Above the clatter and clamour of cargo being shifted, bartering bouncing back and forth, and deals being sealed, above the sea of bodies representing almost every Asylonian race, and above David and Rochelle themselves, their eyes fascinated and mouths agape, an occasional Askarian buzzed by on a pediracer.

  It was in one of these vehicles - which David had often likened to flying segways - that Balzor returned. His particular pediracer had been modified to include a two-seater carriage at the rear.

  'C'mon yers,' he urged them. 'I gots yers a poin’ment wi' t’captain. His'll see yers ra now if yer wants,'

  David looked around at the sprawling queues of Asylonians, all waiting in line to make a trade, some fidgeting restlessly, some having lost the feeling in their legs and opting to sit on the cold floor.

  'Right now?' he asked. 'How come we get special treatment?'

  'Caz,' Balzor scoffed. 'Yers ooman, ain't yers? Not offen we gets oomans pokin' bout roun' these parts.'

  Rochelle cringed at his last few words. Pokin' bout roun' these parts. It made her feel like a trespasser, a criminal. She reached forward, resting her hand where the strap of David’s dust-covered dungarees wrapped over his shoulder. A gentle warmth pervaded him. He patted her hand reassuringly, tilting his head slightly in the direction of the pediracer. Rochelle nodded hers in silent confirmation. David dropped to one knee, thrust his arms down and cupped his hands. Rochelle smiled. It was a simple gesture but, at least for that moment, it was enough to push her fears to one side and replace them with an idea, a feeling, perhaps she would have even called it a premonition, that everything was going to be OK.

  'Thank you, good Sir,' she said, placing one foot into David’s cupped hands, and steadying herself with her own hand on his shoulder.

  'Most certainly welcome, ma'am,' David smiled back.

  He boosted her up. She leapt with the other foot, and threw herself into the carriage, an arm and head first, then the other arm, torso, one leg, then the other.

  Returning the favour, Rochelle leant over the side of the carriage and offered a hand to David. He took it gladly and allowed her to help him aboard.

  'Yers all goods back there?' Balzor asked without turning to address his passengers.

  'All good, Balzor!' Rochelle replied.

  'Alrighty, s’long as yer sures'

  With that, they took off. The pediracer gained in altitude first, rising up towards the domed glass ceiling until they were clear of the people and things below them. Then it moved forward, towards the narrow corridor in the corner of the room. A small band of mildly-curious Rommanine traders watched, as the Askarian and the two humans disappeared down the neverending corridor.

  XXXVI.

  When they were out of sight, Balzor jammed put his foot down on the pediracer's acceleration. They shot down the long, straight corridor with a speed and power that plastered the backs of the human's heads to the carriage, and left them feeling light in the stomach. When the corridor cut into a right-angle turn, they slowed down only slightly, so that Balzor could effectively tilt them on their side, and glide around the corner like a professional jetcycle racer. They raced past steel doors, embedded into the blank walls at regular intervals, each one with the black face of a biometric lock in the center. In the gaps between the doors, naked light bulbs hung from the tiled ceiling on frayed black cables, casting shadows that streaked across the floor and up the walls.

  Eventually, even the light bulbs were gone. The corridor ended at the head of steep, uninviting steps leading into darkness. With no warning to his passengers, Balzor bucked the pediracer up and drove her down, like a gallant jockey, wildly encouraging his steed over an invisible hurdle. David and Rochelle clung to one another as they were pulled down, the pediracer skimming inches above the steps, and flying into a second corridor. This one mirrored the layout of the first, with its door-light-door-light-door-light setup. That was where the similarities ended. Instead of lightbulbs hanging lifelessly from the ceiling, this corridor was illuminated by red and orange glows from torches set into damp, stone walls, that reached out with flaming hands to grab at those who passed. The doors themselves no longer boasted the spotless steel of the twenty second century. Instead, they showed off their solid oakwood faces. Well varnished, the doors were furnished with iron spikes, like something David had once seen in the dungeons of a roleplay video game replicating life in a century long gone by. Balzor slowed the pediracer. David looked about him, at the damp moss crawling down the walls, the puddles at their feet, and the chips and dents in the arched ceiling.

