Project Starfighter (31 page)

“Who is Krass Tyler?” Phoebe
asked.

Chris and Sid explained quickly,
telling the woman about the time they had spent with the mercenaries.

“Do you think you can trust him?”
Phoebe said. “He did say that he would kill you the next time he
saw you.”

“Yes,” Chris nodded, “he did.”

“Sounds like a trap to me,” Sid
said.

The bridge’s console jingled
again. Sid attended to it. A follow-up communication from Tyler.

I should add that this is not a
trap. I will also grant you and your friend amnesty from my threat to
kill you, so long as I have your cooperation. You will be under my
personal protection while we meet. Should you accept the terms of our
alliance, I will extend the protection to the full duration of the
contract.

“Alright, I’m in,” Chris said.
“How about you two?”

Phoebe and Sid looked at each other.
Clearly, they weren’t quite convinced, but were at least willing to
entertain it if Tyler was going to be true to his word. “Okay,”
they both said.

“Good,” Chris said. “Computer,
from here, how long would it take us to reach the Hessian Crucible?”

“At cruise speed, one month and
two days. At light speed, three minutes. At hop speed, around sixteen
minutes,” the
Dodger
’s AI answered.

“I don’t think we should cruise
our way there,” Phoebe said. “Your friend said that he would only
be hanging around for the night.”

“True,” Chris said. “But I
also think that we should aim to be fashionably late. Let’s go for
the hop, and then load up the Manx and get over there. Anything you
can tell us about this DNA Lounge place, Phoebe?”

Phoebe grinned. “Happy hour is
five till six, every day.”

“That it?” Chris asked, a little
incredulously.

“Like I said – I didn’t really
hang around there very much.”

“Okay. What time is it now?”

“Five-thirty, system standard
time,” Sid answered, with a glance at the bridge’s console.

Chris rubbed his chin. “You know,
I do quite fancy a drink. We might just make it there in time to grab
some cheap ones, too.”

“I really doubt it,” Phoebe
said. “Only if we run like hell.”

“Hey, we might as well give it our
best shot. Maybe we’ll get in there with just a couple of minutes
to spare ...”

~

They
missed happy hour by two minutes.

“
C
ome
on, hurry up,” a man behind Chris moaned for about the twentieth
time. The queue to get into the club was moving exceptionally slowly,
due to a number of revellers at the front arguing over whether or not
they should be permitted entry.

“This could take all night,” Sid
muttered. “Part of the reason I never liked clubbing in the first
place.”

“And that’s not exactly
inviting, either,” Phoebe added, nodding in the direction of the
three robed men, standing not too far from where the queue was
formed.

“Mal has returned! Our great
leader, whom some once declared dead, is here to lead us once more!”
one of the men was saying. “We invite you here tonight to share in
the celebration of his resurrection, and join the Immortal League. It
is the galaxy’s fastest-growing organisation, one that offers great
rewards to all those who are accepted into its fold.”

Chris’ thoughts turned to the
vagrant he had seen recruited by the two robed men back on Ceradse.
The bar for entry into the folds of the Immortal League seemed very
low indeed. If the recruiters targeted the needy, offering them great
things in exchange for their loyalty and obedience, he could see how
the cult’s numbers could have swelled so quickly and easily.

“Heaven awaits, the doors are
open, and the way to it has been revealed,” the robed spokesman
went on, repeating the same speech he had been reciting ever since
Chris, Sid, and Phoebe had arrived at the Crucible. “The words of
God have been revealed to Mal, and Mal alone. God has spoken to him,
and shown him the path that must be followed. Eternal life and
salvation await the chosen. You, sir,” the cultist addressed a man
in the queue, “you can be saved from your life of hedonism,
wandering, and debauchery that this night will bring. Save yourself
from the evils this house of ill repute will tempt you with.”

The man in the queue ignored the
unwanted attention, even as he was offered a scroll to read.

“You, young lady,” the cultist
singled out a short-skirted woman. “Instead of flaunting yourself
and misleading others with promises of fulfilling their sexual
desires, would you not offer up your mortal life and help to
overthrow the Devil and his fallen, in exchange for the redemption of
your soul and its guaranteed place in Heaven?” A scroll was partly
unfurled. “For it is written that—”

“LA LA LA LA LA!” the woman said
loudly, ramming her fingers into her ears, and drowning out the man’s
words.

