Argent's Menagerie

By Christopher Clouser

Argent Aquilus, the best mercenary pilot in the system, is always searching for the next score. Argent's ship, the Menagerie, houses a wild crew of an assassin, a zealot, a telepath, a shapeshifter, and a sentient droid. They scrape out a living while avoiding the watchful eye of the Triastram Planetary Council, led by Argent's brother Preus, and other authorities in their region of space.
Anxious for the next payday, Argent takes a job from an unknown client for a secret payload. When the crew discovers their prize is an illegal world-killing fusion-charge and their customer a known terrorist, they deliver the cargo to save their lives and avoid prison, like any good mercs.
Argent and his crew undergo self-examination and coercion after some powerful "friends" capture them. They are offered a chance to defuse the terrorist's plans and avoid the death of another planet, or face life in the mines of Monger. Success requires a reconciliation of family tensions while rebuilding trust with those on the other side of the law.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Clouser
• Release date: Aug 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223062448

Book preview

1

A Heist in the Hurricane

Triastram Chronastamp: 001249:04:15:12:15

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The thud of a Terraxian body hitting the floor filled the aggrieved party’s quarters aboard the warship known as the Hurricane.  An electric shock knocked the large male of the ridge backed and heavily scaled race unconscious.  He still breathed deeply even after an attack sufficient to kill most others. 

Argent Aquilus Second-Feather, Argent to his small crew and even smaller number of friends, stood over the body with the crackling shockspear.  To verify unconsciousness, Argent kicked the body with his right lower dactyl.  The ugly cuss might be faking.

Argent mumbled to the nonresponsive body.  You are lucky I’m a mercenary with a conscience.  Anybody else in my crew would have killed you without a second thought.

Argent killed only when no other alternatives existed.  Even though a mercenary unfitting of his family’s rank, he held an unspoken moral code.  He was entitled to hold himself to a standard, especially if others did not.

A beep from his sci-watch brought his attention back to the mission.  The device identified a particular energy signature, hopefully from his desired prize, emanating from a corner armoire with a full-length mirror.

Argent warily walked to the piece and caressed the armoire like a newborn pet.  His sensitive talons and feathers searched for imperfections or hidden latches, finding none.  No keypads or locks prevented him from opening the cabinet.  Argent swung the door and discovered the reason he boarded the Hurricane, a Phantori requiem cube. 

Ah, the rush of stealing something precious.

Argent admired the intricate white runes carved into the black, porous block.  He traced his feathered fingers over the surface of the artifact from a lost world.  Heat, pressure, smoothness, and grit on the surface of the cube, remnants of its previous owners, teased his senses.  Argent pushed the cube into his breast pocket and zipped it closed to keep the prize safe.

I hope she appreciates this.

Argent closed the cabinet and peered at his reflection in the mirror.  The image revealed how ruffled his silver feathers were and his lean nature testified to his recent diet.  Thoughts drifted to a possible trip to Aviara, his home world, to enjoy home-cooked meals and regain a semblance of good health. 

The sci-watch beeped and refocused Argent on the job at hand.

Argent checked the status of the incapacitated Terraxian and moved to his second task, the one for which he was hired and why the rest of his crew boarded the ship.  He found an access point to the ship’s computer network.  Argent opened another pocket and pulled out a metal shard twice the length of his foredactyl.  With a quick magnetic pull, the shard shot into the interface and disappeared.  Immediately, the computer junction lit up and performed a series of unknown actions.

Argent tapped the com-device in his ear to talk with the crew aboard the Menagerie, his spaceship currently attached to the hull of the Hurricane.

Tex, it’s in.  You see anything yet?

Tex, proper designation of TX-187 and the partially sentient droid aboard the Menagerie, responded with a beep.  A message flashed across the sci-watch, indicating TX-187 now owned access to the entire Terraxian ship’s network and any valuable data.

I’ll trust you to get what you can.  Show me where the others are.

The time to gather the crew for their dramatic escape arrived.  A detailed map of the Hurricane appeared on the screen of the sci-watch as four dots blinked into existence.  Two traveled together and one appeared transfixed near the hidden airlock, the designated exit point and the only thing connecting the Menagerie to the Hurricane.  The other dot was Argent.

An ounce of pressure on his mind informed Argent that someone wanted his attention.  Orvyn, the crew’s Scarabite and resident telepath, facilitated mindlinks between the crew to support radio silence on their jobs.  Argent blocked his thoughts from the mindlink for the moment.

Argent checked on the downed Terraxian one more time.

You should have let me win the bid and saved us both a lot of trouble.

Argent opened his mind to the mindlink.  Orvyn, connect me to Fen only.

You got it, boss.

Fen, you there?

Yes, everything is ready on my end.  I’ll meet you near the airlock, dear.  See you soon.

Good to hear.  Orvyn, open the mindlink to everyone.

Argent mastered the mindlink through discipline, practice, and help from a friend.  Actually, a paramour from Dryax who shared a few tricks.  Argent relaxed that control, and the mindlink hit him.  A split second later, his brain formed a mental connection with his crew.

