You'd just be slowed down a little bit in coming after me."
"How'd you know Andromeda was even coming back to Monarchea, Rafe? We didn't even know that."
Rafe crossed his arms. "You and I both know how much that box was worth. I couldn't believe you would just leave it there forever."
Beka studied Rafe. "So, it was just a coincidence that Credan traders attacked us for no reason whatsoever?"
Rafe rubbed his chin. "Rocket? Would I lie to you?"
"In a heartbeat!" Beka shot. "I wasn't joking about the arrest." She pulled on Rafe's arm. "Come on, we're going back to the Maru. You have some serious apologies to make."
"Can't." Rafe shook his head. "I have an appointment."
Beka rolled her eyes. "With whom?"
Rafe glanced at Tyr, then turned once more to Beka. "A pride."
Tyr had watched the entire exchange without speaking, but this news peaked his interest. He leaned forward. "What pride?"
At the question, Rafe glanced at Tyr uncertainly.
"Trust him," Beka urged. "He's with me."
Rafe looked skeptical. "That's supposed to make me feel better? It's an important meeting and I don't want to be late. Plus, I promised to come alone."
"What pride?" Beka repeated. Sibling or no, she was prepared to twist his arm.
"I could swear there was an echo in here." Rafe sighed. "I'm meeting a member of the Sabra-Jaguar. Ow!"
Beka's eyebrows went up. "Specifically?"
Tyr's voice rumbled menacingly, "Who would that be?"
Rafe eyed Beka and Tyr with amusement. "He finishes your sentences, too. Ow!" Rafe nodded down the corridor. "You don't have to twist my arm. Come with me and see for yourselves."
Beka released her brother's arm. "Agreed."
Tyr placed his hands on his belt, glanced significantly at his force lance, then unblocked the con artist's path. "Lead the way."
Rafe sidled onwards, Tyr and Beka walked closely on each side.
Rafe glanced over his newly acquired guards and smiled. "But don't say I didn't warn you."