“—and that those who give their
lives in this life will find their rewards in the next.” The robed
man seemed not at all perturbed by the lack of interest from those
waiting to enter the DNA Lounge. Quite likely, Chris thought, he was
rejected regularly. Still, Chris was aware that the Immortal League
had become much bigger, and was growing in number with every passing
day.

Alongside the three robed men was a
holographic projection, welling up from a device on the ground. The
image was that of a man, and like the others the figure was robed,
though unlike the blacks and reds they wore, he was dressed in white
and purple. A hood was drawn over his head, concealing most of his
face. Mal. Chris had seen the visage of the man often enough to know
so.

“Creepy,” Phoebe said under her
breath.

“Just ignore them,” Sid said. He
had his hand rested on the small of Phoebe’s back. Though Phoebe
had been with them for only a short time, Chris had become aware of a
small magnetism between her and Sid. They were apparently bonding
over something, though quite what, Chris couldn’t be certain. He
turned his attention back to the revellers who were still arguing
with the bouncers.

Eventually, the burly security men
picked up one of the clubbers, and hurled the man aside. The queue
looked on as he crashed down heavily on the floor and his friends ran
over to help him.

“The hell?!” the man said,
picking up.

“Told you once, and I’ll tell
you again: if your name’s not down, you’re not coming in,” one
of the thick-necked men standing in front of the doors said, folding
his arms over his chest. He was tall, stocky, and looked as though he
could take on just about anyone in the line with one arm tied behind
his back. “If you don’t like it, tough. You ain’t coming in.
Now, shove off.”

“Yeah, think we will. We’ll
spend our money elsewhere.” The group shuffled off, the man who had
been thrown limping a little.

“Next,” the bouncer said,
without so much as a sideways glance at the group.

A woman approached, wearing clothes
that left little to the imagination. They were more like
strategically positioned bands.

“And what’s your name,
sweetheart?” the second of the pair of bouncers asked. He tapped
the tablet computer he was holding, shaking it in frustration.
“Stupid thing is freezing up again,” he said to his colleague.
“If this keeps happening, I’m going back to using a pen.” He
jabbed the screen a few more times and it started working again. He
studied the woman before him.

“Luminous body paint,” the young
woman explained, flourishing both hands over her figure. “Only
shows up in the fluorescent lights of the club.”

The bouncer nodded, clearly not
caring. “Name?”

“Candy,” the woman purred.

“No ‘Candy’ here,” the
bouncer said. Chris prepared to witness yet another protest, and see
the poor woman being tossed aside like a rag doll.

“My real name’s Nicole Ashford,”
the woman said with a sigh, as though the name were as bland as
boiled chicken.

“Ah, yes,” the bouncer with the
tablet said. “In you go.” He unclasped the little rope barrier to
allow the woman to enter, hooking it back up immediately after.
Chris, Sid, and Phoebe were next.

“Let’s hope we don’t end up
with a bloody nose for this,” Sid muttered in Chris’ ear, as the
three stepped forward.

“And you three are ...?” the
lead bouncer wanted to know.

“Chris Bainfield, Sid Wilson, and
Phoebe Lexx,” Chris supplied. He thought at once whether it had
been truly wise to use their real names.

The bouncer appraised their attire
for a moment. None of the three looked anything like the other
revellers who were attempting to enter the DNA Lounge tonight. Those
clubbers were dressed in all sorts of outfits, smart shirts, shoes,
fishnet stockings, and jewellery. Chris, Sid, and Phoebe by
comparison looked rather ordinary, as though they should be sitting
down for a quiet cup of tea, instead of dancing to a thumping
baseline until whatever passed for dawn on the Crucible came by.

“You three know that this is a
nightclub, don’t you?” the bouncer asked, apparently reading
Chris’ mind.

“We do,” Chris said. He then
lowered his voice, “We’re here to meet Krass Tyler. He should
have a private booth booked.”

The bouncer studied his list. “Only
has two of you listed – Bainfield and Wilson. She can’t come in.”
He pointed a fat finger at Phoebe.

“She’s with us,” Chris
answered him.

