Playing Their Parts

Bachanalius was, as advertised, a little smaller than the Earth’s moon but it was extremely crowded. At least, if the tall buildings and neon pink, gold, green, and blue lights were any indication. Elevated monorail tracks crisscrossed the busy cityscape, their long, multi-car trains zipping along so fast they were nothing but blurs of light in every direction. It was an incredible sight.

“It kind of looks like if somebody took New York City, covered it in neon, and blew it up big enough to cover the entire moon,” Cassie murmured. “And look—that must be the palace!”

She pointed to a vast structure that covered multiple city blocks. Unlike the skyscrapers around it, it was a long, low building made of shimmering black marble that glistened with the reflected neon of the rest of the city-planet.

“That’s it, all right,” Stone said, frowning. “Let’s land and see if we can locate Commander Sylvan’s contact. He told me that the male’s posting is at the Northwest corner of the palace complex—I think I see a public parking area there.”

They circled low over the palace and landed in a vast, paved lot with many other, diverse-looking vehicles. Some looked like land-bound conveyances, some were clearly spaceships, and many, like Stone’s shuttle, appeared to be a hybrid of both.

Stone got on a private channel for a moment and began speaking in an alien language which, Cassie found to her delight, she could understand. She’d been given a dose of translation bacteria before leaving the Mother Ship and told that it would enable her to both decipher and speak foreign tongues. But this was the first time she’d seen—or rather heard—the bacteria in action and it seemed amazing that she could understand the strange words coming out of her partner’s mouth.

“We are travelers from afar, looking for assistance and employment,” Stone said, in the strange, alien language, that sounded a little like French mixed with Russian with some burbling sounds thrown in. “Can anyone help us? We can’t pay, but our appreciation will be eternal.”

Apparently he was talking in some kind of code because after a moment, a voice came back over the channel he was using, speaking in the same alien language.

“Travelers from afar, I am willing to offer assistance, though the payment is only your appreciation,” it said.

“That’s him,” Stone murmured, nodding to Cassie. “Thank you, kind friend,” he replied. “Allow me to give you our coordinates so that we may meet face-to-face.”

“I await the coordinates,” the voice replied.

Stone rattled them off and then shut off the communication.

“Now what?” Cassie asked him.

“Now we wait.” Stone frowned. “And hope that this contact is as loyal to Commander Sylvan as we were led to believe.”

“He’s getting paid to be, isn’t he?” Cassie asked, frowning.

“Yes, that’s the problem. A mercenary who cares only for credit isn’t always the most reliable contact,” Stone said. “In fact—”

He was interrupted by a knock at the door of the shuttle and a voice hissing, “A friend has arrived.”

“Well, that certainly didn’t take long,” Cassie remarked as Stone went to open the door, blaster in hand. “He must have been really close by.”

Stone nodded and opened the door warily, keeping his blaster where the contact could see it.

When the door swung open, they were greeted by the sight of a short, squat humanoid with greenish-gray skin and a snout like a pig’s. He had small, squinty eyes and he was wearing armor made of what looked like lots of crushed tin cans somehow linked together. They rattled whenever he moved.

“I am a friend—a friend!” he hissed, when he saw Stone’s blaster. “Put that away!”

“Let me see your hands,” Stone demanded harshly. “Whose friend are you?”

“I am Pocker, friend of Commander Sylvan,” the pig-man muttered, dropping his voice so that the name was barely audible, even as he raised his empty hands, which had three thick fingers apiece. “Do not keep me waiting outside—we are in danger if anyone sees me helping you.”

“Come in, then, Pocker. But keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Is the trust of the Kindred so little, then?” the pig-man demanded, but he came into the shuttle anyway, still holding up his bare, green-gray hands to show that they were still empty.

“We’ll trust you when you prove you can be trusted,” Stone told him. He sealed the door and pressed a button on the instrument panel, then turned back to their contact. “All right, we’re sealed in a cone of silence. Now talk—Commander Sylvan told us you could help us get jobs in the palace so we could infiltrate Xempi Gozeriam’s inner circle.”

“All I can do is introduce you and vouch for you,” the pig-man protested. “I cannot actually guarantee you will get jobs! What jobs are you wanting, anyway? I sent Commander Sylvan several of the listings and of course, there are always openings for new actors.”