Chaos Quarter (3 page)

“Lock down all systems, close all hatches to the ship. Nobody gets past the cargo bay.”

A small screen on the wall next to the starboard door flashed its compliance. Rex walked down the ramp/doors. A half-dozen people waited not ten yards from his ship. They were tall, dark-skinned men. He vaguely remembered that at one time, people who looked like this had mainly lived on Earth’s African continent. At least he thought so. He’d never been much of a student when younger. All he really remembered from seventh grade history was something about Mongols and convincing Jania Perkins to make out with him after school.

Five of the men were muscle, complete with the requisite short-cut hair and intimidating stares. The leader was smaller and had an impatient air about him. They wore isiagus—loose-fitting, thigh-length shirts with deep necks and billowing sleeves, over dark slacks. The leader’s garb was adorned with intricate patterns of fiery scarlet and the eternally flashy gold. The others just wore plain tan.

“Hello,” Rex spoke, approaching the leader and extending his hand.

“Welcome to Igbo,” the man replied in accented English. “I am Emeka, representative of Governor Odemegwu.”

“Tell him I say hello too,” Rex replied.

“You shall do so yourself tonight,” replied Emeka.

“I shall?” Rex said with a raised eyebrow.

“No trade may be conducted on Igbo without approval of the territorial governors, usually done through a representative like myself. However, Governor Odemegwu insists that he meet with all who bring weapons or military goods. It is difficult to find such things sometimes, and he wishes to maintain good relations with traders who can get such cargos past the criminals of our outer territories,” Emeka explained, meaning the various pirates roaming the Igbo system.

“Sounds good,” Rex remarked. “Do we do the business part now?”

“Of course,” Emeka said with a smile. “May my men inspect?”

Rex motioned them ahead with a sweep of his arm. The muscle moved into his cargo bay, opening the various crates. It was standard procedure out here. Nobody brought money out until they were sure the cargo was genuine. The excited shouts of the muscle as they examined the sniper rifles told Rex all he needed to know. He had no idea what language they were speaking, but excitement was excitement no matter where you went.

Emeka sensed this too.

“My men are saying that the king himself does not have such weapons,” Emeka spoke.

“I’m sure your governor will get one into his hands,” Rex replied.

Emeka nodded and shouted to one of his men. One of the men bounded out of the cargo bay and ran to a small terminal across the tarmac. He emerged a moment later with a large briefcase. He trotted back and handed it to Emeka. Emeka hoisted it with some effort, opening the case and holding it up. Two dozen gold bars waited inside. The muscle removed something from the side of the case and handed it to Rex. It was a small bottle of nitric acid with a dropper at one end. Knowing the routine, Rex squeezed a dozen drops onto the gold. Nothing happened. No bubbling, no hissing, no reaction of any kind.

“Good enough for me,” he replied, handing back the bottle. Emeka closed the case and handed it to Rex.

“One of my men will be back at eight this evening to escort you to the governor’s residence,” Emeka said with a crisp nod.

“I’ll be here,” Rex replied. The man and his muscle moved away. Two dozen men emerged from the terminal, dock-men. Chattering away in their native tongue, they approached his ship. He walked from the cargo bay as they went to work, wondering what exactly one wore to meetings with the governor.

* * *

“Ever been with a tigress?” a lightly accented voice asked. There was a practiced sultriness to it, but the oddness of the question alone caused him to pause. What exactly passed for fun on this planet?

Rex had intended to go into Biafara for an hour or so, or whatever part of Biafara he could see on foot before Emeka’s man showed up. He hadn’t gotten one step off the spaceport when the question had been posed.

Worries of bestiality faded when he looked at the woman asking. She did look quite like a tiger. Her skin was a dark orange-red color, interrupted by black vertical stripes a foot or so long. Raven-black hair washed to a silky sheen cascaded to her shoulders. Her yellow eyes, complete with cat-like slit pupils, invited him with calculated warmth. She had high cheek-bones and full lips, framing teeth that were close to being perfectly straight. That alone was a rarity this far out.

“No,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Slept with a blue woman on Halcyon.”

