A Shared Obsession 1
This is a Kidnapped-verse sidestory. Amazingly enough, I didn't put any cameos in it, so it can be read as a stand-alone. ^^; It does, however, contain elements that were first mentioned in Breaking Protocol, No Matter What, and Different from Kidnapping. Just FYI. ^.~
This was nowhere on my to-do list, but it's been kind of percolating in the back of my mind for months and abruptly demanded to be written. ^^;
This is the first half. I'm almost done with the second half and should have it up today.
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Planet #4145212-3554E (Fifth moon of Daneub), Research & Monitoring Station Telesta
In the dimmed illumination provided by the station lights being set to quarter strength, the gentle glow of the data screens and monitor lights cast a muted rainbow across the matte black and nickel panels of the interior station surfaces, from walls to floor to the lone figure seated before the massive wall of screens, hands occasionally drifting here and there across the control console. It was peaceful, serene. The faint hum of the more powerful systems could be heard echoing through the station, providing a soothing sort of un-music to the sole person present to hear it.
Zanson was always alone when he visited Telesta. Partially by preference, but also partially because, out of the few people who had access to the station, he was the only one who ever went up with any sort of regularity. Technology was something few Daneubians had any interest in, so remnants of the long-lost technology that Daneub had possessed millennia ago was viewed with nothing more than idle curiosity by the general population.
Even the Research and Historical department, as a general rule, tended to dismiss the remnants of Daneub's past as immaterial. The past was gone. What was of interest was the present, and the future yet to come. It was people who provided change, people who shaped the future to their will. Therefore, it was people with whom Daneub's curiosity dwelled.
Still, even with the general mindset all Daneubians had of peace and simplicity, there were a few Researchers and Historians who understood the value the old technology, the Telesta station included, could have if utilized cautiously. Thus it was that Zanson and a handful of others were permitted to access the scant remaining fragments of the past for the good of Daneub and all its people.
Occasionally outsiders were granted temporary access, though always with a native Daneubian researcher with them. Zanson preferred to let others give such tours. He disliked the never-ending disbelief such visitors always expressed when confronted with the fact that Daneub had deliberately given up its technology, and continued to find little interest in it. Always they pressed, trying to convince him how much better technology made everything.
If they couldn't understand him, neither could he understand them. It always left him feeling lost and adrift, that they could not see how their precious technology brought pain and war to their doorsteps. At the press of a button, they could annihilate hundreds, thousands of people. Without such weapons of war so readily available, one who wished harm upon another would have a much more difficult time of it. He would have to confront his victim face to face, look into his eyes, and watch as the life bled out of him.
Perhaps being forced to kill in such an intimate manner would reduce the murder that was so prolific across the stars. But then again, perhaps not. There were some species that simply seemed to thrive on violence, as baffling as such a concept was to any Daneubian.
Though perhaps it shouldn't be quite so baffling, given that Daneub was also home to a second sentient race. Daneub's Hellcats were amongst the fiercest warriors in known space, and carried death in their claws in the form of a potent poison that brought death within minutes. That two such drastically opposite races could have arisen on the same planet, and indeed, coexisted quite peacefully, had ever been a source of incredulous disbelief for the rest of the Infinitum Government.
Zanson's lips curved into an amused half-smile and he called up his personal files on one of the smaller monitoring screens. He was privy to a certain parcel of information that would have half the scientists in the IG falling all over each other if they knew. Occasionally he was tempted to release the report he'd written, just to see what would happen, but always he simply touched up a few things here and there and sent the file away until he felt like looking over it again. Daneub did not need such scrutiny. Best to let such information remain forgotten, like the rest of Daneub's more complicated past.
Still, it pleased him to know, for a variety of reasons.
Poison Claws ~ A Treatise on Daneub's Hellcats
Daneubian Hellcats are well-known throughout the Infinitum Government for their speed, agility, cunning, fighting skills, intelligence, and most notably their deadly poison-tipped claws. As one of the few races in the IG possessing no known* magics, they are increasingly sought after for positions within the Authorities, various personal guards, and the standing military. Their loyalty is almost unquestionable, to the point where even their volatile tempers are not considered much of a deterrent.
The most fascinating fact about these creatures is one that is little-known even on their homeworld of Daneub, and virtually unheard of in the universe at large. Many are those who have wondered at how such an insignificant planet could have produced two sentient species; research shows that such a parallel evolution is nearly impossible. Daneub is no exception. Daneubian Hellcats were genetically engineered.
Daneub's natural inhabitants are often thought of to be somewhat backward and uninteresting due to their gentle natures and preference for simple things. Indeed, compared to the outspoken and temperamental Hellcats, they seem somewhat boring. Which is exactly what Daneub wants to be. They have no interest in warfare or politics, and technology on Daneub is limited by their choice. There is some trade that takes place, and even that is mostly a result of natural Daneubian curiosity.
Curiosity is part of what created the Hellcats. The age-old question of "What would happen if...?" The other part dates back to a time long before the Infinitum Government had been established, when Daneub looked up at the stars and that curiosity led them to wonder what was out there. Though there are few records still remaining in the modern day, Daneub once built ships to carry them into the stars so that they could assuage their curiosity.
Unfortunately, the stars were not nearly so peace-loving and friendly as the curious Daneubians.
The few who made it back to their planet to warn their people were adamant that Daneub needed to be able to defend itself against the warlike races they'd encountered. To that end, the Daneubian scientists selected the fiercest predator of their world, a small feline roughly the size of a Daneubian infant, and set about modifying it to suit their needs. The resulting culmination of their research was the Daneubian Hellcat.
By the time the IG discovered Daneub, few Daneubians or Hellcats knew or cared about the origins of the Hellcat species. The Hellcats had served their original purpose, keeping Daneub safe from the dangers of space. In return, Daneub accepted them into all levels of their society, even going so far as to develop a respect bordering on awe for the guardians of their people.
In modern times, Daneub's two species have grown more distant as the Infinitum Government reduced Daneub's need for protection and introduced a technology that, while the Daneubians expressed little interest, the Hellcats accepted eagerly. More and more Hellcats live off-world, exploring the stars, and Daneub barely seems to have noticed. It is the opinion of this researcher that, were Daneub's people as a whole to know the true origins of their sister race, they would be pleased by what their former protectors have become. Certainly they continue to react with pride whenever news of a Hellcat accomplishment reaches Daneub. To Daneub, Hellcats are nothing less than oddly-furred cousins.
Would it be that all races could accept those who are different from them as easily.
A faint smile lingered on his face as he went back and edited a few things here and there, rewording things, and adding the qualifier that he hadn't gotten around to fixing the last time he'd looked at the file.