I’m back on.  Is everyone in position?

A chorus of affirmative responses flooded the mental bond.

Argent looked at the timer on his sci-watch.  We have less than ten minutes in this cycle.  Hustle back to the rendez-vous point in two minutes.

Argent recognized Rocker’s polite voice through the mindlink.  No one would guess he was a stone-cold killer.

Did you find what you needed, friend Argent?

Rocker, focus on the escape from this Terraxian piece of trash.  The cube was a secret.  The curt response by Argent reflected a pang of guilt for not confiding in his crew.  Argent concealed his thoughts of guilt from the mindlink as he raced toward escape.  Though he determined it was worth the risk, Argent broke their trust, and they didn’t question his intentions. 

The Terraxians, far more concerned with the distraction to cover the mission, remained clueless about the true aspirations of the heist.  Real success meant not realizing they were robbed until long after Argent and his ship departed from the sector.

The fact his crew killed five of the reptilian sailors commanded respect from the spiked-throated serpents chasing them through the metal hamster tunnels.  The aliens respected killing, when necessary, but theft drew their ire as a cowardly and disrespectful act.  Thieves deserved a painful death by the most agonizing means possible; torture followed by an icy suffocation in the vacuum of space.  Because of that, Argent feared being trapped aboard this ship. 

Argent ran through the hall and followed the schematics on the sci-watch until he joined his crew at a T-intersection within the Hurricane’s innards.  They acknowledged him in the mindlink, and he focused on the departure with an immediate decision; left, or right?  The deadline neared, as every second created an ever-narrowing window for escape. 

The Menagerie crew sped through the guts of the alien spaceship.  Their path illuminated only by red emergency powered markers on the floor of a shadow filled maze.  Light was unnecessary to sense the beasts following them. Terraxian’s razor-sharp claws provided a soul crushing clacking cacophony on the metal floor. The noise from the tapping talons exceeded the volume of the ear-splitting clarion from the emergency sirens. As annoying as the sights and sounds of the vessel were, cloying smells of molted reptilian flesh and excrement were more crippling.  Terraxians relished in their lack of hygiene. 

Frantic looks and perspiration emphasized the crew’s thoughts with only the constant slapping of Kraxam’s feet and Rocker’s tentacles providing a break from the clattering.  Kraxam, a Draconi and former slave of the Monger Conglomerate, stood over eight derets in height and brandished claws sharp enough to slice the steel walls.  Rocker, a walking Octiopod and trained assassin from the planet of Elmari, wore a plexi-glass helmet because he required water to breathe. 

The Terraxian ship featured rotating rings and arms that shifted on a consistent schedule.  The next rotation occurred in a matter of minutes.  If the team missed their exit point, the next window for escape arrived thirty minutes out, an unsurvivable period on the Hurricane for the thieves.

Which way, Orvyn? thought Argent.

Left, but you have company that way.

Argent pointed left as a visual guide for the team in the dim red light of the hallway.  His silver feathers flashed in the darkened hall like a beacon. He fell behind as the others raced through the corridor.  Orvyn, tell Tex to get the ship ready to launch.  We are incoming in thirty seconds.  Argent’s hand found a solid square hidden inside his breast pocket, a reminder of why they were aboard this ship.  His gut rumbled from the guilt.

Argent trusted that aboard the Menagerie, TX-187 already pre-programmed the launch sequence, as well as the air lock withdrawal, while waiting for the crew.  He also knew TX-187 programmed the pickup for the cargo to complete the job and the jump into the nearest lightspeed lane.  From his experience, Argent assumed that TX-187 also calculated the time to complete the entire sequence to judge the crew’s performance.

Back aboard the Hurricane, the crew reached the last corner of the maze. A thump resulted as an unseen body bounced off the metal wall when Kraxam, the golden armored Draconi, ran into something transparent. 

Hey! came from an invisible bystander with a female voice.  I’m lucky you didn’t kill me.

The voice belonged to Fen, a Phantori with the abilities to become invisible and shapeshift.  As part of the plan, Fen boarded the Hurricane at the prior space dock.  Then, once the team blitzed aboard the ship and distracted the crew of the Hurricane, she freed the desired cargo from the hold.  A crazy plan that worked several times in the past. 

Kraxam reacted harshly and roared out of instinct to the surprise.

Fen lifted her invisibility, and the girth of the Draconi dwarfed her.  She was nearly as tall as Argent, but her Phantori body appeared narrower, like an image stretched slightly out of proportion.  Fen’s cerulean eyes shined as her lithe red body stood with hands on her hips, daring Kraxam to do something.

Argent’s courage rose with a glimpse of the shiny blue irises.  Fen had that effect on him.

Kraxam and his gold battle armor indignantly muscled past Fen, ignoring her defiance.  Beneath the armor was the build of a cement block of scales and muscle.  Argent, unsurprisingly, hired the Draconi to manage situations that required more than finesse, even though he had other talents.  Only Kraxam and Argent knew the entire story behind his recruitment, an undisclosed tale within the crew.

Look where you’re running, little dragon.  I’ve been waiting here for the last ten minutes.  What took you so long?

