NASTRAGULL: Pirates (29 page)

Alec cut him off. "Does it really matter?"

"Certainly not," Zala said decisively. She stepped over to the desk and handed the precious rod back to Alec reverently; Tobbis returned his a moment later. Before Tobbis had a chance to speak, Zala declared, "I believe I speak for the both of us, sir. You will have anything you need, provide it is within our grasp and you can pay for it...which, obviously, you can." Tobbis nodded his head in consent.

"My aide here," Alec made a sweeping gesture towards Behl, "will give you a list of our needs shortly, but for now I would like to go over your list of local spacers for hire."

Tobbis gaped. "Mr., um, Horn, that would be most difficult. There are rumors of war between the two federations, and most freelancers have either been drafted or enticed into service with huge salaries and bonuses. Finding a full crew of spacers would be nearly impossible, and those available would want exorbitant pay."

Zala nodded. "We have over a hundred vessels stranded in local space due to lack of key personnel." 

"And what of available properties of, shall we say, a sentient nature? I'm sure many such are available here."

"Let us call a spade a spade, shall we?" Zala said icily. "You speak of slaves. We have perhaps thirty thousand on hand, and I have no idea whether any will fit your particular needs. However, we are expecting a shipment of several thousand chattel soon; perhaps we might be able to find something suitable. Both of us will ensure you are among the first to make a selection, prior to the auction. How many space-qualified personnel do you require?"

Alec glanced at Nikko Behl. "Thirty to fifty, I suspect."

"It is possible we have them. We will have to investigate." She gestured to one of her assistants, who stood in the background, staring at Alec in disbelief. The assistant blinked and spoke quietly into his wristcomp.

"You realize that it's not common for us to engage in the slave trade," Tobbis said smoothly, "but we do have a few independent brokers we contract with. Let me investigate the matter further." He snapped his fingers imperiously at one of his own assistants, who immediately went to work, and added, "Zala, what do you say we work closely on this one? It appears that young Mr. Horn intends to work us against each other."

Alec was surprised by Tobbis' frank statement (he was right, of course) and by the consenting gesture from Zala. Neither seemed to care whether or not Alec had been offended; they were all business now.

Zala looked up and said, just as Tobbis was opening his mouth, "How do you intend to pay, Mr. Horn? We require payment before delivery."

Alec pointed at the two silvery bars as Behl retrieved the third, which was still clutched by the unconscious Tota. Behl had to pry it out of the little man's hands; Tota protested weakly but didn't come to.

Zala and Tobbis both had the grace to look embarrassed as Alec handed over the bars. The amount would purchase or hire the spacers Alec needed thousands of times over. He noted their expressions and said, "Hey, I'm just kidding. Take what you need to get my crew, and then deposit the rest into my accounts. And take a hefty cut for yourselves along the way."

Zala and Tobbis brightened as they tucked the tritonium silver away and then attacked their wristcomps. A moment later, Alec glanced at his own to confirm the deposits, and smiled when he saw the new balances. He could practically buy his own planet now...or at least a decent-sized moon. "Ah, I so love doing business," he said breezily. "Now, shall we have lunch?"

Alec walked out of Tota's office without waiting for anyone's reply, followed close by Behl, who took up position as a bodyguard.

Chapter
18

The face in the mirror was horribly mutilated. A tear trickled down as he watched, and when he blinked, his tears squirted straight out onto the mirror. His tear ducts had been either permanently damaged, or were simply being amazingly slow to heal. The Doctor couldn't yet say.

Stupid bloody quack. Should've had her shot years ago.

Zuzack started at his mockery of a face, feeling very sorry for himself. First this horror, and then the mutiny that had torn his crew and his ship apart. And Alexa's apparent betrayal...he might never recover from that. His slough of self-pity was disturbed by the soft ping of a signal in the next room, alerting him of a visitor. The Captain quickly composed himself, blotting the tears with his forearm and cursing at the prickle of the rough fabric.