* There are indications that this is incorrect and that Hellcats do indeed possess magics, but nothing has ever been proven one way or another and Daneub shrugs the question off as immaterial. Those few who might be able to provide a conclusive answer prefer to let the mystery stand.
It was impossible not to chuckle quietly, and he knew he'd have to change that last line sometime later. Such remarks did not belong in a formal scientific treatise, true as they may be. Still, as he was the only one who would ever see what he'd written, he could leave it be for now.
With one last faint chuckle, he updated the date to reflect the current day and cycle, then closed the file.
Zanson sa Dirmark, Researcher and Historian, Fourth Cycle, 312th Day, 9,728th Turn of the Stars. Daneub.
Foolish, perhaps, to spend so much time on a file that no one else would ever see, but he'd long possessed a certain personal interest in the Hellcat race and his writing provided a safe outlet for that fixation. It didn't interfere in his work, so no one particularly cared. If they even realized at all, which was unlikely. Zanson had always been solitary. Yet another reason why he was so perfectly suited to tending the monitoring station, and why everyone else was so content to sit back and let him do it.
With a slight shake of his head, he returned his attention to the plethora of screens and the data they displayed. A few showed the weather patterns over various parts of Daneub, including what appeared to be the buildings of a rather nasty storm. He sent a message off to the section leader for that area with a warning so that the people would be prepared, then turned his attention to the other screens. The deep space monitors were all clear of asteroids, meteors, ion storms and anything else that might pose a threat to Daneub. Solar activity was normal. Geological activity was normal. Space traffic was...
Interesting. For the most part, Daneub's space traffic was fairly light compared with other planets. Primarily merchant and freight class ships, with the odd shuttle or leisure craft coming by to drop off or pick up passengers. The ship that had just left, though, had only been on the ground for ten minutes before taking off again. That was distinctly odd, unless-
Zanson's heartbeat started to speed up as he tapped into the planetside computers, calling up the docking logs and finding the last ship to leave - Custom Class Star Ship #41250896, The DayTripper - and accessing the transfer logs. There was a slight delay as the dockyard systems were considerably slower than those on the Telesta station, but finally the requested data came through and Zanson bit his lip.
Single passenger and belongings dropped off. Race: Hellcat. Name: Yaral'nkoma.
Over the console, Zanson could see his hands beginning to tremble and he folded them into his lap to still their movement. Yaral was back. Yaral was back on Daneub, undoubtedly with stories of his adventures from the last half term. Yaral always had stories, and Daneub was always more than eager to hear them. Even now, someone had surely noticed he was back, and the town would be gathering as word spread and everyone flocked to hear of all the fascinating things that went on in the rest of the universe. Daneub's curiosity was almost legendary. That the traveler was one of their own only made it all the more intriguing.
He shouldn't go. There was no reason to go. He'd installed monitoring systems in all the meeting halls long ago to better be able to record important events, and he'd be able to hear every word from Telesta just as well as he could in person. There was absolutely no logical reason to go all the way back down to the planet to hear Yaral speak.
With a soft sigh, Zanson switched all his interactive systems into standby and left his chair, heading through the halls of the station to the small docking bay where his personal ship rested, calling himself all kinds of idiot even as he powered it up for the trip down to Daneub.
Planet #4145212 (Daneub), Informal Hall of Assembly, Peligir City, Southern Continent
Readjusting to the presence of people after so much time alone on the station was always difficult. So many people, so many emotions, everything leaving him disoriented and unsteady until he managed to find his inner balance. Small groups were easier to deal with. Comforting, really. The gentle feel of having others around you, sharing in their peace and joy and happiness. Larger groups, like the one currently assembled to hear Yaral speak, were much more difficult to handle.
Many were the times Zanson wished he was one of those Daneubians whose magics required close proximity to function. Then, the sharing of emotions was a personal thing, not this near-overwhelming mass of excitement, anticipation, and lust.
It was the lust that was always hardest to deal with, though he could never begrudge them that feeling. Not when he shared it himself. And who wouldn't, looking at the handsome, powerful Hellcat? Even clad in worn pants and faded jacket, his strong build was obvious underneath his short, reddish-brown fur. The irregular gold stripes were a recessive trait, and as such made him seem even more exotic and desirable. His eyes were also bright gold, Zanson knew, though he couldn't see them from his partially-hidden spot in the far back of the meeting hall. He didn't have to be able to see them. He'd seen them enough times in vids and stills that the color was forever burned into his memory.
No, he would never begrudge the others the lust that inevitably arose every time Yaral came home to Daneub, even as he struggled not to let it affect him. Yaral, he suspected, had only to beckon and he'd have his choice of anyone. On Daneub or beyond.
And that thought always hurt far more than it should. He had no claim to the handsome Hellcat; he doubted Yaral even knew he existed except in the vague, impersonal manner that came with Zanson's status as one of the top five Researchers on the planet. And even that was doubtful. What reason would a man whose life was full of all the excitement and adventure that space travel could bring have to pay attention to someone so boring and plain as a Daneubian Researcher? Compared with all the other exotic and fascinating beings in space, Zanson was no more interesting than an oddly-shaped pebble in a sea of gemstones.
Such a depressing thought. Zanson shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate on what Yaral was saying, realizing with a rueful smile that he'd missed large portions of the story. He always did. It was impossible to listen to what Yaral was saying and not concentrate on the way he looked, the sound of his voice, the easy smile he always wore when recounting his adventures. Zanson wished he could pick out the Hellcat's feelings from the mass pressing in all around him, but his control had never been that good, and he didn't dare move closer and risk being seen. He could only imagine what kind of warm, contented feeling Yaral would have, surrounded by people hanging on his every word, given free food and drink in thanks for the entertainment they got in return. Probably an easy pulse, with a faint prickle from a Hellcat's more excitable nature...
And again, he'd managed to totally miss what Yaral was saying. It was a good thing he had the whole thing recording to watch later. Multiple times. It usually took five or six viewings before he managed to concentrate enough to hear the whole story, though lately it had tended to take even more.
He really was pathetic.
With a start, he realized that the meeting was coming to an end, people shifting and beginning to stand, some heading up front to talk with Yaral in a more personal setting. Before anyone could get back to his little corner, Zanson slipped out of the assembly hall and hurried through the streets toward the dockyard and his waiting ship. The sooner he got back to his ship, the sooner he could return to the safety of the station and mope about his pathetic obsession in private.
So fixated was he on getting back as quickly as possible, Zanson failed to notice the figures watching him, waiting, until there was a sharp pain in the back of his head and he tumbled to the ground, his world going black.