The Draconi smiled and used the mental link to respond.  Ran into some problems.  Still getting rid of the evidence.  Kraxam reinforced the gory image by licking the remains from one of his claws.

The entire team gave pause at the visual.  On the ship, Orvyn dry heaved.

Gross.  I don’t understand how I share a ship with you.  Fen stated what the rest of the crew felt and received affirmations from others via the mental link.

Argent emphasized his thoughts to bring the team back to order.  You two zip it.  Don’t break silence again, or we will be toast.  We need to reach our ship now.  They are right behind us, and the next tube rotation happens soon.  Escape is down this hallway.

Argent asked through the mental link, Fen, what’s the status?

The prize is dangling outside the cargo hold from a Monger alloy cable.  Thanks to you all, I dropped the container with no one noticing.  She mockingly fluttered her eyelashes toward Argent as she delivered the reply.

Argent ignored the flirtatious gesture.  Good.  We don’t have a second chance.

Rocker cerebrated, You two need a room when we finish, my friends.

More than one stray, Ew, escaped across the mindlink.

The group hesitated before rounding the last corner.  At the end of the hallway, a three-dimensional illusion concealed the airlock behind an imaginary hatch door. 

Argent turned his head nearly 180 degrees around the corner, a benefit of his Aviaran physiology, and ascertained the resistance between them and their escape; nine Terraxians.  He cursed into the telepathic link.  The number of bodies appeared reasonable; time was the enemy.  He required guile and finesse to speed up their departure.

The tension seeped through the mindlink, and the doubts of everyone about a successful outcome created a muddled view within the mental connection.

Argent collected their minds, Everyone sharpen up.  We will make it through this.  He turned to his beloved.  Fen, your time to shine. 

The shapeshifter smiled at the crew as she became a Terraxian warrior, complete with spikes growing out of the neck, a trait the most senior of the species carried.  The green skin and gaseous sulfur emitting from her body completed the charade.

She winked at Argent.  No problem, sweetheart.  Am I pretty enough for you?  An obvious, but sarcastic, pinprick.

A couple of stray mental laughs filled the telepathic connection, and the haze lifted as the tension lowered.

Fen ran into the hallway, yelling in Terraxian. Have you seen the intruders?  Reports said they came this way.

The utterances resembled a jumble of odd noises to the Menagerie’s crew because none of the team spoke Terraxian and their translator coms remained on the Menagerie. 

One guard replied with a series of grunts and groans.  Translated, it meant, No sir.  That hallway is the only exit.

Fen continued the ruse with an order. One of you stay with me to protect this end of the ship.  The rest of you try to pin them down.  We will follow as we clear each section.

Yes, sir, replied one soldier.

Argent turned and mentally asked a question.  Rocker, can you pierce their hides?

The Elmari responded with a move reminiscent of a thumbs up from one of his tentacles.  Something resembling a smile, or as close as his razor-sharp beak could offer, showed through his plexi-helmet.  The Terraxians were renowned for their thick hides, but few bodies could withstand the Elmari’s venomous sting.

Let them run by.  If you must, eliminate them with no commotion.  We need to evacuate without raising a ruckus.

Orvyn quipped through the mindlink. You already blew that option, boss.

Argent disregarded the comment and looked at the timer on his wrist, under sixty seconds until the rotation.

The Terraxians nearly passed the group because of their haste and the shadow from abysmal lighting.  One caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye and yelled in surprise and the sound of shattering rocks hit their ears.  The large Elmari pounced from his hidden position before the victims realized they were attacked.  Rocker spun his tentacles as blue spikes projected outward and stung each of the targets as his muscular, cup-covered appendages waved and found their quarry with the subtlest jab from each venomous arm.  Rocker efficiently completed his appointed task. 

The Terraxians fell to their apparent death in less than three seconds with no harm to their opponents. The move reaffirmed Rocker’s reputation as the most feared assassin in the Triastram sector.

Argent motioned the group forward, and they turned the corner.  At the end of the hall, Fen reverted to her normal, maroon-skinned form and stood over the fallen Terraxian.  Her victim, triple the size of the shapeshifter, obviously died from a neck turned at an awkward angle. 

Fen wiped her hands, as if brushing away dirt.

Argent ran past her and asked, Clean break?

Of course, sweetheart.  And you broke silence.  She winked to add her typical flirtatious flourish to the response.

Argent hit a concealed button on the image projector with his four-clawed hand and revealed the sealed air lock.  Argent and the crew hurried into the opening.  The noise of interlocking gears and joints moving within the walls commenced just as they reached safety.  The tube rotation began and blocked off any chance of the Terraxians to follow while conveniently concealing their escape point until the next rotation.

Argent watched the passage to ensure no Terraxians attacked them from behind.  As the opening closed from the tube rotation, another lifeform raced toward the escape hatch.  The stranger reached out as if they wanted to desperately board the Menagerie.  They screamed in a language that surprised Argent.  Before he could react, the individual disappeared behind the metal hide of the Hurricane.

Did he yell something in Dryaxan?

