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Prologue
Mud encrusted boots, singed combat suit, and a helmet with one too many dents in it; this was Muddir Prana after his recent mission. Dirt clung to him like a magnet. Yet, despite this, he did not smell dirty. The strong stench of sulfur and fried plastics overpowered whatever smells the dirt and his sweat produced.
Muddir collapsed on his expensive Colrianx fur couch, despite his lack of cleanliness. He stared up at the ceiling of his quarters. He felt at home aboard his starship. And home was what he needed after the difficult mission he had just endured. In a few days he would feel like himself again.
Prana wondered if these missions would ever get easier. But no, he knew, for he was a Zroe; a mercenary; a bounty hunter; a killer.
Every muscle in his body ached. He groaned as he rolled over. These jobs, these missions, they would never get easier, only harder. He knew now, and would soon learn again.
Chapter One
Watching the masses of beings surge through the vast, open promenade, gaping over the many outlandish, ostentatious displays, Muddir impatiently waited for the tardy contact-person. If this anonymous client wished to receive his future services, they'd have better hire a more prompt contact; the various confections people were carrying made him nauseous. This space station, also known as Threikia, a place where anything and everything could be purchased, legally or not, had been the mutually chosen drop-off point.
Brukka, his Saberwolf, paced anxiously, feeling Muddir's mixture of emotional and physical distress. She stopped, looked up at him with three concerned eyes, and then resumed pacing. Their deep telepathic connection had its downfalls.
A woman approached the two and gave a little bow.
"I have the package," she said simply.
Muddir thought apocryphally of her until she presented him the datacube. "You are to leave to the specified coordinates at precisely 0700 tomorrow. The datacube should give all the information you need to know." With that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Muddir was about retire into his hotel room to view the datacube in privacy when a frail old man, wrapped in a green robe, stepped up on a platform, appearing as if to give an oration. Muddir decided to stay and watch the show.
"Alas!" the man shouted with a strength that seemed foreign to his body. Many people stopped what they were doing to watch. "Money is not the root of all evil. Those of you whom think differently, I laugh at thee! Money is just a symbol. It is the greed for symbols that debases us; money buys other symbols that represent all our lacks and deficits, while not filling any real voids. We are encouraged to accept this exchange by the faux heroes and heroines of the vids and holo-imagers, images of accomplishment as inhuman as any automaton, and not a whit as sympathetic!
"We are among the most selfish and self-absorbed decade in Commonwealth history. Never before has a galactic nation so rich and with such a high standard of living exhibited such childish pique and disregard for reality. Ignorant of politics, history, and even the rules of basic human interaction, billions of us seek anonymity and isolation from our neighbors. Our sexual and social hypocrisy is almost unparalleled, and our sense of social responsibility ends at family boundaries, if we extend that far. Grumbling, complaining, and seeking sudden advantage without providing requisite value-that is what we do; that is what we are!
"We come clothed in culture, and the clothing pinches bruises, and cuts off circulation. We all bear the cicatrices of ritual scarification. Then, ultimate betrayal, the culture uses our scars to reinforce its own structure!
"We are the culture; the culture is us; we are the cruel and blind and hobbled, and we are also the torturers.
"We feel sawdust sadness, tinsel gladness." The mysterious man ended, bowed his head, and stepped off the platform. The crowd, silent for a few moments, then, slowly at first, roared with applause. Speeches like those were common, but none quite as veracious as that one.
As soon as the clapping died down and people returned to their previous tasks, Muddir headed for his room with Brukka at his heels. Once there, he removed the datacube from the knapsack he had previously placed it in during the speech. He slid it into the holo-imager that came with his room, and a holographic picture of a man with a blurred face appeared.
A deep, distorted voice said, "I apologize for the frugality of this message, but a person of my stature cannot risk identification at this point. I cannot reveal what it is that I wish you to do, but the pay shall certainly convince you to come. How do fifty million credits sound? Please rendezvous with my ship at these coordinate." A string of numbers passed through the display. "I trust you have a ship of your own, but if not, purchase one and I shall reimburse you. Erase this message when done." The display flickered off.
"Well," he said to Brukka, who had curled up comfortably in the corner, "looks like we have a mission."
The docking clamps of the massive warship affixing themselves to Muddir's shuttle resonated throughout its hull. Muddir leaned back into his chair as the boarding tube extended and attached to his vessel. The iris swirled open and two armed men entered. Both of their faces were contorted with emotions ranging from curiosity, suspicion, and fear.
"Hello, gentlemen, I suppose you two are here to escort me?" Muddir said. He stood up out of his seat and beckoned to them.
The two men stiffened, then relaxed a little as they noted Muddir's diminutive stature. Just then, a bizarre creature trotted in. To the two men, it appeared to be a large wolf with a third eye and overgrown upper canine teeth, but to Muddir, it was a friend.