It never failed, Yaral noted in frustrated amusement, that whenever he was in a hurry he got flocked by people wanting to talk and touch and generally get completely in his way. Most times he didn't really mind and dealt with it accordingly, but this time was different. It was always different, the first day home on Daneub after he'd been in space, because it was only on that very first day that he appeared.
Zanson sa Dirmark, one of Daneub's most noted researchers, and also the one about which the least was known. The man avoided public places and gatherings, seldom spoke with anyone other than his fellow researchers, and barely ever left the old research station on Daneub's fifth moon. Everyone he'd spoken with had different reasons as to why, but in the end none of them had really mattered. What mattered was that Zanson almost always showed up the first day Yaral got back to Daneub, always staying in the far back of the hall where he was easily overlooked, always leaving shortly before the meeting came to an end.
Though today he'd stayed longer, until the people had started to move. Yaral wasn't quite sure what it meant that he'd stayed, or even that he came to listen at all. Of course, he knew what he wanted it to mean, but there was absolutely no reason for a man as famous and influential as Zanson sa Dirmark to have any interest other than professional in someone whose sole point of interest was that he never kept the same job for more than two months at a time.
Still, he could always dream, and Zanson had stayed to the end today. Maybe that meant something. Maybe that meant today would be the day he'd actually get to talk to the elusive man.
Provided, of course, he could manage to extricate himself from his adoring fans.
Although he still managed to smile politely, he suspected that his growing frustration was beginning to show due to a few odd looks he was given. Good. Maybe that would let him slip away and hopefully catch up with his mysterious watcher before the man managed to retreat back up to his impenetrable lunar station and Yaral would have to wait another year or more before he had enough stories to bring back to Daneub to draw Zanson out again.
He didn't want to wait. It felt like he'd been waiting forever.
Making his apologies, not even sure what excuse he gave, Yaral exited the assembly hall with as much speed as the crowd would allow, taking the small side door he'd seen Zanson slip out of and pausing outside to get his bearings. There were a handful of Daneubians in sight, along with one or two other Hellcats, but none of them were the distinctive bright purple he was looking for.
He'd paid a small fortune to be able to see that purple, even if it was only brief glimpses many months apart. Hellcats, like most cats, couldn't see in color. Their night vision was excellent, and they could see in some ranges that many others couldn't, but if they wanted to be able to see visible-spectrum colors, they had to pay a tidy sum to have the operation.
It had taken him quite a few terms to save up enough, but it had been worth it to be able to really see his elusive Daneubian obsession. Even if it did mean he got more than a few odd looks when people realized he wasn't colorblind.
Growling beneath his breath, Yaral slipped back inside and carefully sniffed the dark corner Zanson had been watching from, relieved that there was only one scent present and no one had wandered through to muddle things. That would make tracking him considerably easier.
Outside again, he began following the faint trail down the street, nearly running into one or two pedestrians in his single-minded pursuit. It took all his restraint not to snarl at them; it wasn't their fault they were in his way. But every time he had to slow down meant Zanson was that much further ahead and that less of a chance Yaral would catch him before-
Yaral stopped, blinking, then carefully retraced his steps. The scent had stopped, and at the point where it stopped it was muddled, other scents intruding. He growled and lashed his tail, ears flat against his head as he stalked in a wide circle around the point where the trail had been lost, snarling angrily enough that the people nearest to him took a few hasty steps back and veered carefully around him.
Gone. The trail was just gone. That meant a vehicle of some kind, probably a land-skimmer or ground transport of some kind. Enclosed, because otherwise he'd be able to pick up the scent. Once again, he'd lost Zanson.
Merchant Class Star Ship #21225254, The Babylon
His head hurt something fierce, throbbing with a dull ache that refused to go away. Gingerly Zanson opened his eyes, disoriented, staring around at the unfamiliar surroundings in confusion. Sleek metallic lines and bulkheads, minimal furnishings, a single closed hatch. So much tech... a ship?
Frowning, Zanson tried to move, discovering to his alarm that his hands were bound behind him with some kind of thick material that didn't budge no matter how much he struggled. His feet appeared to be similarly restrained, and when he peered down at them he saw thick bands of some silvery material.
The first stirrings of panic began to rush through him even as he twisted and squirmed, trying to get into a sitting position. If he was on a ship he could be anywhere - possibly not even on Daneub anymore.
The thought filled him with terror. He was just a boring, peaceful Daneubian. He was more than happy in his dull routine, getting his knowledge of the universe second or even third-hand. The stars were no place for him. They were dangerous, unpredictable. He wasn't an explorer. He didn't like the unknown. He wanted his little ship and his quiet station and a handsome Hellcat he'd probably never see again.
His entire body shook and he desperately fought against tears even as he gave into the impulse to curl up into a little ball. He didn't know how long he laid there, caught in the grip of fear and panic, before the hatch slid open and three men entered.
Human, he realized immediately, unable to sense even the smallest flicker of their emotional state. Humans always unnerved him. It felt like they weren't really there, just soulless dolls that walked and talked. No more alive than rocks or air.
The shortest and stockiest of the three, with a wide nose that sat slightly askew on his face, immediately stomped over to where Zanson was huddled and stared down at him with an expression Zanson couldn't place. Dealing with humans was so hard. Their faces almost never matched what they were really feeling inside, and he had no way of knowing what they were truly feeling.
"You," the human said gruffly. "Can you understand me? Do you speak Zero Standard?"
Zanson fought a grimace, wrenching himself upright to buy himself time to smooth out his expression. Stupid human. Even if Zanson hadn't learned Standard, which he had, he was a Researcher. Of course he had a language chip. A considerably better one than his captor had, apparently, if the man's chip didn't translate Daneubian. That was rather insulting, really. Daneub wasn't that remote.
"Yes," Zanson finally said, leaving it at that.
The wide human squatted down in front of him, hot, squalid breath washing over him and making him struggle to prevent being sick. Ugh! What was wrong with humans? Didn't they bathe?
"Where's the tech hidden?" the man demanded, and Zanson's stomach rolled again.
When he felt as though he could speak without throwing up, he managed to ask faintly, "What tech?"
The man backhanded him across the face, making him cry out and very nearly fall over before he managed to regain his balance. "The tech!" the man spat. "The tech your planet hid when it decided to become a squalling bunch of fuzzy wusses. Where is it?"
Zanson stared at him long enough to earn himself another backhand, and this time it did knock him over. He laid there for a moment, reorienting himself, then stared up at the man through the short, uneven fall of hair he'd cut to resemble bangs. "Daneub rid itself of technology a long time ago," he said slowly, as if to a particularly slow child. "Little remains beyond curiosity pieces and some of the weather control systems."