Knowing he could do nothing, Argent hit the button on the inside of the hatch to close the air lock and match the pressure of the Menagerie.  The pressurization filled their ears as the tube opened and the ship released.  The team returned to the Menagerie on the doorstep of victory.

The airlock spilled out onto the scaffolding that ran around the Menagerie’s second level.  At the end of the walkway was the cockpit entrance. Below, and accessed via a metal staircase, was the cargo bay.  Rocker and Kraxam headed below to prepare the cargo bay for the next part of their mission, picking up the container.

After stepping aboard, Argent raced to the cockpit and said, Tex, fire the engines.

As the pilot entered the cockpit, the droid hit the green button and set the mark for fifty-five seconds to freedom.  The countdown flashed on the view screen.

Argent took his seat when his co-pilot, Fen, arrived directly behind him.  We need to discuss the flirting back there.

Orvyn and TX-187 greeted the duo as they entered the cockpit.  Orvyn, just under a deret in height, jumped onto the shoulder of Fen for his usual spot during the ship’s flight.  They maneuvered around the droid, in his typical position within the navigation console, to her co-pilot’s chair.

TX-187 took up a square of three derets.  Its body moved on four wheels at the bottom and featured two long skeletal arms of heavy Monger metal and a spherical globe as a head with makeshift optical sensors for eyes.

You speak Terraxian? asked Argent as the automatic harness strapped him into the pilot’s chair.

There are several things you still don’t know about me, love.

You scare the dung out of me sometimes.  You are a dangerous woman, Fen.  Or is that just another disguise?

Let’s get the cargo and then we can talk.

Argent grabbed the control stick.  Tex, how long?

TX-187 rolled a message across the heads-up dash screen.  Even with A.I., the robot had limited abilities to converse.  The message read, Menagerie tractor beam engaged.  Haul will be within the cargo bay in twenty seconds.

Argent opened the mindlink. Rocker, you in the cargo hold yet?

Rocker’s dulcet voice carried the sound of water running whenever he expressed thoughts in the mindlink, a phenomenon of his species.  We almost have the cargo.  We will shut the door in five seconds.  Friend Tex is a few seconds behind.  Probably needs a tune-up at our next port of call.

Argent replied to the bot, Rocker thinks you need a tune-up.

A whir of protest came from the nearly sentient droid.

Argent believed the comment hurt the droid’s feelings, if an A.I. entity possessed such things.

A sensor on the command console beeped, signifying the door closed and sealed the ship from outside.  Argent verified that information before taking off.  Is the bay door shut?

Yes, let’s get out of here.  And tell Friend Tex, we are always glad to outperform its estimates.

Fen looked at TX-187. Guess we beat your time, buddy.  We win.

TX-187 whirred and flashed another message across the screen, trying to avoid the topic of the miscalculated estimate.

The Terraxian ship is firing up lasers.  Evasive maneuvers.

The Terraxian lasers gave Argent little concern.  He took the control stick and navigated the ship manually as his taloned feet feathered the pedals on the floor.  None aboard, except for Fen, realized Argent took over from the autopilot; the transition felt that smooth.  Argent exhibited his talent as the best space pilot in their sector, a natural gift from his Aviaran genetics, aboard his beloved ship. 

The Menagerie, a customized mid-size rig, featured specialized thrusters and other enhancements that allowed for increased maneuverability unseen in other ships of this style.  For defensive purposes, the Menagerie featured top-line shield and stealth capabilities, both courtesy of Argent and some engineering skill.

Fen, Orvyn, and TX-187 went into silent mode as Argent flew the ship, knowing he worked best in the quiet.  TX-187 provided the direction from which the lasers fired; the only intel Argent needed.  He jumped into sub-light speed and thrusted away from the Terraxian ship in an arc.  The Menagerie subtly rotated as it circled the main hub of the Hurricane to avoid the enemy’s lasers.  Argent used the Terraxian ship as a barrier from the attack and launched straight into space to escape the enemy. 

The Terraxian ship attempted a pursuit a few seconds later, but it did not matter.

Argent watched the view screen to observe the gap behind the ship on his left.  The Menagerie escaped the large metallic ship of three wheels, rotating around a core in tripartite spin.  He wondered what system the Terraxians might travel to next to inflict their form of conquest.  He hoped to avoid any tussles with them in the near future.

The crew of the Menagerie completed the job.  Now, they just had to collect their fee for another successful mission.

TX-187 signaled the move to light speed as the liquid plasma fueled fusion engines revved.  Argent pushed the accelerator lever forward, and the Menagerie approached the lightspeed lane before their enemy responded with weapons or an adjustment to their flight path.  The ship jumped, as if it skipped a moment in time, and everything froze while gravity released the ship from its grip.  Any loose items in the cockpit floated for a half-second.  The gravity reengaged as the ship roared to top velocity and entered the lightspeed lane. 

The Terraxians lacked the speed or ability to track the Menagerie.  To Argent’s knowledge, few could. 