  'I don't like this, David.' Rochelle whispered.

  'I know, damn creepy isn't it?'

  'Just a touch. I don't like it. It unnerves me.'

  David fumbled in the darkness for her hand and slipped it into his.

  'Don't worry, you're safe,' he told her. 'I promise, I won’t let anything bad happen to you, ‘Chelle.’

  Rochelle placed her other hand on top of his and squeezed. She was about to lay her head on his shoulder, when Balzor brought them to a halt at the point where the corridor broke off and gave them the option of going either left or right. They did neither. Rather, Balzor leapt from the pediracer, and wrapped his paw around the giant, iron knocker on the wide, oval-shaped door directly in front of them. Looking back to grin nervously at his passengers, Balzor brought it crashing down against the oakwood, the shrill clap of metal on wood echoing about the corridor.

  Nothing happened.

  David shrugged, leapt from the carriage to his feet, then held out an arm to help Rochelle down. Balzor knocked again. This time, the sound of some old English gentlemen croaked from behind the door.

  'En-tarrr!'

  Balzor twisted the door knocker to the right then drew back. A coarse, grating noise reverberated around them. The door unlocked with a crack. The Askarian opened it to reveal four creatures sat around a large oak table in a room twice as wide as it was long.

  XXXVII.

  The creatures were not unlike Balzor in appearance. Their melon flesh was littered with boils, a gash where most creatures kept a nose, and bright eyes which would have been a crystal white were it not for the reddish glow of the room making them a dark, bloody colour. They too had fashioned their tentacles much as humans fashioned long hair. The two creatures on the outer-seats wore theirs behind their heads as Balzor did. The Askarian on the inner-right allowed his to droop freely by the sides of his head. The one sat directly in the center of the table wore his tentacles up in a bun atop his head. They each wore black, leathery three-piece suits, trimmed with lines of gold and silver. Their hands were decorated with silver rings of varying lengths and designs.

  Spread out on the table before them were an assortment of decanters and glasses, half-full with watery, blood-red liquid. In the remaining space, leather-bound ledgers, and ashtrays holding the stubs of smouldering, brown cigarettes, were scattered at random.

  A rich aroma teased Rochelle's nostrils, a collage of sweet tobacco smoke and strong vapors from the Askarians' drink of choice, of the dying embers of a fire, and of expensive perfumes and spices. She looked around the room, taking in the form of the creatures staring back at her. The two sat at the far sides of the table drew back heavily and heartily on their smokes, gazing toward the heavens with big, stupid grins and dreamy eyes as they exhaled. The one on the inner-right coughed and spat as he inhaled second hand smoke. Rochelle noticed that, where the skin of the other three was hard, cracked, and strong in its shade of melon, his was pale, soft, loose, and sprouting hair. She saw his tired eyes and his trembling fingers. A certain sadness came over her, lingering even as her eyes drifted to the Askarian who sat in the centre of the group, with arms folded on the table, and a glass of the red liquid resting by his elbow. It was this creature who addressed them.

  'Ah, human beings. What a refreshing change,' he said.

  The bass in his low, deep voice clashed with the jovial manner in which he spoke.

  'Do come in, do come in. Pray tell, whatever could we lowly Askarians do for the human race?’

  'Captain Cringor, Sirs. These humans, they’s the ones I tells yer bout. They comes to make tha deal, Sirs.'

  Cringor unfolded his arms and snapped his fingers at Balzor.

  'Yes alright, Balzor. Let the creatures speak. I assume they can speak?'

  'Aye sirs, yes sirs. They can, cainch yers? Speak to the Captain, yers two.'

  Rochelle took a step forward. David slipped his fingers in a gentle noose around her wrist and stepped beside her.

  'Captain, my name is David Attreus, of the United Earth Force. This is...' he glanced at Rochelle for inspiration. 'This is my esteemed colleague, Dr. Rochelle Asa, also of the planet Earth.'

  'Earth,' smirked Cringor. 'Beautiful little place, so I'm led to believe. Though judging by this terrible replica they brought us to, I somehow doubt it.'