That rat bastard Hughes was waiting nervously for him when he opened the door. The transgenic's worn clothing was stained with blood, and he'd been under the Doctor's tender care since Zuzack had last seen him. A complex hook had replaced his left hand, and a metallic plate was bolted onto one temple. He handed Zuzack a large black coat covered with white lines and patterns in a complex design. Zuzack nodded and put on the coat, patting the concealed pockets that contained several different types of knives, pistols, and a few small grenades. He stepped out of his quarters, letting the hatch sigh shut behind him.

Besides Mr. Hughes, several officers and an honor guard awaited him outside. All were heavily armed, and they  took up escort position as Zuzack headed down the corridor toward the main docking bay.

The post-mutiny clean-up was still ongoing. Slaves and pirates alike were busily scrubbing the corridors clean of blood and filth, and several side corridors they passed were piled high with stinking corpses. Everyone did their work in silence, and there was an undercurrent of nervous tension running throughout the ship.

Zuzack said roughly, "Hughes, you and Grotech had best have this mess cleaned up by the time I get back." 

"Aye aye, captain," the rat-man said meekly.

"How many were lost to the mutiny?"

"Too many, sir. We have fewer than eight hundred loyal crew still standing..."

Grotech, who had just joined them, cut in, "...and half of them are injured. Doc tells me most of them will survive. If we can send some of them to one of the private hospital stations, then most of them should be back in a week or two."

"Do it," ordered Zuzack. "Spare no expense."

Hughes licked his lips with his damaged tongue and said, "Sir, what about the surviving mutineers? You haven't told us what you're planning to do with them."

Zuzack stopped, causing the officers marching behind him to stack up and collide. Everyone looked at him curiously as he turned toward them, a brutal glint in his eye. "We have lost a great deal on this trip," he growled, "even though we still have most of the spoil left, as well as the ships we took." He paused, glancing at his reflection in a nearby port, and took a deep breath. "Killing them would bring me great satisfaction, make no mistake about that!" he roared. "However," he said more gently, "it would give me
more
pleasure to confiscate their property and sell the traitors on the open market, so we can earn some credits off them. We will soon meet with the Gormé; they always pay the best prices."

Hughes said happily, "So we get rid of them for good, while splitting more loot and earning more money. Genius!"

Zuzack eyed him sourly. "Yes, all the spoil from this campaign will be split among the loyal crew... after my cut, of course."

Everyone cheered Zuzack, and then Grotech asked quietly, "Cap'n, about the cruise liner and the cargo ship. Will they be sold too?"

"Yes, Grotech, we'll sell everything we don't need."

"But that cargo ship could be a valuable asset for us. We could use it to carry our spoil, sir."

"No, Grotech, we can't."

"How is that, sir?" Hughes asked.

Zuzack replied, "We won't need it. Just sell it and all its cargo; it will bring in a fortune. So will the liner, considering that it contains well over eight thousand passengers in cryo-suspension."

The Doc looked puzzled and said, "But, Captain…"

Zuzack glanced at her, smiling thinly. "I assure you, sawbones, we will not need any ship to store our extra spoil in, at least not for a while."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because we are going hunting," answered Zuzack as he began walking away, leaving his fellow pirates standing behind him with puzzled faces. They quickly gathered themselves, realizing that the Captain intended to search for the Oman who had escaped and mutilated him.

"Captain, wait!" shouted Grotech. He loped up to Zuzack, who only began walking faster. "Captain, I implore you to listen to reason. Put a price on the Oman brat's head, but please, don't let him ruin our enterprise."

"I agree, Captain," Doc said breathlessly, as she caught up to them. "With all due respect, please listen to Grotech, sir, if you would. It would be dangerous in the extreme for us to pursue this personal vendetta. I assure you, I know how you feel, and I very much sympathize with you. But it's far too risky, sir, and I doubt the crew will have any of it. There are barely enough of us left to handle the
Bitch
and the prize ships."