"Liar!" the man roared, striking him sharply again, hard enough that Zanson could taste blood. "You know where it is. Of all you stupid fuzzy purple things, you're the one that maintains the tech stuff. You know! Where is it hidden?"
"Nothing is hidden!" Zanson protested, feeling the blood trickling down his face. That was going to mat his fur rather horribly, and he grimaced to think about it. "What remains of the old tech is scattered, few systems still operational, only the lunar research station still fully functional. That is all that remains. Daneub doesn't like technology. Why would we keep something we find detrimental to harmonious living?"
This time he saw the slap coming, though that didn't really make it hurt any less. His vision swam rather disconcertingly as the blow made the throbbing in his head worse, and dimly he heard the thick human swearing and shuffling around.
"Trunk, Pascal," the human barked. "Get over here and see if you can loosen the fucking furry thing's tongue."
Custom Class Star Ship #25118112, The Wishing Star
Just when he'd thought this day couldn't possibly get any worse. Yaral stared up at the sleek black and silver ship, one of the smallest he'd ever seen (and that was saying quite a bit) but also one of the most elegant. Whoever had built it was a master of the craft. Unfortunately, admiring it wasn't getting him any further on his quest.
The Wishing Star. Custom Class Research vessel owned by and registered to Zanson sa Dirmark, and used to transport the reclusive Researcher to and from the research station on Telesta. Currently sitting dormant in a ship bay, with no sign of its owner anywhere in sight.
If everything was normal, this ship should be long gone into the skies, and Zanson with it. The fact that it was still sitting idle on Daneub meant that something was very, very wrong. It made him growl and lash his tail and stalk around the ship in a wide circle, running his hand across the smooth hull.
Zanson had left the Hall of Assembly and made his way on a fairly direct course back toward this ship. The trail had ended less than a five minute walk from the Wishing Star, and Zanson was nowhere to be found. Zanson was not a social man. He did not randomly decide to go elsewhere with other strange-smelling people. Unless Yaral was very much mistaken, wherever Zanson had gone it was not willingly.
Swearing colorfully, Yaral pounded one fist against the gleaming exterior of the Wishing Star.
"Voice print authorized. Identification please."
Startled, Yaral spun around and stared, finding no one within sight. He looked cautiously around, ears twitching, automatically dropping into a defensive posture. He held almost perfectly still, minus the ears and the very tip of his tail, waiting.
"Identification please."
Incredulously, Yaral slowly turned around to stare at the ship, noting that a small row of colored lights had lit up fairly near to where he'd punched it only moments ago. They blinked at him, seeming to go on and off in no logical pattern as he stared at them.
"Uh..." Yaral licked his lips and swallowed. "Yaral. Yaral'nkoma."
All of the colored lights lit up at once, then went dark. A moment later a seam appeared in the hull of the ship, widening quickly, and Yaral swore and dove out of the way as the hatch swung down. He crouched where he was for a moment, watching the dust settle, then cautiously moved around to stand at the base of the sleek silvery steps leading up into the ship.
"Huh..." Cautiously he set one foot on the first step, fully expecting it to close up again. When it did nothing, he advanced to the second, then the third step. Finally out of steps, Yaral found himself staring into the interior of Zanson's ship.
It was just as sleek and beautiful as the exterior, with more screens and tech than Yaral could readily identify taking up almost the entire interior surface. A small door led to what was probably the engine compartment, but Yaral was more curious about the wide control console and the multitude of blinking lights he could see.
It seemed Zanson had left his ship powered up, which further indicated that he'd fully been intending on returning to it quickly. Yaral slid into the single available seat, hovering his hands over the controls as he identified each system. Navigation, propulsion, communications, there were the standard ones, but a lot of the systems he didn't recognize, and of the few remaining he only dimly knew from his brief tour of duty aboard a Research Class vessel four terms ago. He supposed it made sense, given that Zanson was a Researcher, but he'd never seen quite so many systems all fitted into such a compact space before. Whoever had built it had really known what they were doing.
Looking over the screens again a bit more carefully, Yaral found one that was displaying an image of Daneub with a tiny blinking purple dot right in the center. Curious he poked at the dot, yelping when the screen suddenly zoomed in close enough to show the bulk of the southern continent.
"Huh," he said aloud, touching it again, discovering that a downward sweep made the image zoom out, while an upward motion focused more tightly on the purple dot. A sudden suspicion gripping him, Yaral zoomed the screen in as far as it would go until he found himself staring at a very high-resolution overhead of a Merchant Class ship, the little purple dot continuing to blink at him from somewhere slightly near its center.
Yaral's claws flexed over the controls, nails sliding over the smooth surfaces. He growled and carefully backed the screen out enough that he could see exactly where the ship was berthed, then shoved out of the seat and spun on his heel, stalking furiously for the hatch.
Zanson had better be alive and unharmed when he got there, or someone was going to die a most painful death.
Merchant Class Star Ship #21225254, The Babylon
Either the pain was all beginning to merge together into one big pain, or there wasn't a single part of his body that didn't hurt. Zanson was hoping for the former, but didn't really have much belief in it. He lay as still as he could where they'd dropped him, concentrating on breathing as shallowly as possible because that hurt less, and listened to his captors arguing. While at first they'd sounded only angry, as time went on he'd started to note an increasing undercurrent of fear and panic in their voices.
"This is not good. Fucking fuzzy doesn't know a damned thing!"
"Our employers will not be pleased if we return empty handed. They are paying for results, not empty excuses."
"What the hell does it take to break this guy? I've had sworn bodyguards and soldiers break under less."
The third voice, which had been fairly silent until now, spoke up. "Maybe the rumors were wrong, and Daneub really doesn't have any tech left."
"Shut the fuck up, Trunk. The bosses were damned sure about this one. Wouldn't be that confident if they didn't have some sort of inside info. It's here. I'd bet my ship on it."
"Then perhaps the secret is kept by another. Certainly it seemed a bit too obvious for practically the only Daneubian with an interest in technology to be the one charged with keeping it hidden."
There was a heavy silence for several long, excruciatingly painful breaths, then the leader swore again. "Well what the fuck are we going to do now? We can't just dump him somewhere, this guy's one of their leading scientists! The fucking fuzzies aren't a threat, but any of you happen to notice how many Hellcats are walking around out there?"
"Then we will simply have to make his death look like an accident, and try again later."
There was a brief pause before the leader spoke up again. "Yeah? Got any ideas, Pascal?"
"He's well known to be reclusive and solitary. I think if we take him out beyond the-"
Pascal cut off as alarms began sounding, and all three of them swore. Zanson managed to crack open an eye long enough to watch all three of his captors bolt for the hatch, the doors sliding open long enough to let them exit, then sliding shut again. He watched for as long as he could, but was unable to keep his eyes open for very long before finally giving up and doing nothing at all except breathe in very carefully, and back out again.