Chart, scatter chart Description automatically generated

2

Talking Heads in a White Room

Triastram Chronastamp: 001249:04:15:14:30

Preus, the Aviaran ambassador to the Triastram Planetary Council, carried a hot cup of caffeinated miramocha, a water-based drink boiled with herbs and beans.  The ambassador cautiously hooked the cup with his golden-brown talon, careful to not spill the drink on the floor or himself.  He arrived first and sat in his customary seat at the meeting table, where others looked to him for decisions. His early arrival always hinted at the importance of the day’s topics.

Preus breathed in the room’s ambiance and the scent of his drink as he criticized the sterile white décor with rounded edges.  He preferred the original wooden and stone design; the texture of the prior materials provided a sense of reality.  Each piece contained imperfections that told a story and reminded Preus of his home on Aviara.  This modern style conveyed artificial perfection and a false image that belied the genuine problems of the Capitol Moon. 

Preus looked at his reflection on the table’s surface and saw the golden scar down his cheek, partially hidden by auburn feathers.  The imperfection from a childhood accident remained omnipresent to him, even after many years.  The rest of his winged body carried a hint of excess weight, mostly because of the sedentary nature of his position.

Preus placed his electrotablet on the table and drank the last bit of miramocha.  He pressed a button, and a projected image filled the table with a cartograph of the surrounding twelve sectors of Triastram space.  Small flickers and colorful blips identified certain curiosities of note being monitored across the large swath of space.  Preus understood their meaning based on the most recent security meeting, one where he was the only ambassador present.  He memorized the few beacons that were new while waiting for his peers.

Two new arrivals entered the conference room: an engineer necessary to work the equipment used during the meeting followed by a fellow ambassador.  Preus did not recognize the obviously Aviaran engineer.  He placed him as a member of the Raven clans because of the long, midnight purple feathers and the larger yellow beak not concealed by the customary security outfit, a new reminder of Aviara in this palace of perfection.

They nodded as acknowledgment of each other.

Preus refreshed his electrotablet and scratched a quick scribble to note the change in technical support, part of his ritual documentation of every detail from these meetings.  The trivial matters cleared up differences of opinion and kept everyone honest, an onerous chore in a room of politicians.

Behind the engineer entered Saradine, the representative from the planet of Dryax.  Saradine sported long, curly black hair that almost covered his most dominant feature, three eyes across the forehead.  He wore traditional purple robes with swirls of violet to offer depth to the ceremonial garment worn to committee meetings.  His pale, long fingers were steepled in front of him as he gave a slight bow to Preus, showing his respect.  Pointed ears barely escaped the black mane atop his head.   Only the most observant looked beyond the multiple rings and baubles Saradine wore; the ornate jewelry’s primary job was distraction.  Preus recognized them as such and knew Saradine was not someone to trifle with. 

To be polite, Preus waved his hand in recognition and Saradine claimed his usual seat. 

Good day, Saradine.  How is the family?

Thank you for asking, Preus.  My wife believes our child is possessed, but other than that, we are well.

Preus responded with a slight, knowing chuckle.  Having first-hand experience with Saradine’s child, possession presented itself as a distinct possibility.

Shortly after, the last two of their group arrived, Lorthok, the Monger Conglomerate representative, and Hardback of the planet Elmar.

Lorthok dressed in clothing made from the most expensive fabrics available.  The suit, composed of navy panels and orange pinstripes, appeared three sizes too small. His shoulders split the seams of the jacket and the muscular body of the Ironpig ripped the slacks.  His pocket square, a mismatched color that evoked chartreuse, was imprecisely placed inside its home.  Lorthok, hopelessly color blind, looked ridiculous in the outfit, but none thought him a fool and saw him as anything but.  His knowledge of the latest technology and weapons rose above everyone in the room, except for Preus. 

Hardback, the exact opposite of Lorthok, wore just enough clothing to not offend others, but reflected modesty in his approach.  Methodical might even be the correct word.  The Testudine moved slower than others because of the shell that covered his back, a trademark of his species.  The pattern on his shell, the solitary source of pride for the ambassador, represented his family lineage.  Slow to speak, but always direct and to the point, Hardback held no ill will toward his peers.  Everyone in this room felt the same for the Elmari ambassador.

Preus rose and welcomed them. Good morning.  I hope you enjoyed your trip to your home worlds over the last two weeks.

Hardback grinned.  I found the trip enjoyable.  Thank you for asking, friend Preus.

Monger remains hot and dusty, and I loved it.  You should come with me next time, Preus.  The winds provide an enjoyable flight; if you survive the heat.

Perhaps next time, Lorthok.  Shall we get started?  Our schedules are bogged down today.  Preus waited for his fellow ambassador’s approval.

The others signaled for the engineer to manipulate the display, and he pressed a few buttons to project a three-dimensional hologram above the table. 

Zoom in on Triastram to start, please.

The engineer typed something into his control panel, and the center section of the map expanded to a larger image.  The three stars and five planets of the system, bright beacons within the image, drew immediate attention.  One planet orbited the farthest star to the left, a purple dot on the hologram marked Dryax.  The four remaining planets orbited two stars at the other end of the system.  Monger in red, Elmar in blue, and Aviara in green were three of the four planets rotating around the twin stars.   A yellow dot represented Tenere, an uninhabited desert planet.  The Null, a black dot with an erratic orbit, sat in the middle of the system.  The isolated mass was a dead world without known resources.  There were rumors around its origin, but they were mostly idle gossip. 

