Chapter 1
The Legacy of Suleiman
Asmara was a small desert moon orbiting
its gas giant parent at a distance just great enough to put it outside the
planet’s radioactive reach. It was a cold, dusty little place, barely capable
of supporting microbic life. Yet it did have one thing in its favor, its
location. Asmara was in the gray zone, an area of space almost central to the
six worlds. None dared lay claim to it and consequently it was free of all
outside authority. That was why the crime syndicates built their Pleasure Dome
there, and in the two decades after the Dark Age Wars it flourished.
It was here, at one of the casino
tables, the last three players of a merciless card game studied their hands.
Two of them, a human and a reptilian Tuolon, were far from happy, glaring
angrily at the third player as he whistled out a tuneless melody. If Sillow had
been human, he would have been judged to be no more than fourteen. He wasn’t;
he was a Sylvan, and his childlike face and adolescent build were quite normal
for his twenty-five years.
As he looked over his cards from
beneath a shock of dark green hair, only his large eyes were visible. It was
just as well, for his lips moved frantically as he mentally played through the
possible scenarios.
Finally he gave a little nod and placed
his cards face down. He took his cigar from the ashtray and began puffing
heavily on it. The human, a skinny man with pockmarked features, ran a hand
over two day’s stubble,
“Make your damn move,” he growled. “If
you’ve got the goods, show them.”
Sillow shrugged. “Hey, give me a break
Garrick,” he replied in his soft, musical voice. “You can’t rush something like
this.”
He looked at his cards again, studying
them as he blew smoke rings in the air. His little feet tapped all the while on
the hard marble floor.
His fellow players regarded him with
extreme irritation, and the human came to the decision the Sylvan was playing
mind games with them. The truth though was far different. Sillow was scared and
was trying to decide how best to safely extricate himself and the credits he
needed from his present circumstances.
Although he couldn’t say why, he was
certain now the Tuolon was a professional assassin here to kill him. His would
be killer even blew his ship up to stop him escaping.
Since then the little Sylvan had been
busy at the tables making the money he needed to get a freighter off the Dome.
There was a royal summons to answer and he’d delayed too long already. The
message was just one word, Suleiman.
“Okay, ready,” he finally announced.
“You want to see this hand it’ll cost you…” he paused for effect, “six more
credits.”
The human thought hard for a moment,
shook his head then threw the chips into the pot in the middle of the table.
“Damn your pointy green ears,” he
growled. “You take me on this hand and I lose the whole pay from my last haul.”
Sillow turned to the Tuolon. “What
about you, En’n?” he asked, knowing his reptilian companion was more than out
of his depth. The leathery area around the Tuolon’s eyes tightened and he
opened his canine like jaws to reply. His physiology prevented him from forming
Amalgam words, the common language used between the races. Instead he was
forced to rely on the electronic collar at his neck.
“Not enough credits,” he answered in a
synthesized voice, “but stay, watch.”
Sillow shook his head. “Sorry. You know
the rules. You fold, you leave.” He waved his cigar towards the exit.
“Bye.”
“Stay,” the reptile hissed.
“Can’t do that,” Sillow told him.
The Tuolon thrust a clawed finger at
the Sylvan. “I do not take orders from a weak creature like you,”
Sillow blew a cloud of smoke directly
at the huge reptile. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to.”
The Tuolon’s lip curled away from his
razor teeth. “I will…”
“What?” Sillow asked, placing a shaking
hand to his cigar as he feigned a calmness he didn’t feel. “You’ll kill me?”
The Tuolon’s anger was growing, Sillow
realized; now was the moment to push him past his limited self-restraint.
“Get lost!” he said.
The human gasped, pushing his chair
away from the table. The Tuolon got to his feet, his powerful frame shaking
with fury. “I will kill you,” he hissed.
Sillow felt his heart beating like a
jack hammer. He was ready to bolt at the reptile’s slightest move. A faint hum
of a sentinel though told him his plan was working. The spherical droid
appeared above them.
Sensors flashed as it monitored
everything in its immediate environment, heart rate, respiration, hormonal skin
level. Its three red optics trained on the Tuolon.
“You have indicated a desire to commit
violence,” it stated in a cold, metallic voice. “Is this assessment correct?”
The reptile stared up at the black
sphere. “Not correct,” he answered, nostrils flaring. “No threat.” His chest
heaved as he answered.
“No threat here,” Sillow added,
reaching over and giving the assassin a pat on the arm.
“My friend though was under the
impression you can remain at the table even if you aren’t playing.”
“Negative,” the sentinel replied. It
positioned itself in front of the Tuolon, laser banks flashing dangerously.
“State your intention,” it ordered.“Do you wish to continue with your hand or
fold?”
With a huge effort the Tuolon sat down.
“Play,” he replied.
Sillow looked the reptile over. “What
can you bet with?” he asked.
He leaned back, tapping a finger on his
cheek. “You’re almost out credits. How about jewelry?” He looked at En’n’s
simple animal hide armor, “no.” He frowned, then snapped his fingers. “I know,”
he announced, pretending the idea had just come to him, “your ship.” The Tuolon
gave a start.
Sillow took a puff on the cigar. “Yeah,
I could really do with one, you see…” He fixed the Tuolon with a meaningful
look. “Some scum bag blew mine up.”
“Do you agree to this wager?” the
Sentinel asked in its emotionless voice.