To Part Two
This was nowhere on my to-do list, but it's been kind of percolating in the back of my mind for months and abruptly demanded to be written. ^^;
This is the first half. I'm almost done with the second half and should have it up today.
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Planet #4145212-3554E (Fifth moon of Daneub), Research & Monitoring Station Telesta
In the dimmed illumination provided by the station lights being set to quarter strength, the gentle glow of the data screens and monitor lights cast a muted rainbow across the matte black and nickel panels of the interior station surfaces, from walls to floor to the lone figure seated before the massive wall of screens, hands occasionally drifting here and there across the control console. It was peaceful, serene. The faint hum of the more powerful systems could be heard echoing through the station, providing a soothing sort of un-music to the sole person present to hear it.
Zanson was always alone when he visited Telesta. Partially by preference, but also partially because, out of the few people who had access to the station, he was the only one who ever went up with any sort of regularity. Technology was something few Daneubians had any interest in, so remnants of the long-lost technology that Daneub had possessed millennia ago was viewed with nothing more than idle curiosity by the general population.
Even the Research and Historical department, as a general rule, tended to dismiss the remnants of Daneub's past as immaterial. The past was gone. What was of interest was the present, and the future yet to come. It was people who provided change, people who shaped the future to their will. Therefore, it was people with whom Daneub's curiosity dwelled.
Still, even with the general mindset all Daneubians had of peace and simplicity, there were a few Researchers and Historians who understood the value the old technology, the Telesta station included, could have if utilized cautiously. Thus it was that Zanson and a handful of others were permitted to access the scant remaining fragments of the past for the good of Daneub and all its people.
Occasionally outsiders were granted temporary access, though always with a native Daneubian researcher with them. Zanson preferred to let others give such tours. He disliked the never-ending disbelief such visitors always expressed when confronted with the fact that Daneub had deliberately given up its technology, and continued to find little interest in it. Always they pressed, trying to convince him how much better technology made everything.
If they couldn't understand him, neither could he understand them. It always left him feeling lost and adrift, that they could not see how their precious technology brought pain and war to their doorsteps. At the press of a button, they could annihilate hundreds, thousands of people. Without such weapons of war so readily available, one who wished harm upon another would have a much more difficult time of it. He would have to confront his victim face to face, look into his eyes, and watch as the life bled out of him.
Perhaps being forced to kill in such an intimate manner would reduce the murder that was so prolific across the stars. But then again, perhaps not. There were some species that simply seemed to thrive on violence, as baffling as such a concept was to any Daneubian.
Though perhaps it shouldn't be quite so baffling, given that Daneub was also home to a second sentient race. Daneub's Hellcats were amongst the fiercest warriors in known space, and carried death in their claws in the form of a potent poison that brought death within minutes. That two such drastically opposite races could have arisen on the same planet, and indeed, coexisted quite peacefully, had ever been a source of incredulous disbelief for the rest of the Infinitum Government.
Zanson's lips curved into an amused half-smile and he called up his personal files on one of the smaller monitoring screens. He was privy to a certain parcel of information that would have half the scientists in the IG falling all over each other if they knew. Occasionally he was tempted to release the report he'd written, just to see what would happen, but always he simply touched up a few things here and there and sent the file away until he felt like looking over it again. Daneub did not need such scrutiny. Best to let such information remain forgotten, like the rest of Daneub's more complicated past.
Still, it pleased him to know, for a variety of reasons.
Poison Claws ~ A Treatise on Daneub's Hellcats
Daneubian Hellcats are well-known throughout the Infinitum Government for their speed, agility, cunning, fighting skills, intelligence, and most notably their deadly poison-tipped claws. As one of the few races in the IG possessing no known* magics, they are increasingly sought after for positions within the Authorities, various personal guards, and the standing military. Their loyalty is almost unquestionable, to the point where even their volatile tempers are not considered much of a deterrent.
The most fascinating fact about these creatures is one that is little-known even on their homeworld of Daneub, and virtually unheard of in the universe at large. Many are those who have wondered at how such an insignificant planet could have produced two sentient species; research shows that such a parallel evolution is nearly impossible. Daneub is no exception. Daneubian Hellcats were genetically engineered.
Daneub's natural inhabitants are often thought of to be somewhat backward and uninteresting due to their gentle natures and preference for simple things. Indeed, compared to the outspoken and temperamental Hellcats, they seem somewhat boring. Which is exactly what Daneub wants to be. They have no interest in warfare or politics, and technology on Daneub is limited by their choice. There is some trade that takes place, and even that is mostly a result of natural Daneubian curiosity.
Curiosity is part of what created the Hellcats. The age-old question of "What would happen if...?" The other part dates back to a time long before the Infinitum Government had been established, when Daneub looked up at the stars and that curiosity led them to wonder what was out there. Though there are few records still remaining in the modern day, Daneub once built ships to carry them into the stars so that they could assuage their curiosity.
Unfortunately, the stars were not nearly so peace-loving and friendly as the curious Daneubians.
The few who made it back to their planet to warn their people were adamant that Daneub needed to be able to defend itself against the warlike races they'd encountered. To that end, the Daneubian scientists selected the fiercest predator of their world, a small feline roughly the size of a Daneubian infant, and set about modifying it to suit their needs. The resulting culmination of their research was the Daneubian Hellcat.
By the time the IG discovered Daneub, few Daneubians or Hellcats knew or cared about the origins of the Hellcat species. The Hellcats had served their original purpose, keeping Daneub safe from the dangers of space. In return, Daneub accepted them into all levels of their society, even going so far as to develop a respect bordering on awe for the guardians of their people.
In modern times, Daneub's two species have grown more distant as the Infinitum Government reduced Daneub's need for protection and introduced a technology that, while the Daneubians expressed little interest, the Hellcats accepted eagerly. More and more Hellcats live off-world, exploring the stars, and Daneub barely seems to have noticed. It is the opinion of this researcher that, were Daneub's people as a whole to know the true origins of their sister race, they would be pleased by what their former protectors have become. Certainly they continue to react with pride whenever news of a Hellcat accomplishment reaches Daneub. To Daneub, Hellcats are nothing less than oddly-furred cousins.
Would it be that all races could accept those who are different from them as easily.
A faint smile lingered on his face as he went back and edited a few things here and there, rewording things, and adding the qualifier that he hadn't gotten around to fixing the last time he'd looked at the file.
* There are indications that this is incorrect and that Hellcats do indeed possess magics, but nothing has ever been proven one way or another and Daneub shrugs the question off as immaterial. Those few who might be able to provide a conclusive answer prefer to let the mystery stand.