What is that debris field moving through the area near the Null? asked Saradine.

According to spectral readings, the debris appears to be remaining chunks from Phantos floating through the sector, said the engineer.

Even after this amount of time?  How much longer will that tragedy remind us of our failures? asked the Dryaxan.

Silence filled the room as everyone waited to see if the comment received a harsh rebuff. 

The destruction of Phantos, a planet from the neighboring system, roughly ten years before, occurred in a manner that raised many questions.  Most believed a terrorist destroyed the planet with a series of fusion-charges.  What really occurred was the Council’s confidential, but dirty little secret.  Regardless of the cause, everyone regretted the loss of nearly an entire race.

Once no reply emerged, Hardback diplomatically answered.  Friend Saradine, our failures will haunt our people far longer than any of us will be alive.

You forget how long Irongpigs live, Hardback.  Lorthok followed his comment with a loud snort of laughter and crossed his arms defiantly.

I’m sorry, engineer.  What is your name? asked Preus.

Lariq, Ambassador.

Fine.  Lariq, please pull up the spectral analysis?  There appears to be an anomaly within that debris field.  His Aviaran sight spotted the oddity. 

Lariq pressed a switch, and the image filled with the spectral analysis of the debris field. The purple is a radiation emission consistent with the remains of the planet Phantos.  It is the dominant emission from the debris.

Yes, I see that.  There are three items emitting a different energy signature.  They are moving in a different direction than the rest.  Can you plot out their path should they continue on the same vector?

The program placed a series of trajectories on the screen.

There are three of the anomalies, correct? asked Preus.

Yes, Ambassador.

Looks like one projects out to the Null, one to Monger, and one to Elmar. 

Should we send out a party to investigate these meteors before they strike? asked Saradine.  I’d be more at peace about it.

The others agreed, but desired to investigate their own planets.  Anyone offering to do so unasked created a breach of protocol.  Saradine made his own thoughts clear by asking the somewhat simple question.  In this room, the subtext was more important than words.

Friend Preus, I will coordinate with Lorthok to investigate these anomalies on our own worlds when they strike.  I am concerned that three such items may appear at one time.  When do we estimate impact?

The engineer replied, The first will hit the Null within the day.  The others will reach their targets within two days. The anomalies travel at a very high rate of speed.

You can count on the Monger Conglomerate to handle any issues that arise.  We’ll make a tidy profit from it.

That notion did not comfort Preus.  The refusal to answer Saradine expressed their displeasure with his question and the subtle insinuation of inadequately informing the Planetary Council of their findings. 

Preus headed off any potential issue and gave the diplomatic response.  Thank you, Hardback and Lorthok.  I’m sure the incident is nothing.  The chatter around uprisings in Terrax and Ryar has us spooked.  Something like a few rogue meteorites raises the tension. I’m sure they are nothing of consequence. 

Preus withheld his concern from the others until evidence provided a reason to worry.  He chose to be cautiously optimistic about the odd circumstance.

What of the Null? asked Saradine.

If Lorthok or Hardback find anything with their investigation, we will check the Null.  If nothing pops up, we will assume nothing is happening on the Null.  Does that suffice for the Dryaxan ambassador?

Very well, Preus.  Saradine provided a sly smile to show his obvious discomfort with the decision.  One of his eyes blinked in a manner reflecting his opinion. 

Preus never deciphered how the eyes of a Dryaxan reflected their emotions. He wondered about Saradine’s aggressive stance in the conversation when he typically preferred silence, unless Dryax became the topic.  Lorthok typically required verbal restraint.

Before the discussion reopened, Hardback raised another subject.  Friend Lorthok, should we move to the updates on the Capitol Moon?

The Capitol Moon, where the Council and their delegations lived, sat stationary in space with a view of the Triastram system.  Ambassadors from each planet acted as a ruling body on matters affecting the surrounding twelve sectors of the Triastram system.  The Monger Conglomerate oversaw the operational aspects of the facility because of their worker’s mechanical ability and, by default, Lorthok oversaw those operations. 

Lorthok stood when he addressed the committee, believing his height gave him a larger presence in the room.  He talked through the upgrades to the heating and atmospheric systems for the facility.  His pride in the renovation’s efficiency showed in his presentation.

Preus read this information before and paid little attention to Lorthok’s speech.  A flash came across his electrotablet, requiring his attention.  He clicked on the message and the importance dictated him driving the next discussion toward the topic.

Lorthok finished, and no one asked questions. 

Preus politely changed the topic of conversation. Lariq, please spotlight sectors nine through twelve.  There is another matter to discuss.

Lariq amplified the sectors on the hologram with iridescent points moving through that portion of space as blinking dots of multiple colors appeared on the screen.

Please explain what we are seeing here, friend Lariq.