Zuzack halted again and looked at her; she ducked her head, but he didn't seem angry, just thoughtful. He shifted his gaze to the stained deck, rubbing his scarified chin thoughtfully. "You don't understand. This isn't about revenge, though I will certainly have that when we find him. What the little Oman took from me is worth more than anything I know of in the universe—and I'm not referring to my face. I mean to get it all back."

Hughes and the other escorts joined them, and to a man, their puzzled attention was on their Captain. He looked up abruptly and said, "Trust me for now, shipmates. You will not lose any credits in this. In fact, you may take my entire share for this run and split it among yourselves and the loyal crew. But there is a catch: for that, you must pledge several more years of contracted service. And don't you worry—should we run across more spoil, then believe you me, we shall take it."

One by one the officers walked up to Zuzack and grabbed hold of his huge right arm, swearing their unswerving loyalty for three more years.

"No, not three. Five more Galactic years," Zuzack said, as he looked each of them in the eye, one by one. All nodded their acquiescence. "Very good, then we have an accord. Hughes and Grotech, make the proper entry in the ship's log and make sure everyone signs off on it. And you, Doctor: I want you to ensure that the best-quality slaves who still live are in an excellent shape before we take them to the traders. They must not be soiled or damaged in any way. Anyone who abuses the cargo before we auction them off, and I mean anyone, will be sold to the Gormé. You, Hughes, find the best auction house in these parts, but leave the Gormé traders to me."

"May I inquire which of the cargo will be sold to the Gormé?" Hughes asked superciliously.

"I will make that decision when we get down to the cargo holds."

Hughes cleared his throat. "You are aware that we can't sell to them any individual who has been frozen for space travel, or who has too many stimmed or cloned replacement parts. The Gormé traders won't buy anything unless it's fresh."

Zuzack walked into a large elevator, cursing as he kicked aside half a corpse that was blocking the door.

"Since when won't they buy frozen food?" muttered Zuzack, as he and his men crowded into the lift. 

Hughes said, "I'm not sure, sire but in this sector they only buy fresh. Even if a corpsicle has been revived successfully, they won't buy it if there's evidence the product has been in a frozen state in the past year or so. Might I suggest we find a reputable independent trader for the passengers in cryo-suspension?"

The elevator door opened and Zuzack stalked out, followed by the others. "Very well. Then we will only offer them the ones from the VIP section."

"Does that include, um, your daughter?" Doc asked, immediately biting her tongue when she saw Zuzack's expression.

"She is not my daughter and has never been, for all I treated her like one. I trained her in the ways of the clan, prepared her for the hardships in life, and educated her...and this is how she repays me." He glared at the Doctor. "Put her and her sluttish friend Nina up for sale to the Gormé."

"I wouldn't do that," Doc said quickly. "They're too skinny to make much of a meal for those monsters, so you'd be better off selling them as chattel. Nina for one would make a fine concubine. After all, she comes from a system where the art of seduction is a part of their nature, and she could be pitched as an outstanding pleasure slave, bringing us a lot of credits."

Zuzack thought for a moment, then said decisively, "Very well, sell Nina as a bed slut, but Alexa still goes to a Gormé trader..." He looked thoughtful again, then abruptly changed his mind. "No, the Gormé are too good for her. I have a better idea."

Doc shook her head, as Hughes licked his lips and smiled.

The little girl ran for her life. No more than ten years old, she was dressed in the rags of a nightdress, her wet hair swinging wildly in front of her face and blurring her vision. Her brothers and sisters were chasing her, laughing cruelly, murder in their eyes.

She was hiding inside a closet, trembling and trying to not be heard as she cried. She didn't understand why everyone she loved hated her; and when the closet door opened, she raised her hands in the air and screamed for her mother to help her. But it was her siblings who stood outside the door waiting for her. She covered herself with her arms in an attempt to protect herself.