Sillow watched En’n’s discomfort with
satisfaction. The Tuolon, he knew, could not afford to lose his ship, but he
could also not afford to let his prey out of his sight either. It was, after
all, frustration with his elusive quarry which forced him to the card table in
the first place.
The Tuolon nodded, fury burning in his
black eyes. “Okay,” he said. “I bet.”
Sillow turned to the human. “You’re a
witness to this right, Garrick?”
The man sighed. “Guess so,” he replied.
“I am also a witness to the wager,” the
sentinel added. “If the Sylvan wins the hand, the docking bay computer will be
informed the ship has a new owner.”
There was a pause, small lights
flashing as the sentinel conveyed the message.
“Proceed.”
The man gave a shrug of his bony
shoulders. “What the hell,” he groaned. He threw his cards down, four of a
kind. The Tuolon gave a soft grunt then threw down a superior straight. The man
let out a despairing cry and slumped back in his chair.
Sillow’s childlike face was unreadable.
He shrugged and scratched his cheek in an absent minded way as he regarded the
cards in front of him. “Oh, well,”he said after some moments, “guess that makes
me the winner.” He flashed his reptilian opponent a smile then laid down a
royal flush.
En’n froze, unblinking. His chest rose
and fell dangerously, and his fists clenched so tightly his claws cut into his
palms. The sentinel, Sillow knew, would be monitoring all this. It was time to
push his adversary over the edge. He took a long draw on his cigar and blew a
stream of smoke in his direction.
“Bad luck, En’n, and so long,” he said
scooping the pile of credits towards him. He put them into the leather pouch
around his waist.
“How do you say it in Tuolon? Ah, yes…”
he finished putting the last of the credits away and leaned forward. “Ekarak,”
he hissed in a bad imitation of the warrior farewell.
To the cold logic of the sentinel there
was nothing provocative in these words, but Sillow knew such familiar language
from one not of the Tuolon warrior caste would infuriate the reptile.
The assassin roared in fury and,
forgetting all other considerations, swung at the Sylvan’s throat with his
lethal claws. Sillow, however, with the quick reflexes of his race, backed out
of range. En’n, his attempt frustrated, plunged into a berserker rage and began
to swing out wildly in all directions.
Sillow pushed Garrick’s chair
backwards, sending its occupant sprawling to the floor. En’n now lunged for
Sillow. Before he could close the
distance though, the sentinel fired an energy bolt, sending the reptile
crashing unconscious to the floor.
The black metallic body turned, a large
optic focused on Sillow. “State your name and when you wish to depart.”
“Silla Low,” the Sylvan answered, “and
I plan on leaving right now.”
A wave flickered over the sentinel as
lights flashed on and off in succession. “I have made the arrangements. Take
your winnings and depart.”
Sillow needed no prompting. He was
about to leave when he caught the haunted, despairing expression on Garrick’s
face. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a handful of credits, far more
than the man was able to count.
“Tell you what,” he said, throwing them
down onto the table. “I only stopped off at the Dome to pick up a fresh supply
of cigars. How about you pick me up a couple months’ supply?”
The man, still flat on his back,
managed a small nod.
Sillow wiped the sweat from his brow.
“That should more than cover it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really have to be somewhere.”
~ * ~
The Tuolon ship was a sleek craft,
built like a needle with a power core capable of great speed. He could make it
to Sylvan in less than a day in this thing. There were, however, two big
problems. The first was a good, working knowledge of the Tuolon language was
necessary to operate the complex controls, as opposed to the few phrases he
knew. The second was it was a two man ship, possibly three. There was no way he
could pilot this thing alone.
Sillow gave a soft curse as he ran the
problem through his mercurial mind. He brought a small fist down on the control
panel in frustration. He had no choice but to hawk it at a low enough price to
make a quick sale. Doing so, however, would mean more delay and danger too. The
assassin En’n might be safely locked up, but whoever he was working with
wasn’t.
Decision made, he rushed out of the
craft and headed off in the direction of the barter quarters. The portcullis
like doors opened automatically and Sillow rushed through. Two Tuolons were waiting
for him. Smaller in stature than En’n and clearly not the fearsome killer their
master was, they were nevertheless a frightening sight, especially for the
diminutive Sylvan. The doors slammed shut behind him.
“The master’s ship,” one of them rasped.
“Return it to us.” The reptile made a motion for him to step back inside. “Only
you have access,” he went on, “give us the codes.”
Sillow realized it was all over if he
did. What could he do? He’d never learned to fight and had no idea how to use
the compact staff he carried on his belt. Even if he did, he seriously doubted
he could have taken these two on anyway. His only advantage was his speed, but
to make it work he needed to get some space between them and him.
“Computer,” he said, turning his head
to speak into the voice com, “this is Silla Low,” he took a deep breath, then
“…help!”
A warning siren sounded in response to
his cry. The Tuolons panicked. One reached out to grab him, lunging forward.
Sillow timed his move carefully. He jumped up onto his larger opponent’s
outstretched leg and somersaulted over him.
Before either of the Tuolons could
react, Sillow was sprinting away down the corridor. “Help!” he screamed again,
this time at the top of his voice,“somebody…anybody.”
The Tuolons turned and raced after him
but soon realized keeping up with their quarry amongst the labyrinthine
corridors would be no easy matter.
Sillow never slowed, even as he heard
his pursuers’ footsteps growing fainter behind him. Eventually though,
curiosity overcame terror and he chanced a look behind him. He should have
looked ahead for it was then he ran into the wall.
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