Ambassador Hardback, these are the latest sub-space radar signals of the region.  In sector nine, there appears to be movement from ships of the Terraxian Empire.  Though their movement is concerning, the traffic appears to be in line with our trade agreement allowing them travel through this region.

Are they current on their payments? asked Lorthok.

Preus ignored the question.  Lorthok only concerned himself with the financial aspects of the trade agreements.  He cared nothing for what the Terraxians did in the distant sectors of Triastram space.

Yes, they made their annual payment, replied Lariq.

Lorthok waved his hand dismissively and prepared for the next topic on his agenda.

What are they transporting?  Their movements seem random, as if they have multiple ships moving in various directions instead of the typical convoy. 

Preus stood to look closer at the image.

Saradine held up his hand to signal his wish to add something. 

The Dryaxan government has investigated the Terraxians.  We suspect their involvement in the reported thefts of cargo through that area of space.  Reports showed they transported controversial arms from another sector.  We believe the weapon to be a fusion-charge.

Everyone paused, out of shock.  Fusion-charges, illegal unless used for mining on planets with high density cores, required special permits for transportation and sale.  Possession for any other reason created a class three felony and punishment by death within Triastram space per the unilaterally passed legislation known as the Phantos Accord.

Preus turned to Lorthok for an answer because the Monger Conglomerate manufactured all legal fusion-charges.  As the ambassador for the planet, Lorthok catalogued every fusion-charge produced and shipped.

Lorthok, any clue about this?

The Monger representative seemed perplexed and feigned ignorance while pretending to search through the papers in front of him for the answer. 

No, but I will investigate.  We supplied no such items in the last six cycles.  There may be another producer doing something on the black market.  I will inform you of what I find.

Friend Preus, our unverified reports suggest the Terraxians are using our space as a safe zone to transport illegal contraband to another sector outside our boundaries, an obvious violation of our agreement.

I agree, Hardback, but we need evidence.  Lorthok, investigate and get back to us. I believe I speak for us that this becomes the top priority.  Lorthok will answer by the end of the day.  Another incident like Phantos will not happen on our watch. 

A nod of heads confirmed the comment from Preus and prompted another topic.

Lariq, what is that in sector twelve?

That is a fleet of ships from the Ptah Federation.  They received permission to conduct military exercises in the sector.  Nothing beyond that action has occurred to this point.  We are monitoring them closely.

How much longer will they be in our sector?

The agreement is through the end of the next lunar cycle, Ambassador.  So, another fifteen days.

Very well, tell us if anything changes.  The Ptah have a reputation for unprovoked space warfare, and I worry about their likely part in the uprisings in these other systems.  Are there any more questions?

Friend Lariq, what is that blue beacon flashing in sector nine?

Saradine broke in quickly before the engineer could respond.  That is a mercenary ship named the Menagerie that the Dryaxan government requested we track.

Preus looked away from the hologram and glared at Saradine.  

What does Dryax want with the Menagerie?

The Dryaxan smirked back at his peer as two eyes blinked.  Preus was unaware of what his fellow ambassador knew.

Saradine answered the unasked question.  We may request the captain of the ship take on a special contract for the Grand Visage.  Perhaps, when this meeting is over, you and I should talk?

By all means.  You better believe we will talk, my sorcerer friend.

I will check the heating in this section of the facility.  The room is a little chilly. Lorthok smiled as he cracked his satirical comment.

Preus collected himself. Is there anything further, Lariq?  Any updates on the uprisings in Ryar?

No, Ambassador.  The settlements in that region neutralized the ships without further aid.  We downgraded the threat level to yellow.

Thank you, Lariq.  Any objections to ending the meeting?  Preus scanned the room for additional topics.

Saradine commented, Not unless Ansgwert will discuss the recent environmental disaster on Monger.

You Dryaxans love to look down on us and discuss how we are literally capitalist pigs. And how we rape, pillage, and plunder our world for fiscal gain.  Must I remind you those technological advancements you enjoy come from the work we put in on Monger?  Or does that bother your little progressive and elitist paradise?  Always sneering at others not as forward thinking as you.  Feeling like it entitles you to force your enlightened attitudes on others with subtle hints of imperialistic do-goodery.

Perhaps if you shared the same perspective, we could resolve our issues, said Saradine.

By solving our problems, you mean fall in line with your thinking and tow the line.  And what happens if we don’t, Saradine?  Will you eliminate us?  Will Monger become the next Phantos?

Saradine stood at the implied charge, all three eyes partially closed in anger.  How dare you insinuate Dryax played a part in that tragedy!

Lorthok chuckled.  Oh, I am not insinuating anything. Maybe you weren’t directly involved with Phantos, Saradine.  But someone just like you was.  Lorthok picked up his papers and removed himself from the table.  He turned to Preus.  Are we done here?

Lorthok departed without a response.

Preus allowed no one to continue the discussion.  On that note, we will meet in three days, unless our investigations into the arms or the meteors warrant an earlier meeting.  Good day, friends.

Saradine and Preus remained as the others left.  Once the others cleared the room, Preus waited for Saradine’s explanation.

