The rogue commander found a table in a dark recess of the room's dimly lit corners, placed his drink on the heavily stained wooden surface, and dropped heavily onto the drinks cask that was currently employed as make-shift seating. He took a slow, deep draw from his flagon and scanned the room with his eyes, taking care not to move his head whilst soaking up every detail. The clientelle base was as varied as any he had come across; Fauraintians, Deladakks, Saadaritine freight runners, even the occasional Human. Some where conducting their trade negotiations over one form of heady brew or other. Others were celebrating their card game winnings whilst the less fortunate players drank away their remaining niodium.
The odd scuffle would break out but the local port security, comprised more often than not of the huge and muscular Jaradjufans here on Vupa 6, would swiftly intervene and end any such protest with the threat of their issue plasma cannons, little more than side-arms in their sizable fists.
The minutes seemed to pass like hours as the commander sat and waited. He drank, he watched, and he took in everything. Not too long ago the veteran mecha-pilot had bought a nugget of information from an opportunistic Lae-Ceearn trader, who had divulged the whereabouts of the commander's number one rival in the coming faction wars. He had sold the information dearly and the commander had departed to verify the data.
It had turned out to be bad info. This, in turn, was the trader's bad fortune. The commander had been on planet for over two months, and had been drinking in the tavern nearly every night for that period. No body pays much attention to those who simply drink and sit quietly without causing trouble. For this reason the commander knew the faces and even some names of the port's more regular visitors. Careful observation and patience reveal a wealth valuable wonders, in this case that the Lae-Ceearn trader turned up on the fourth passing of each Vupan period. THAT would be tonight.
The commander's fists clenched. There he was. Right on schedule. The trader. Typically loud and boastful, rich and drunk from his period away peddling his dubious wares, and stupidly noisy, advertising his presence to all. The commander watched as the braggart wandered towards the door, waving at his few friends and staggering with intoxication.The commander rose steadily and vanished between the throng.
In the long cold dark of the Vupan night the trader swayed his way between the flat sided buildings as he meandered down the shadowy alley ways on route to his lodgings. One other noted fact that the commander had picked up on was this devious little wretch, unlike other ship Captains, did not reside on his craft when in port. He probably fooled himself that it prevented disgruntled 'customers' from locating him whilst he was slumbering and vulnerable. He was very wrong in this assumption.
Eyes watched his inebriated progress for a moment before darting away with purposeful haste. The trader, laughing and lolling, turned a corner and froze rigid. His suddenly sober eyes stared in stark horror at the barrel of the light incinerator pressed firmly against his nose. He traced the weapon's length all the way back and let out a barely audible squeal as his eyes ventured up to find the shaded features of the commander snarling back at him.
The trader raised his hands, palms open and waving frantically, and stuttered his hastily scrapped together excuse, "L..l..lll...look chief, I was promised yer boy would be at that camp. H..h..h..honestly. Me mate sweared it to me, he says, he sweared it. He never let me down affore. Never. I, I, I..i promisiz ya chief. I knew nothin'.....", "DAMNED RIGHT", the commander growled, "You did know nothing didn't you"? The commander held the incinerator steady as a ship's orders and leaned a little closer. "That 'nothing' you knew must have bought you quite a week's drinking too I'll bet", the commander rumbled. The trader looked, for all the world, like he was close to fainting, and a small puddle had formed around his beat-up dock boots. "Y..y...y....y.. yer money. O'course. I never spent a scrap o' it chjief. S..s..s...s soon as I, I, I foun' out th' info was crap ah put it straight in me hold an' kept it good as safe for yer chief. H..h.h...h...hones'", he quaked. The commander narrowed his eyes, barely visible in the pitch dark of the alley. "So, you didn't think to come return it to me"? He asked slowly. "C,c,c,c,chief. I never knew you was still in port. I reckons to mesel' you'd have yer man dead bi nex' period an' be gone".
The commander struggled to contain his dismay at this creature's obvious stupidity. "You said you placed the niodium in your hold when you found out the intel was bad", he snapped, "So IF the intel was bad, therefore the target was not where you swore he would be, how in the hell would I have him 'dead by the next period'"? he spat, each word slamming into place like coffin nail after coffin nail. The trader racked his limited brain for anything remotely plausible and, more importantly, life saving. "L..l..l,l,l,l,look chief. I gots a small fortune on mesel' and easy as can gi' ya yer payment right back, no probs right now chief", he spluttered, hastily digging into his overall pockets and thrusting out a hand full of, in truth, considerable wealth. He must have been holding at least twelve thousand in niodium currency, around four thousand more than he had charged for the bad information. Almost made the trek across the dark open wastes worth the effort. The commander paused, then reached forward and tightly grasped the trader's fingers, sqeezing and breaking a couple of them in the process. "That will suffice nicely", he said, letting go before the small Lae-Ceearn blacked out with pain and panic.
He raised his weapon and applied the safety catch, "Payment for the bad information and trouble accepted", he said in suspiciously soothing tones. The trader exhaled and sagged around his scrawny shoulders, "T...t...t,t,t,t than's chief", he replied muzzily, and started to turn to head back to his craft. His shattered mental state ran wild, offering thanks for his fortunate escape whilst swearing never to return to any trade port frequented by mecha-crews. He took an unsteady step forward, and froze as he heard the familiar 'click' of the previously encountered incinerator safety catch. "Wha'....."? he began as he was swallowed by the lifeless stare of the commander. The void of the barrel somehow seemed to invent a darker shade of black for itself as it hung in the air like the open gateway to oblivion. The commander raised a finger to his lips briefly to silence the untrustworthy scoundrel. As it was lowered as the commander spoke calmly, "Now there is just the small issue of the insult", he uttered. A malevolent grin cracked his features, and the incinerator kicked once.
Submitted by Steve Ross #162076