The woman moved closer. Rex’s surprise at her appearance was soon replaced by lust. All the orange skin and stripes formed a body that demanded attention. Toned thighs and magnificent hips were sheathed in a skirt that stopped just a few inches below heaven. Her stomach was taut; the girl did her sit-ups, but not enough to erase the femininity. Her breasts pressed against a camisole that stopped a hand’s-breadth above her navel. They were not overly large, but respectable enough for any straight-shooting male to notice. He allowed himself to notice as she continued her pitch.

“Blue is cold. Red is so very,
very
…hot,” she said, drawing out the last words as she ran her fingers up his arm.

“You don’t have to put on the act, I’m willing,” he replied.

She chuckled.

“Straight to the point, never hurts,” she replied. “Two bits for a night,
gold
.”

The bit was as close to a standard system of currency as you could find out here. It basically meant an ounce of gold, worth about five hundred dollars back in the Commonwealth. Most worlds made coins based off this. Bits of silver took care of lesser transactions. And bits of silver were usually more than enough for this type of business.

“Not cheap,” he replied.

“Best basilisk on the continent, and there’s the novelty of me to consider,” she replied. “Not gonna find another tiger-girl around.”

“Basilisk?” he asked, perplexed. ”We are talking about sex, right?”

She laughed again. “Never been out this way before, eh? You want a regular whore, I can point ya’ in the right direction. Set ya’ up with my girl ’Neke. Me, I offer full service, twenty-four hours. I’m the perfect wife, girlfriend, lover—whatever you want me to be. I cook, I massage, stroke your ego, and I can make you scream better than any mere hooker.”

Rex looked at her quizzically.

“People pay for all that?” he asked.

“Gets lonely out in the void. Guy spends every day raiding, killing, staring at nothing. They’ll pay big to feel normal for a day, two days. Hell, you put the cash down, I’ll stay as long as you want.”

“One day seems fine,” he said, removing two small gold coins from his pocket. “This-a-way.”

He glanced at his watch as he led her back to the ship. His window for exploring town was closing quickly. By the time he got her back and set up, Emeka’s man would be back.
Oh well
.

Several dock-men saw them pass and smiled knowingly. The Basilisk waved at several of them.

“You have a name?” Rex asked as they reached the ramp/doors. The last of the crates were being offloaded.

“Chakrika,” she replied, then slipped something into his hand. He looked down. It was a business card.

“Chakrika, Basilisk, Igbo,” he read.

“In case you ever come back this way,” she said as they reached the staircase. She moved to go ahead of him. “I’m addictive.”

He made no attempt to hide his appreciative glare as she climbed. He took a deep breath, pocketed the card, and followed her.

* * *

“So you don’t want me to cook?”

“Nope,” he replied.

“I’m
really
good. I have people who can deliver everything I need right here. You gotta be tired of canned food and protein bars.”

“I am,” he replied. “But I’ve been invited to the governor’s residence.”

Her eyebrows went up, clearly impressed. They were in the common room. He stood at one end of a long metal table. She had spread herself across it seductively.

“Must have brought something good,” she replied. “Perhaps a quick one then? Before you leave?”

He waved her off.

“I promise that when I get back I will let you do your job to the best of your ability,” he said. “But I don’t think it would be best to go in smelling like sex.”

“Mmm…disciplined man,” she spoke. “Any place you don’t want me going?”

“Just stay out of the bridge,” he replied. “Everything else I can replace.”

“I don’t steal from my clients,” she said with mock-indignation.

“I know, I know—bad for repeat business,” he said. “I gotta go get ready. Hopefully it’ll only be a few hours.”

Chakrika sat up, dangling her legs off the side of the table. She straightened her back, twisting her arms behind her to fiddle with the clasp of her top. It burst loose, the garment sliding an inch down her breasts, dangerously close to revealing all.

“Don’t stay out too late,” she smiled.

He dashed out of the common room, wondering if he had time for a cold shower.

* * *

He sat in the back of what passed for a luxury car on this world. It resembled a limo, but was much too spartan in its furnishings to impress. Emeka’s man, one of the muscle men from earlier, sat across from him. For a thug the guy sure did know how to make conversation. Rex knew of all the best bars in town by the time they reached their destination.

