Hero (5 page)

"Oh, surely you realize that those who are here to trade in unapproved

commodities--"

"By that you mean illegal weapons, drugs, and slaves?" Beontal interjected.

"There are no slaves being bought and sold here!" Grekkor asserted. He took a deep breath and composed his chiseled face into the disarming smile he'd so carefully cultivated, rather than the murderous glare he would have preferred to direct at the station commander.

"So you say," Beontal said with obvious skepticism. "But I have heard otherwise."

"Your sources have been misinformed," Grekkor said. "What I was about to say was that all tradesmen benefit from traffic through the station--whether it be within the regulations or not."

"Let me make this perfectly clear," said Beontal, sitting up straighter--if that was possible. He already looked like he had a rod stitched into the back of his uniform. "I will not tolerate illegality--of any kind--on my station."

"And the brothels?" Grekkor said, tilting his head back to look down his nose at Beontal. He had control of himself now. "Will they be allowed to continue?"

"They are legal, approved, and follow their specific regulations as set down by the Council. I see no reason to remove them from the station."

"Hmm," said Grekkor. "There are those who would disagree."

Beontal smiled again. "But they are not on the Council, are they?"

"Go by the book, then, do you?"

"Always."

"Well, then," Grekkor said lightly, "it's fortunate that I am not personally involved in any illegal trade--far from it, in fact. I merely wished to point out to you that there are those who will object to being banned from the station."
"I'm sure there will be," Beontal said. "And as the head of the regional Commerce Consortium, I would expect you to sympathize with their situation but not cater to their whims--particularly when those 'whims' are contrary to the law."

Grekkor smiled, but without any pleasure whatsoever. "I do my best to see to it that all commerce is conducted in the proper manner."

"I'm glad we understand one another."

"Oh, to be sure," Grekkor said, rising to his feet. His powerful but elegant form was accentuated rather than concealed by the shimmering cape he wore over his carefully chosen attire. Rich, but not ostentatious. It wouldn't do to appear to possess more wealth than was appropriate for his standing in the Consortium--just enough to look the part, and no more. "I'll pass the results of our meeting along to the members. Perhaps, knowing your stand, those who are in violation of the regulations will leave voluntarily."

"I certainly hope so," said Beontal. "But I wouldn't count on it."

Grekkor's smile turned grim. "Neither would I."

Nor would he count on Beontal remaining alive for long if he maintained this

stand. Grekkor had gone up against far more formidable opponents than the stiff-necked Edraitian and emerged victorious. He might even kill Beontal himself... and with a great deal of pleasure.

***

Windura headed back to her post after lunch still convinced that she'd seen

someone like Micayla before; she just couldn't remember where. One thing was certain--

she'd never met one in person, and in her ten years on Orleon Station, she'd met beings from a hundred different worlds, though very few that were as attractive as Micayla's kind.

Normally, she wouldn't have had the chance to become well acquainted with a

communications officer like Micayla, who was among the station's elite; Windura was just the computer whiz who kept everything running smoothly--most of the time. She and her team were constantly putting out fires and were at virtually everyone's beck and call--

with the result that Windura had at least a passing acquaintance with nearly everyone on the station, and that included the hookers. She'd revamped their "john" tracking system more than once, and Windura had to admit, it was pretty effective. Once a man entered their lair his biometric imprint was recorded into the Hooker's Network, and from then on, they knew who to kick out and who to invite back. They might not have actual names listed, but they knew every customer's preferences and habits, as well as his tipping record. The network wasn't advertised--in fact, Windura had been sworn to secrecy--but wrong one hooker, and you've wronged them all.

Micayla's situation intrigued her. Windura couldn't begin to fathom what it would be like to feel as alone in the universe as Micayla must. Her own parents were teachers on Vessonia, and Windura knew exactly where they were and what they were doing,

receiving deep space missives from them on a regular basis. She understood what it meant to be the only one of her kind on the station, but at least she knew what "kind" she was.