It was impossible not to chuckle quietly, and he knew he'd have to change that last line sometime later. Such remarks did not belong in a formal scientific treatise, true as they may be. Still, as he was the only one who would ever see what he'd written, he could leave it be for now.
With one last faint chuckle, he updated the date to reflect the current day and cycle, then closed the file.
Zanson sa Dirmark, Researcher and Historian, Fourth Cycle, 312th Day, 9,728th Turn of the Stars. Daneub.
Foolish, perhaps, to spend so much time on a file that no one else would ever see, but he'd long possessed a certain personal interest in the Hellcat race and his writing provided a safe outlet for that fixation. It didn't interfere in his work, so no one particularly cared. If they even realized at all, which was unlikely. Zanson had always been solitary. Yet another reason why he was so perfectly suited to tending the monitoring station, and why everyone else was so content to sit back and let him do it.
With a slight shake of his head, he returned his attention to the plethora of screens and the data they displayed. A few showed the weather patterns over various parts of Daneub, including what appeared to be the buildings of a rather nasty storm. He sent a message off to the section leader for that area with a warning so that the people would be prepared, then turned his attention to the other screens. The deep space monitors were all clear of asteroids, meteors, ion storms and anything else that might pose a threat to Daneub. Solar activity was normal. Geological activity was normal. Space traffic was...
Interesting. For the most part, Daneub's space traffic was fairly light compared with other planets. Primarily merchant and freight class ships, with the odd shuttle or leisure craft coming by to drop off or pick up passengers. The ship that had just left, though, had only been on the ground for ten minutes before taking off again. That was distinctly odd, unless-
Zanson's heartbeat started to speed up as he tapped into the planetside computers, calling up the docking logs and finding the last ship to leave - Custom Class Star Ship #41250896, The DayTripper - and accessing the transfer logs. There was a slight delay as the dockyard systems were considerably slower than those on the Telesta station, but finally the requested data came through and Zanson bit his lip.
Single passenger and belongings dropped off. Race: Hellcat. Name: Yaral'nkoma.
Over the console, Zanson could see his hands beginning to tremble and he folded them into his lap to still their movement. Yaral was back. Yaral was back on Daneub, undoubtedly with stories of his adventures from the last half term. Yaral always had stories, and Daneub was always more than eager to hear them. Even now, someone had surely noticed he was back, and the town would be gathering as word spread and everyone flocked to hear of all the fascinating things that went on in the rest of the universe. Daneub's curiosity was almost legendary. That the traveler was one of their own only made it all the more intriguing.
He shouldn't go. There was no reason to go. He'd installed monitoring systems in all the meeting halls long ago to better be able to record important events, and he'd be able to hear every word from Telesta just as well as he could in person. There was absolutely no logical reason to go all the way back down to the planet to hear Yaral speak.
With a soft sigh, Zanson switched all his interactive systems into standby and left his chair, heading through the halls of the station to the small docking bay where his personal ship rested, calling himself all kinds of idiot even as he powered it up for the trip down to Daneub.
Planet #4145212 (Daneub), Informal Hall of Assembly, Peligir City, Southern Continent
Readjusting to the presence of people after so much time alone on the station was always difficult. So many people, so many emotions, everything leaving him disoriented and unsteady until he managed to find his inner balance. Small groups were easier to deal with. Comforting, really. The gentle feel of having others around you, sharing in their peace and joy and happiness. Larger groups, like the one currently assembled to hear Yaral speak, were much more difficult to handle.
Many were the times Zanson wished he was one of those Daneubians whose magics required close proximity to function. Then, the sharing of emotions was a personal thing, not this near-overwhelming mass of excitement, anticipation, and lust.
It was the lust that was always hardest to deal with, though he could never begrudge them that feeling. Not when he shared it himself. And who wouldn't, looking at the handsome, powerful Hellcat? Even clad in worn pants and faded jacket, his strong build was obvious underneath his short, reddish-brown fur. The irregular gold stripes were a recessive trait, and as such made him seem even more exotic and desirable. His eyes were also bright gold, Zanson knew, though he couldn't see them from his partially-hidden spot in the far back of the meeting hall. He didn't have to be able to see them. He'd seen them enough times in vids and stills that the color was forever burned into his memory.
No, he would never begrudge the others the lust that inevitably arose every time Yaral came home to Daneub, even as he struggled not to let it affect him. Yaral, he suspected, had only to beckon and he'd have his choice of anyone. On Daneub or beyond.
And that thought always hurt far more than it should. He had no claim to the handsome Hellcat; he doubted Yaral even knew he existed except in the vague, impersonal manner that came with Zanson's status as one of the top five Researchers on the planet. And even that was doubtful. What reason would a man whose life was full of all the excitement and adventure that space travel could bring have to pay attention to someone so boring and plain as a Daneubian Researcher? Compared with all the other exotic and fascinating beings in space, Zanson was no more interesting than an oddly-shaped pebble in a sea of gemstones.
Such a depressing thought. Zanson shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate on what Yaral was saying, realizing with a rueful smile that he'd missed large portions of the story. He always did. It was impossible to listen to what Yaral was saying and not concentrate on the way he looked, the sound of his voice, the easy smile he always wore when recounting his adventures. Zanson wished he could pick out the Hellcat's feelings from the mass pressing in all around him, but his control had never been that good, and he didn't dare move closer and risk being seen. He could only imagine what kind of warm, contented feeling Yaral would have, surrounded by people hanging on his every word, given free food and drink in thanks for the entertainment they got in return. Probably an easy pulse, with a faint prickle from a Hellcat's more excitable nature...
And again, he'd managed to totally miss what Yaral was saying. It was a good thing he had the whole thing recording to watch later. Multiple times. It usually took five or six viewings before he managed to concentrate enough to hear the whole story, though lately it had tended to take even more.
He really was pathetic.
With a start, he realized that the meeting was coming to an end, people shifting and beginning to stand, some heading up front to talk with Yaral in a more personal setting. Before anyone could get back to his little corner, Zanson slipped out of the assembly hall and hurried through the streets toward the dockyard and his waiting ship. The sooner he got back to his ship, the sooner he could return to the safety of the station and mope about his pathetic obsession in private.
So fixated was he on getting back as quickly as possible, Zanson failed to notice the figures watching him, waiting, until there was a sharp pain in the back of his head and he tumbled to the ground, his world going black.
It never failed, Yaral noted in frustrated amusement, that whenever he was in a hurry he got flocked by people wanting to talk and touch and generally get completely in his way. Most times he didn't really mind and dealt with it accordingly, but this time was different. It was always different, the first day home on Daneub after he'd been in space, because it was only on that very first day that he appeared.