The vehicle stopped. They got out, and Rex found himself inside a fenced estate. Two guards looked at him from the end of the driveway. In front of him, a simple fountain sent water skyward. Behind that a mansion rose four stories. It had straightforward furnishings and a quartet of columns across a front portico. Another pair of guards paced across the flat roof above.

The muscle escorted him up the tall stoop and into the building. They moved through a hallway that opened into a large great room: the governor’s court. The governor sat on a basic throne, raised four feet above the rest of the room. Beside him, on a smaller throne, sat his wife. Her stomach swelled outward, enormously pregnant, and enormously
topless
. Rex quirked his head at this.

“Curious or nervous?” Governor Odemegwu proclaimed boisterously, rising from his throne. “To look at my wife that way you must be one or the other.”

“Respectfully curious,” Rex replied.

Odemegwu smiled at this. The guy had a huge smile. He was a tall man, nearly seven feet. His own stomach swelled outward with twenty pounds of body fat he could stand to lose. Hair tinged with grey clung to the sides of his head, but had abandoned the top.

“It is our custom here, for royal women. A throwback, I’m afraid,” he said, motioning him in. “But an amusing one. The looks you off-worlders have when you see…ah, it is priceless.”

The wife rolled her eyes.

“Now, come. The man who brings such fine weapons to our world is welcome at my tables. Please, sit!” Odemegwu boomed.

Rex moved into the room. Before the throne sat two long tables and around them sat men who ate with their fingers. Large plates of meat, loaves of brown bread, and a selection of fruits covered the table. Wine poured out of wooden carafes into plain mugs, to be gulped by the laughing, masculine faces of the governor’s entourage.

He was led to a table and shown his seat. Two of the muscle men from earlier flanked him. Half-drunk already, they slung their arms around his shoulders as if they were life-long friends, jostling him. A plate of food appeared before him,
real
food. It had been six days since his last stop. Six days of canned beef and vacuum-packed vegetables made a man eager for anything fresh.

His craving nearly distracted him from the stern looking, pale-skinned man sitting across from him. Rex blinked, not sure if the fellow actually sat there. Since landing the only person he’d seen who wasn’t black-skinned was Chakrika. This guy had close-cropped blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and a patrician face that didn’t seem capable of smiling. He also needed a shave.

“Hi,” Rex said, wondering if pairing the two odd-balls in the bunch was another of the governor’s “amusements.”

“My greetings,” the man replied. His accent reeked of formality, sounding distinctly British. That could mean a couple of things.

“I know that speech,” Rex said. “England?”

“No.”

“Coventry?” Rex asked.

“No.”

“The planet, not the city,” Rex clarified.

“Neither.”

“So you’re Europan then?” Rex asked.

The conversations around them died down. Eyes bore down on Rex’s back.

“And you are a Terran,” the man replied.

Odemegwu laughed quietly, probably not intending for his mirth to be heard.

“Once,” Rex replied. “So what’s a Europan noble doing way out here? Got tired of harems and gobs of money?”

The man glowered. Odemegwu laughed.

“He is far from that,” the governor declared proudly. “Cast adrift far from his home, I have brought him into my service. The finest gunner of my fleet.”

Rex nodded along. The muscles of the Europan’s face twitched and then tightened. People raised to be lords generally didn’t like to be treated as pets.

“Well, Europan, do you have a name?” Rex asked and smirked. “Or a title you prefer?”

“Lucius,” the Europan replied.

“Lucius the lost imperial,” Rex muttered, turning his attention back to the food. Turned out it was pork and quite succulent. After about four mouthsful, he paused. Lucius was still staring at him.

“Do we have to fight our nations’ battles way out here?” Rex asked.

“Your people killed my grandfather,” Lucius informed him.

“Yes, most likely. But your people raped my aunt continually for two years,” Rex replied. The voices around them died down again. They stared at each other. Rex had the distinct impression that Lucius was trying to assert dominance.

“You gonna hold me personally responsible?” Rex asked.

Lucius broke his stare and poked aimlessly at his food. Rex shrugged, glancing over toward the governor. He was being fed strips of meat by a serving girl. Beside him his wife had a worried look, directed at the surly Europan.