Sitting down at her desk, she switched on the Orleon music loop's rock station and logged on to her computer. After an hour's fruitless search of the standard database, she
was about to give up when she decided to try a different tactic. Logging into the Hooker's Network with the password Layha had given her, along with the retinal scan the system required, she simply typed in the word "fangs."

Holograms of some of the fiercest-looking creatures she'd ever seen popped up,

some of which had actually passed through Orleon, but one in particular stood out from the rest. Yes, he was the one she remembered seeing before--probably during a previous check of the system. Male, of course, but his features were similar to Micayla's and he was every bit as handsome as she was beautiful, the orange streak in his black hair only adding to his attractiveness. The description of his sexual abilities was remarkable to the point of sounding like fiction--body fluids that could chemically trigger orgasms? That couldn't be true! But the hookers were known for their strict adherence to the facts. His performance and genitalia were second to none and he wasn't the kind to get too rough, but he had one other interesting talent: he could purr.

A song began playing just then, one performed by a band Windura had never seen

but had heard about. The lead singer was supposed to be the sexiest thing to hit the galactic music scene in a hundred years, one of a lost race of feline humanoids...

Switching to the entertainment database, Windura finally found what she was

looking for. Why it wasn't in the standard files was a mystery, but there he was, one of the few survivors of the destruction of the planet Zetith. According to a footnote, there were only six adult males known to exist. Any other remnants of that civilization had been tracked down and presumably killed by Nedwut bounty hunters. Though some had produced offspring with Terran mates, there was no mention of any female survivors; apparently none had ever been found--until now.

***

Lerotan viewed the list of new station regulations with distaste. "We'll have to leave soon," he told Rodan. "According to this, we can resupply and buy anything we like on Orleon, but we can't sell any of our weapons."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?" Rodan countered.

"Since now," Lerotan replied tersely. "It's not worth the trouble. Pick up what we need and let the rest of the crew know we'll be leaving again in a couple of hours. If anyone wants to buy arms, they'll just have to buy them from me somewhere else."

"You aren't going soft, are you?"

"No, just getting older and smarter," Lerotan replied. "And besides, it's a big galaxy. There are plenty of other places we can operate without being hassled."

***

Micayla's shift had been busy, but not busy enough to divert her thoughts

completely. During the occasional lulls, she asked Dana enough questions to irritate the most obliging person imaginable--but fortunately, Dana was just such a person. She filled Micayla in on the entire exchange, from the man's eye color to the loss of his sister, and by the time Micayla relinquished her post to Xantric, she was ready to go charging down to sections twenty-eight and nine alone, in spite of Windura's dire warnings.

"She's going hunk hunting," Dana said when Xantric remarked on her haste. "I've
seen the guy, and trust me, I'd be running out of here too."

Xantric's bald pate gleamed as she shook her head at Micayla. "Scott will be so disappointed if you find someone else."

"Something tells me he'll get over it," Micayla said.

"I don't know," Xantric said. "To hear him talk, the two of you are already an item." She took in Micayla's attire with a swift, assessing glance. "Not going after hunks dressed like that, are you?"

"Why--what's wrong with my uniform?" she asked, making a quick check for tea stains.

Xantric rubbed the horn at the end of her rhinoceros-like snout contemplatively.

"Don't you have anything prettier to wear?"

"No," Micayla replied, "at least not what you'd call pretty." Micayla rarely wore anything aside from her uniform, and even when she did, it was certainly nothing like the colorful, voluminous dresses and gaudy earrings that Xantric favored.

"Just a suggestion," Xantric said kindly. "I could loan you something if you like."

Since Xantric was well over two meters in height with a much broader build,

Micayla would have been swallowed up in one of her dresses.

"I've got a dress that would look fabulous on you," Dana said. "I could run and get it real quick."

Micayla was about to refuse both offers when Windura interrupted them.

"No time for that," Windura said as she approached. "We really need to get going." The urgency in her voice and the gleam of excitement in her eyes spoke volumes.