Zanson sa Dirmark, one of Daneub's most noted researchers, and also the one about which the least was known. The man avoided public places and gatherings, seldom spoke with anyone other than his fellow researchers, and barely ever left the old research station on Daneub's fifth moon. Everyone he'd spoken with had different reasons as to why, but in the end none of them had really mattered. What mattered was that Zanson almost always showed up the first day Yaral got back to Daneub, always staying in the far back of the hall where he was easily overlooked, always leaving shortly before the meeting came to an end.
Though today he'd stayed longer, until the people had started to move. Yaral wasn't quite sure what it meant that he'd stayed, or even that he came to listen at all. Of course, he knew what he wanted it to mean, but there was absolutely no reason for a man as famous and influential as Zanson sa Dirmark to have any interest other than professional in someone whose sole point of interest was that he never kept the same job for more than two months at a time.
Still, he could always dream, and Zanson had stayed to the end today. Maybe that meant something. Maybe that meant today would be the day he'd actually get to talk to the elusive man.
Provided, of course, he could manage to extricate himself from his adoring fans.
Although he still managed to smile politely, he suspected that his growing frustration was beginning to show due to a few odd looks he was given. Good. Maybe that would let him slip away and hopefully catch up with his mysterious watcher before the man managed to retreat back up to his impenetrable lunar station and Yaral would have to wait another year or more before he had enough stories to bring back to Daneub to draw Zanson out again.
He didn't want to wait. It felt like he'd been waiting forever.
Making his apologies, not even sure what excuse he gave, Yaral exited the assembly hall with as much speed as the crowd would allow, taking the small side door he'd seen Zanson slip out of and pausing outside to get his bearings. There were a handful of Daneubians in sight, along with one or two other Hellcats, but none of them were the distinctive bright purple he was looking for.
He'd paid a small fortune to be able to see that purple, even if it was only brief glimpses many months apart. Hellcats, like most cats, couldn't see in color. Their night vision was excellent, and they could see in some ranges that many others couldn't, but if they wanted to be able to see visible-spectrum colors, they had to pay a tidy sum to have the operation.
It had taken him quite a few terms to save up enough, but it had been worth it to be able to really see his elusive Daneubian obsession. Even if it did mean he got more than a few odd looks when people realized he wasn't colorblind.
Growling beneath his breath, Yaral slipped back inside and carefully sniffed the dark corner Zanson had been watching from, relieved that there was only one scent present and no one had wandered through to muddle things. That would make tracking him considerably easier.
Outside again, he began following the faint trail down the street, nearly running into one or two pedestrians in his single-minded pursuit. It took all his restraint not to snarl at them; it wasn't their fault they were in his way. But every time he had to slow down meant Zanson was that much further ahead and that less of a chance Yaral would catch him before-
Yaral stopped, blinking, then carefully retraced his steps. The scent had stopped, and at the point where it stopped it was muddled, other scents intruding. He growled and lashed his tail, ears flat against his head as he stalked in a wide circle around the point where the trail had been lost, snarling angrily enough that the people nearest to him took a few hasty steps back and veered carefully around him.
Gone. The trail was just gone. That meant a vehicle of some kind, probably a land-skimmer or ground transport of some kind. Enclosed, because otherwise he'd be able to pick up the scent. Once again, he'd lost Zanson.
Merchant Class Star Ship #21225254, The Babylon
His head hurt something fierce, throbbing with a dull ache that refused to go away. Gingerly Zanson opened his eyes, disoriented, staring around at the unfamiliar surroundings in confusion. Sleek metallic lines and bulkheads, minimal furnishings, a single closed hatch. So much tech... a ship?
Frowning, Zanson tried to move, discovering to his alarm that his hands were bound behind him with some kind of thick material that didn't budge no matter how much he struggled. His feet appeared to be similarly restrained, and when he peered down at them he saw thick bands of some silvery material.
The first stirrings of panic began to rush through him even as he twisted and squirmed, trying to get into a sitting position. If he was on a ship he could be anywhere - possibly not even on Daneub anymore.
The thought filled him with terror. He was just a boring, peaceful Daneubian. He was more than happy in his dull routine, getting his knowledge of the universe second or even third-hand. The stars were no place for him. They were dangerous, unpredictable. He wasn't an explorer. He didn't like the unknown. He wanted his little ship and his quiet station and a handsome Hellcat he'd probably never see again.
His entire body shook and he desperately fought against tears even as he gave into the impulse to curl up into a little ball. He didn't know how long he laid there, caught in the grip of fear and panic, before the hatch slid open and three men entered.
Human, he realized immediately, unable to sense even the smallest flicker of their emotional state. Humans always unnerved him. It felt like they weren't really there, just soulless dolls that walked and talked. No more alive than rocks or air.
The shortest and stockiest of the three, with a wide nose that sat slightly askew on his face, immediately stomped over to where Zanson was huddled and stared down at him with an expression Zanson couldn't place. Dealing with humans was so hard. Their faces almost never matched what they were really feeling inside, and he had no way of knowing what they were truly feeling.
"You," the human said gruffly. "Can you understand me? Do you speak Zero Standard?"
Zanson fought a grimace, wrenching himself upright to buy himself time to smooth out his expression. Stupid human. Even if Zanson hadn't learned Standard, which he had, he was a Researcher. Of course he had a language chip. A considerably better one than his captor had, apparently, if the man's chip didn't translate Daneubian. That was rather insulting, really. Daneub wasn't that remote.
"Yes," Zanson finally said, leaving it at that.
The wide human squatted down in front of him, hot, squalid breath washing over him and making him struggle to prevent being sick. Ugh! What was wrong with humans? Didn't they bathe?
"Where's the tech hidden?" the man demanded, and Zanson's stomach rolled again.
When he felt as though he could speak without throwing up, he managed to ask faintly, "What tech?"
The man backhanded him across the face, making him cry out and very nearly fall over before he managed to regain his balance. "The tech!" the man spat. "The tech your planet hid when it decided to become a squalling bunch of fuzzy wusses. Where is it?"
Zanson stared at him long enough to earn himself another backhand, and this time it did knock him over. He laid there for a moment, reorienting himself, then stared up at the man through the short, uneven fall of hair he'd cut to resemble bangs. "Daneub rid itself of technology a long time ago," he said slowly, as if to a particularly slow child. "Little remains beyond curiosity pieces and some of the weather control systems."
"Liar!" the man roared, striking him sharply again, hard enough that Zanson could taste blood. "You know where it is. Of all you stupid fuzzy purple things, you're the one that maintains the tech stuff. You know! Where is it hidden?"