The Dryaxan ambassador slammed his fist on the table.  Can you believe that insufferable buffoon?

Lorthok isn’t why I’m still here, Saradine.  What is your business with the Menagerie?  And how are you tracking it?

I’m sorry, my friend.  Orders from Grand Visage Virgil requested confidentiality.  Let’s discuss this in your office.

Preus followed the Dryaxan ambassador from the committee room and entered the barrel-vaulted hallways of the Capitol Moon facility.  The builders formed the halls from igneous rock and, after several years, created a reflective polish.  Dangling chandeliers provided light that the stone amplified and left no shadows.  The two ambassadors proceeded without a second glance, having grown accustomed to the design elements.

They dodged the bodies of various members of alien races, including some from outside the Triastram system.  They ignored the bustling in the hallways that resulted from nearly 3,000 lifeforms working on the Capitol Moon. 

You can’t find someone else?

His reputation speaks for itself.  He has an outstanding record of success.  And finding people to do dangerous jobs is difficult.

I’m aware of his reputation.  Preus passed Saradine and headed to his office, located down the hall from the conference room. 

When we can discuss the matter further in your office, we can make it much clearer with no other parties listening in.

Fine, follow me.  Wait, you said we?  Preus wondered who waited in his office.

Saradine’s middle eye remained closed as his other two rolled.

They reached the door to the Aviaran ambassador’s office, and Preus saw the Dryaxan security detail.  He punched in his security code, knowing a specific someone waited on the opposite side of the door.  The mechanical door shut with a swoosh after they entered.  When he looked around, Preus realized he guessed incorrectly and found two people waiting for him in his office.  One sat in the chair behind the desk, an obvious poke at Preus and his ego, while fiddling with a letter opener.  The other sat on a blue divan with a pattern of gold buttons across the back. 

Thunderbird Baron Falconrel and Grand Visage Virgil Averal, this is an honor.  What draws out the leaders of two planets to the Capitol Moon?  Your respective planets of Aviara and Dryax must miss you dearly.  

Do you know how inconvenient this is?

The refusal by Preus to bow to either planetary leader drew the attention of those in attendance, a bold move from a council representative.  His comments also communicated loudly that they were not welcome here.

Virgil stood, and all two and a half tenets of his height shrunk the room.  A white ceramic mask with a blank expression marked his position of honor and concealed his countenance and three eyes.  His white robes flowed across the floor while he extended his right hand to greet Preus. The gold patterns in the arms of the outfit glittered and reflected the light.  The left hand held a metal staff with ornate carvings decorating the length of it. 

Ambassador, I always enjoy visiting you.  The décor is exquisite.

You should think so, Grand Visage.  You gave that piece to my father as a gift.  Before you betrayed his confidence.  I purchased the curtains in a small market on Dryax on a recent visit.  Quite a find to match that piece.  And I admire the staff. Is that one new?

No, I carry this one to unofficial functions.  Made of Monger steel, but it works, unlike that worthless piece of arrowelm they gave me at the coronation.

Preus continued the small talk to discern the tone of the situation.  How is your family, sir?  I haven’t heard from River recently. I hope she is well.

Virgil’s tone shifted slightly.  Neither have I.  But I’m sure she is fine.  I will pass along your words if we talk.  She hasn’t seen you in years. Or your brother, for that matter.

The subtle shift prodded Preus to end the small talk.  Preus glanced and caught Saradine’s eyes, who tried to avoid the glare from his peer.

Baron emerged from behind the desk, his orange pompadour plumage standing as tall as Virgil.  Preus knew the extra height was so Virgil did not overshadow the Aviaran leader.  The Thunderbird concerned himself with appearances deeply.

I must compliment you on the comfortable chair as well.  There is a perch to rest my feet beneath that wooden wonder of a desk.  I must get one.  My people will reach out to yours.

Preus assumed the furniture would leave his office by the end of the day.  The fact the Thunderbird exhibited a modicum of taste in his wardrobe on this visit to the Capitol Moon surprised Preus.  The robe covered most of his feathered arms and ran to the floor while the outfit also showed off the orange tinge of the Thunderbird’s feathers and somehow created the illusion that they glowed. 

I wish you told me you were coming.  We could have rolled out a royal welcome and given you both the fanfare, pomp, and circumstance worthy of your stations.

Baron agreed.  I told him that.  A huge celebration.  When was the last time two world leaders met here?  A beautiful reception.  More beautiful than any other celebration ever.  Greater than anything my predecessors ever provided.

Virgil brought the discussion back to the point.  Preus, I wanted this visit to be discreet.  We need to discuss Argent and his current status with you.  Plus, I have an offer for him.  The only reason I asked the Thunderbird to attend was because our meeting seemed improper to approach an Aviaran official without his permission.  So, I cashed in a favor that he owes me.

Preus nodded to show his understanding.  You mean the favor he owes you for supplanting my father with him?

How does this pertain to Argent?  And how did you track the Menagerie?

Preus had an interest if the Menagerie, and its captain played a part in any political ploys.

Virgil turned to Saradine and motioned for him