"You found something?"

"You bet I did," Windura replied. "Something very interesting."

"Like what?" Dana asked.

"I'd rather not say until I'm sure," Windura said evasively.

"Oh, come on, don't keep us in suspense," Dana urged. "Did you at least find out his name?"

"No," Windura replied. "But--"

"Never mind that," Xantric interjected. "And never mind changing clothes," she said to Micayla, giving her a push toward the door. "Get going, girl!"

Micayla had a million questions buzzing through her head as they hurried along

the concourse, but one of them stood firmly in the forefront.

"Did you find out what I--?"

Windura put a finger to her lips and shook her head. "I'll explain in a minute."

The reason for secrecy wasn't clear, but Micayla somehow managed to hold her

tongue until they reached the lift, which was also crowded with various station residents.

When they finally got off the lift, the corridor ahead was chilly and dimly lit and their footsteps echoed eerily off the dull grey walls. "I've never been on Level One before,"

she said. "It's kinda creepy, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it's the best way to get to section twenty-nine," Windura assured her.

"Much safer than the main commerce deck."

"Can we talk now?"

Windura nodded. "I didn't want anyone to overhear us."

"Why not?"

"Remember what you said about maybe being the kind of species that was hunted
down and shot on sight?"

"Yes, but surely you don't think..."

"Listen, if you're what I think you are, that possibility definitely exists, and I'd rather no one else knew about it until we're sure."

Micayla's hands turned to ice. "So I really am some sort of evil cat?"

"Probably not, but apparently someone thinks you are. We need to get Layha to run a scan on you to see if you match up."

Micayla's disappointment was profound. "You mean we're not going looking for the man in the park? And who is Layha anyway?"

Windura grinned. "She's a hooker--a Delfian hooker."

Micayla blinked hard. She'd heard enough about Delfians to know she didn't want

to meet one--particularly a hooker who probably didn't wear very much.

"If I'm right--and I'm pretty sure I am," Windura continued, "we'll have the answer to all of your questions pretty soon. Ever hear of a rock band called Princes & Slaves?"

"Should I have?"

"Maybe not," Windura admitted. "They're very popular in the Andromeda quadrant. Some in the Terran quadrant have heard of them, and since we're on the border between the two, I've heard their music and know a bit about them, but I'd never looked up a picture until now."

"And this is important because...?"

"The lead singer of Princes & Slaves is a guy named Tycharian Vladatonsk,"

Windura replied. "Women all over the quadrant are hot after his ass. But so is someone else. Seems their species was nearly exterminated--about the same time you lost your family--and there are only a handful of them left. Some Nedwuts tried to kill him during a performance a few weeks ago, but his fans mobbed them and tore them to pieces."

"Dedicated fans," Micayla remarked. "But I still don't understand--"

"The connection?" Windura said. "The connection is that he's got the same pointed ears, fangs, and feline eyes that you have--and the curly hair. Granted, his coloring is different, but I think you're the same species."

Micayla felt her heart try to leap out of her chest, but she somehow managed to

keep walking.

"There was another one too, but he was only in the hooker's database," Windura went on, directing a triumphant glance at Micayla. "Long black hair and wears a cloak.

Sound like someone you might have seen?"

The implication struck Micayla dumb for a moment. "Did he--does he have an

orange streak in his hair?" she asked, surprised at how faint her own voice sounded.

Windura nodded. "Yes, he does, and, like I said, I knew there was something

familiar about you, I just couldn't place it. I must have seen him before when I'd run a check of the network."

"So what do we have to do?"

"Layha will run a scan on you to see if there's a biometric match in her system.

I'm willing to bet there is--and if he's still here on the station she just might know where to find him."

***
Grekkor was beyond furious. He was livid. "But do you mean to tell me, Tilat,

that even after I warned you to keep a low profile, you went and spouted off to the section chief that you were selling Friotian cocaine?"