"Nothing is hidden!" Zanson protested, feeling the blood trickling down his face. That was going to mat his fur rather horribly, and he grimaced to think about it. "What remains of the old tech is scattered, few systems still operational, only the lunar research station still fully functional. That is all that remains. Daneub doesn't like technology. Why would we keep something we find detrimental to harmonious living?"
This time he saw the slap coming, though that didn't really make it hurt any less. His vision swam rather disconcertingly as the blow made the throbbing in his head worse, and dimly he heard the thick human swearing and shuffling around.
"Trunk, Pascal," the human barked. "Get over here and see if you can loosen the fucking furry thing's tongue."
Custom Class Star Ship #25118112, The Wishing Star
Just when he'd thought this day couldn't possibly get any worse. Yaral stared up at the sleek black and silver ship, one of the smallest he'd ever seen (and that was saying quite a bit) but also one of the most elegant. Whoever had built it was a master of the craft. Unfortunately, admiring it wasn't getting him any further on his quest.
The Wishing Star. Custom Class Research vessel owned by and registered to Zanson sa Dirmark, and used to transport the reclusive Researcher to and from the research station on Telesta. Currently sitting dormant in a ship bay, with no sign of its owner anywhere in sight.
If everything was normal, this ship should be long gone into the skies, and Zanson with it. The fact that it was still sitting idle on Daneub meant that something was very, very wrong. It made him growl and lash his tail and stalk around the ship in a wide circle, running his hand across the smooth hull.
Zanson had left the Hall of Assembly and made his way on a fairly direct course back toward this ship. The trail had ended less than a five minute walk from the Wishing Star, and Zanson was nowhere to be found. Zanson was not a social man. He did not randomly decide to go elsewhere with other strange-smelling people. Unless Yaral was very much mistaken, wherever Zanson had gone it was not willingly.
Swearing colorfully, Yaral pounded one fist against the gleaming exterior of the Wishing Star.
"Voice print authorized. Identification please."
Startled, Yaral spun around and stared, finding no one within sight. He looked cautiously around, ears twitching, automatically dropping into a defensive posture. He held almost perfectly still, minus the ears and the very tip of his tail, waiting.
"Identification please."
Incredulously, Yaral slowly turned around to stare at the ship, noting that a small row of colored lights had lit up fairly near to where he'd punched it only moments ago. They blinked at him, seeming to go on and off in no logical pattern as he stared at them.
"Uh..." Yaral licked his lips and swallowed. "Yaral. Yaral'nkoma."
All of the colored lights lit up at once, then went dark. A moment later a seam appeared in the hull of the ship, widening quickly, and Yaral swore and dove out of the way as the hatch swung down. He crouched where he was for a moment, watching the dust settle, then cautiously moved around to stand at the base of the sleek silvery steps leading up into the ship.
"Huh..." Cautiously he set one foot on the first step, fully expecting it to close up again. When it did nothing, he advanced to the second, then the third step. Finally out of steps, Yaral found himself staring into the interior of Zanson's ship.
It was just as sleek and beautiful as the exterior, with more screens and tech than Yaral could readily identify taking up almost the entire interior surface. A small door led to what was probably the engine compartment, but Yaral was more curious about the wide control console and the multitude of blinking lights he could see.
It seemed Zanson had left his ship powered up, which further indicated that he'd fully been intending on returning to it quickly. Yaral slid into the single available seat, hovering his hands over the controls as he identified each system. Navigation, propulsion, communications, there were the standard ones, but a lot of the systems he didn't recognize, and of the few remaining he only dimly knew from his brief tour of duty aboard a Research Class vessel four terms ago. He supposed it made sense, given that Zanson was a Researcher, but he'd never seen quite so many systems all fitted into such a compact space before. Whoever had built it had really known what they were doing.
Looking over the screens again a bit more carefully, Yaral found one that was displaying an image of Daneub with a tiny blinking purple dot right in the center. Curious he poked at the dot, yelping when the screen suddenly zoomed in close enough to show the bulk of the southern continent.
"Huh," he said aloud, touching it again, discovering that a downward sweep made the image zoom out, while an upward motion focused more tightly on the purple dot. A sudden suspicion gripping him, Yaral zoomed the screen in as far as it would go until he found himself staring at a very high-resolution overhead of a Merchant Class ship, the little purple dot continuing to blink at him from somewhere slightly near its center.
Yaral's claws flexed over the controls, nails sliding over the smooth surfaces. He growled and carefully backed the screen out enough that he could see exactly where the ship was berthed, then shoved out of the seat and spun on his heel, stalking furiously for the hatch.
Zanson had better be alive and unharmed when he got there, or someone was going to die a most painful death.
Merchant Class Star Ship #21225254, The Babylon
Either the pain was all beginning to merge together into one big pain, or there wasn't a single part of his body that didn't hurt. Zanson was hoping for the former, but didn't really have much belief in it. He lay as still as he could where they'd dropped him, concentrating on breathing as shallowly as possible because that hurt less, and listened to his captors arguing. While at first they'd sounded only angry, as time went on he'd started to note an increasing undercurrent of fear and panic in their voices.
"This is not good. Fucking fuzzy doesn't know a damned thing!"
"Our employers will not be pleased if we return empty handed. They are paying for results, not empty excuses."
"What the hell does it take to break this guy? I've had sworn bodyguards and soldiers break under less."
The third voice, which had been fairly silent until now, spoke up. "Maybe the rumors were wrong, and Daneub really doesn't have any tech left."
"Shut the fuck up, Trunk. The bosses were damned sure about this one. Wouldn't be that confident if they didn't have some sort of inside info. It's here. I'd bet my ship on it."
"Then perhaps the secret is kept by another. Certainly it seemed a bit too obvious for practically the only Daneubian with an interest in technology to be the one charged with keeping it hidden."
There was a heavy silence for several long, excruciatingly painful breaths, then the leader swore again. "Well what the fuck are we going to do now? We can't just dump him somewhere, this guy's one of their leading scientists! The fucking fuzzies aren't a threat, but any of you happen to notice how many Hellcats are walking around out there?"
"Then we will simply have to make his death look like an accident, and try again later."
There was a brief pause before the leader spoke up again. "Yeah? Got any ideas, Pascal?"
"He's well known to be reclusive and solitary. I think if we take him out beyond the-"
Pascal cut off as alarms began sounding, and all three of them swore. Zanson managed to crack open an eye long enough to watch all three of his captors bolt for the hatch, the doors sliding open long enough to let them exit, then sliding shut again. He watched for as long as he could, but was unable to keep his eyes open for very long before finally giving up and doing nothing at all except breathe in very carefully, and back out again.
To Part Two