"What the hell is that thing?!" one of the men yelped, practically jumping into his partners arms. Their weapons were leveled at the creature, but Muddir doubted they could hit it with all their trembling.
Prana replied, "Don't worry, it's just Brukka. She won't harm you unless I feel threatened, so I suggest you put down your weapons." The two complied reluctantly.
Brukka walked up to Muddir, plopped down at his side, and looked indifferently at the two shaken men. As Prana scratched her head, her tongue lolled out and her eyes rolled back in a sleepy fashion. The men relaxed a little, but kept an eye on the creature.
One of the men spoke, "Um…will you please come with us, Mr. Prana? Mr. Cordias doesn't like waiting." He paused, looking at Brukka. "Does that thing have to come too?"
Muddir looked the man straight in the eyes. "Yes," he said, in a dangerous tone.
"All right," the other gulped, "let's get moving."
The three men and Brukka walked lightly through the mazelike corridors of the ship, toward Mr. Cordias' office. Upon arriving, the two escorts vanished just as quickly as they had arrived.
So, into the lion 's mouth we go.
Cordias stood facing a large circular window with an impressive view of the icy world of Phross. He turned and smiled. "Ah, Mr. Prana, I'm glad you could make it. It's an honor to meet the infamous bounty hunter."
Prana examined the dim lit, sparsely famished room. It featured a cold, black metal desk with a built-in holo-emitter in front of the window, various shape-adjusting chairs, a door leading to a bathroom, and a mini-bar off to the side.
"I prefer to be called a Zroe, thank you." Muddir replied. "It is also an honor for I to meet you, Mr. Cordias."
"And I prefer to be called Jack." Cordias chuckled. "Sit down, we have much to discuss." Prana took his place in one of the shape-adjusting chairs nearest the desk.
"All right, Jack, what is the job you wish me to carry out; you were rather discreet in that area. Usually I do not agree to meet a client that does not specify the job. Only the prospect of fifty million credits gives you this 'honor', as you call it."
"Ah, yes, I see." Cordias looked troubled.
While they had been talking, Brukka explored the room, smelling the various scents and seeing what they had to offer. She detected a hint of burnt plastic and blood. Muddir wondered what that could have meant. Had there been a battle in here? Muddir thought this possible, since this Cordias character sought his deleterious services. Continue, he urged Brukka silently.
"She had been my wife." Cordias said, almost to himself. "Well, technically, my third of seven." He chuckled, then became somber again. "She was so very beautiful, but what she had physically she lacked mentally. Fine, perhaps, for some people, but I desired more than that. So one night I drugged her and had a neurosurgeon perform an experimental technique that would enhance her mental abilities. When finished... oh, my, how curious she was about everything." Cordias' eyes were misty. He had loved her, whoever she had been, Prana concluded.
"I'm sorry, please excuse me." Cordias went over to the mini-bar and poured himself a glass of a very rare Sorbain wine. "Would you like a glass?"
"No thank you, I prefer not to dull my wits."
"Suit yourself." Then he downed the glass and poured another.
Brukka smelled something interesting. Muddir couldn't quite place his finger on it, but it was something very familiar. All Muddir or Brukka could place it as was... strange.
"That's how it all went wrong." Jack said a bit drunkenly. He was on his fourth glass.
"Pardon?"
"Her curiosity. I should have seen it coming, but I was so caught up in teaching her. She learned so fast, so quickly. That's when she began to do a little investigating. She found some things that were very damaging. When I found out what she had done, I confronted her, which ended with her storming out. I confined her to her room, but, oh, she was such a seductive thing. She got the guard I had posted at the door to let her out every once and awhile.
"When I found that out, I had the guard staff rotate, hoping that would solve the problem. But it only made matters worse. She seduced all of them, even the women guards! Oh, my little Zulma, such a clever one. She rallied up all her loyal subjects and revolted against me! There was a battle, many lives lost and much damage done to my ship. She fled with her remaining subordinates to that god forsaken world!" Cordias pointed a hateful finger out the window.
"My, my," Prana whispered, intrigued by the story.
"I sent many bounty hunters and so forth to try and bring her back to me, but all of them ended up either dead or one of hers."
"So you want me to get this Zulma for you?"
"No, no, I want you to kill her. If she lives, she will only torment me. Which is why I hired the best of the best to eliminate her from my life."
"Well, that doesn't sound to hard." Muddir said with a wry smile.
"Don't underestimate her! Otherwise you'll end up either dead or her love slave." Cordias warned.
"Well, I am a cautious and reserved person. Do not worry, I will be back only shortly."
Jack Cordias looked at Muddir Prana with grim, intoxicated eyes, and said ominously, "If you come back at all..."
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