“The only way she’s staying with
you is if all three of you remain out here,” the bouncer said. “The
Lounge is invite-only tonight.”

“Seriously, what’s taking so
long? I want to get inside,” someone further down the queue began
to complain.

“There’s three geeks at the
front, trying to prove they’re cool enough to get in,” someone
else answered. “Go home to your books, nerds!”

Chris ignored the whining. “Look,”
he said to the bouncer, “she’s here to see Tyler as well. He
invited us specifically.”

“Only says Bainfield and Wilson
here. And as I’ve told everyone else tonight: if your name’s not
down, you’re no—” He stopped talking, putting a hand to a
device affixed to his ear. “Yes? Are you sure? Fine, okay.” He
stepped aside and unhooked the rope barrier. “You can all go in.”

“What was that about?” Sid asked
Chris as the three made their way into the club.

“No idea,” Chris said, looking
about. “But I think someone’s watching us.”

~

The
DNA Lounge was pumping out music at a volume that Chris actually
found quite acceptable. Within the foyer, at least. Further inside
would be a different matter altogether. The entrance way led to a
large dance floor, that was already packed solid with clubbers. Men
and women were dancing together, wearing all manner of outfits. As
with the girl that had preceded Chris, Sid, and Phoebe, quite a few
were barely wearing a thing. Chris saw then the patterns that had
been painted onto their bodies, reacting to the lighting in the club.
It was quite mesmerising – the inks subtly swirling and shifting of
their own accord, as though they were alive. It was all part of the
illusion he knew, but he was still suitably impressed.

“Where’s the VIP area?” he
asked Phoebe.

“Other side of the dance floor,”
Phoebe answered, looking at the swell of dancing men and women.

Chris nodded. They could hardly
expect the dancers to part like the Red Sea. They were just going to
have to wade their way through.

“Let’s go,” he said. He had
only just started forward when a hand grabbed him. He looked about,
but saw no one. “Wh ...” he began, before his arm was twisted
behind his back. “HEY!” he shouted.

“Chris, what’s happening?” Sid
said, casting about frantically.

“Hello, Mr Bainfield,” a woman’s
voice purred warm breath in Chris’ ear. A figure materialized out
of thin air, removing a mask and a hood that was covering her face.
“Nice to see you again.”

“Eve,” Chris said, unable to
help from scowling.

“Aw, you don’t sound very happy
to see me,” the tall, thin member of the Wolf Pack said. “Did you
forget all about me the moment you left Spirit? I would have hoped to
have left a more lasting impression.” She ran a hand down his
chest, along his stomach, coming to rest over his crotch. “Hmm?”

“Would you mind letting me go?”
Chris asked.

“Hmph,” Eve said, releasing him.
“You’re obviously going to be all boring and serious with me
tonight, then.”

Serious? She was the one that used
to beat him around the head and shoulders during his time at New
Chile. Was that her idea of flirting?

“Do you greet all your friends
this way?” Chris asked, straightening his clothes.

“Just the ones I have a special
affection for. Still got the wiz kid with you, I see. And who’s
this little tramp?” Eve asked, looking over Phoebe.

“Mind your tongue, ink job,”
Phoebe said.

“You might want to mind yours,
missy,” Eve said, folding her arms. “I was the one that got you
all in here. Fine with me if you want to go stand outside while the
boss has a chat with your boys. Mind you don’t get absorbed into
Mal’s cult while you wait, and end up topping yourself in order to
achieve transcendence.”

“Ladies, let’s not cause a
scene,” Chris said. “Eve, this is Phoebe. We rescued her from a
WEAPCO patrol. Phoebe, this is Eve. She is a member of the Wolf Pack,
someone who looked after Sid and me at New Chile, and part of the
group that acquired Athena for us.”

“Athena?” Eve asked.

“The Firefly.”

Eve laughed out loud. “You’ve
named
it?”

“It ... she, named herself.”

“I see.” Eve shook her head.
“Why were WEAPCO after you?” she asked Phoebe. “Were you a part
of the uprising?”

“I think it’s best,” Chris
interrupted before Phoebe could respond, “if, for the moment, we
say that Phoebe possesses certain skills that could be considered
useful or harmful to the Corporation. I’ll explain more later,
after we’ve met Tyler.”