A girl with secrets. Secrets on which the very fabric of space and time are threatened of their existence. "What she did was a crime"- is what they'd all say. But was what she did, really what she is being accused of? Is she really a criminal; a Mul...
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Floating in the coldness of space oblivious to the Galactic Patrol, the galactic black market was infamous for its dealings which included illegal offers of intelligent life sold as pets or servants. It was a mechanical station located far away from galaxies. Mostly scavengers and pirates with stolen warp drives knew of its existence, as they sold their loot there. The few races who knew about it, came there to buy the stolen stuff for cheap prices. It was crowded most often.
In a stall in the third segment of the mechanical monstrosity, a black market dealer was selling spaceship parts for cheap prices. His ugly face with protruding eyeballs and a tortoise mouth was enrobed by a sheen of blue cloth made by Eucrean silk. On his fat hands were numerous tattoos and on his right fist were visible numbers and alphabets; in the configuration of a code, one might say. It was his identification for as long as he lasted in the jails of Kaha. They were only numbers to him now, obscured and hidden by his other tattoos.
From beyond his stall, street music was playing, accompanied by the shrill screeches of the singer who was now being kicked for his miserable voice.
His customers were many, and so he did not deter his focus to any place else. His stall offered all sorts of spacecraft parts and even rare artefacts. He received daily deliveries from trusted scavengers.
He handed the items to each of them only after getting the said price. Negotiations and orders were available, but they needed to be settled virtually for he did not have the time to argue over the price of a petty thruster for valuable minutes when he had other customers to attend to.
The screeches had stopped, so he assumed the singer had either died, or fainted or... cut to pieces. Well, that was the same as 'died', just a more brutal form of it.
A human punk came forth now. "Two Y-30s. Do give the bullets too. Ten packets of them." She fidgeted with the goggles on the top of her hairband.
"That would be seven hundred galactic credits." The shopkeeper calculated.
"Here you go, fatty." The girl entered three notes of two hundred in the machine on the side and tossed him a gold button.
He examined the item which had a symbol embossed on its front. "Lieutenant rank of the Patrol it seems. Did you kill to get it?"
"None of your business, is it?" she said in a rough nasal voice, "Will it do or not?" She curled her hair strands which were a dirty shade of brown, an annoyed look on her face.
"Will do." He fetched the guns from a drawer underneath the counter and the bullet packs from the shelves on his left and laid them before the girl's hands on the counter.
The girl picked them up and went off without another word.
While he waited to see how much his yield had been since he woke up, on the display of the collection machine, he heard a rumbling noise. A ship had docked with his part of the station, he realised. That's a smooth engine.
It was better than the usual actually. He wondered what bounty the new owner of this ship had salvaged for loot, getting an engine of such a high calibre.
Being satisfied with his earnings of the day, he quickly relieved his other customers with their items.
From the docking area came a towering figure, shadowed by a black robe that wrapped around his body. Alongwith him was present a pair of Sinturvs, old battle bots that had faced many wars. They had a relatively flat facial sculpt with a v- shaped light proclaiming the optic unit. They had a slim left hand with three prong-like fingers while the other hand was of the form of a laser gun. Their small bodies were supported on a mono-wheel. Following him were another few of his kind, dressed in a similar manner.
The shopkeeper did not recognise the leader of the group until he threw his robe back to reveal his face, half of which was metallic. A red robotic eye glimmering from the depths of his shadowy form. And that hand that he had used was metallic.
"Lord Juvo!" The shopkeeper spoke out, astonished. The leader of the rebellion, Vengeance, the mastermind behind the war on NCC8 and the infamous incident that had followed, an ex-lieutenant of the Galactic Patrol- he had heard so many stories about him. He had had the honour of being personally called by the Lord the other day- virtually, by means of Holo-Talk.
Juvo placed the hood back in its place, shielding his identity. "Have you secured the item we spoke about?" his voice was a raspy whisper that fanned his surrounding fabric, ushering subtle waves into the stationary. There was a glint of red light that reflected back from his left cheek. Besides that, his entire form was shrouded in darkness.
"My Lord, the map you seek is difficult to attain. Considering how less there are out there, judging by rumours. But I managed to send a scavenger-turned-spy. There are rumours about somebody in our neighborhood who is connected with the group. She might help- willingly or unwillingly," he spoke out as politely as he could.
"How long will it take?" the voice was sharp.
"I'm sure it'd be no more than a rahabat."
"Speak in galactic terms, idiot. How do you expect me to be familiar with your planet's terminology?" He gruffed.
"So sorry! It should take no longer than two galactic days." He threw his arms in the air in fear.
The humans were the first to colonise successfully and expand and connect their civilisation with other species who were developed. Since they were the first, their terminology of time, mass and other standard units were standardised over the Virgo galactic supercluster as far as they were able to connect thus far. Just, the word 'galactic' was added at the beginning as a prefix to signify its usage over the vast scale. The colonied space had come to be known as the Galactic Union.
However, native terminology continued to flourish in the planets without problems until one came across an outsider. The case in this scene.
Juvo understood, and backed away. "Head back to the ship, my fellows," he said to his followers looking momentarily behind his shoulder, "And you! Be sure to supply us with amenities. We'd pay you up when the map is secured."
"Sure my lord." Bleb bowed.
Juvo and his followers, accompanied by the pair of Sinturvs, entered their ship again after traversing the distance that separated it from the stall.
The shopkeeper felt stupid to not have prepared something for him in advance. There were many refreshments available. How delightful it would've been to serve him! After all, who got the privilege to come across him nowadays that he was in hiding?
__________
When he retired in his unit for sleep, the words that Juvo had uttered, circled in his mind. He needed to do something. This one moment could be his moment to shine! Maybe he could get some designation in Vengeance itself!
He heard the mechanical ticks of his antique clock by his bedside. He was starting to feel a bit drowsy. But if he succeeded in delivering the master what he needed and quickly enough, he might get comfort beyond compare of his present condition. That... was a possibility...
After pondering over the thought a little longer, he reluctantly fetched his flex-tech and called the spy.