  'Yes, quite, quite,' urged Rochelle, nodding her head frantically, and attracting a look from David which suggested she had gone quite insane.

  'So, what brings two human beings to Asylonia when you already have the real thing?'

  David swallowed, as though drinking in confidence from the clammy atmosphere of the room, and boldly stepped forward towards the captain's table.

  'Captain, we were sent here on a rescue mission, by the United Earth Force of Planet Earth,' he lied.

  'A rescue mission, eh? A young boy and a pretty young girl? I hardly think so.'

  'Oh yes, it's true,' Rochelle insisted. 'David came to rescue both me and The General, didn't you David?'

  David corroborated Rochelle's story. Captain Cringor spoke again.

  'And clearly it isn't going well.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ David snapped.

  ‘Well, if it was all going smoothly, I hardly think you’d be here now, would you?’ Cringor smirked. ‘I mean, be truthful, humans. You didn’t just stop by for a social visit, did you?'

  The two creatures on the far-sides of the table chuckled and guffawed. The sick looking Askarian sat next to Cringor attempted to join them, but could only cough and wheeze, and was ultimately resigned to resting his chin on the table and looking up at them with miserable, tired eyes.

  'Yeah alright, so we need your assistance, that’s true,' David said bluntly, hiding his embarrassment.

  'Soooo,’ groaned the Captain. ‘Come on then, let us have it. What can we, humble Askarian traders, do to assist such noble saviours of the universe as the mighty human being?'

  Rochelle bit her lip a little more eagerly than intended. There it was again, that mocking, sinister tone of voice which only cemented her belief that the Askarians could not be trusted entirely.

  Clouds of smoke puffed from the lips of the two healthy henchmen as they laughed again. The sick creature gave a half-smile. Balzor began to chuckle too, stopping abruptly as David turned and glared.

  'Two things,' he said, returning his stare to Captain Cringor.

  'Oh, I see, two things? The humans need two things. A little greedy, aren’t we?'

  More laughter. Balzor joined in with the kind of nervous laughter typical of those desperate to pretend they get the joke.

  'And what might these two things be?'

  'First of all, our jetcar ran into a bit of trouble. I can fix her easy, but I'm gonna need a couple of parts, and the tools of course.'

  'Right, right,’ the captain nodded. ‘And your second request?'

  'Information.'

  'Information?'

  The chuckling and coughing continued in the background.

  'Information. About the man I came here to rescue.'

  'And which man might this be then?'

  'General Noah Fallon, of the United Earth Force.'

  The laughter came to a sudden halt. The sick Askarian coughed so hard he almost fell backwards out of his seat, and had to be steadied by his allies. A hush fell over the room. The devious grin vanished from Cringor's mug. He stared, stone-faced at the two humans. Only Balzor continued to laugh. Cringor picked up an ashtray from the table and hurled it at him.

  'Shut up, Balzor!'

  'Yes sirs, sorry sirs,' Balzor grovelled, bowing his head and staring at his webbed feet.

  Cringor turned his attention away from Balzor, back to David and Rochelle.

  'I see,’ he said solemnly. ‘And what, dare I ask, leads you to the idea that we have any idea where this General of yours has gotten to?’

  'Erm,' David replied, wishing he had thought this through more thoroughly. Sensing a chance to help, Rochelle patted David lightly on the back and stepped forward again.

  'Well, if anybody's going to, it's you and your colleagues here, isn't it?' she said, cheerfully and self-assured.

  'Is it?' asked the captain, quizzically.

  'Well yes, of course it is, Captain Cringor! Everybody, and I mean, everybody knows that Askaria is the centre of Asylonia. OK, so we may not have a designated capital or anything like that, but we don't need one, do we? It's a given fact that without Askaria, the whole planet would fall to ruin. Your kindness, your generosity, your willingness to do anything for anybody no matter what race, or what species, they happen to be, that’s what keeps this whole planet ticking over.'

  Cringor's stone face cracked a little. The slightest of smiles fell about his lips.

  'Go on,' he urged, with a regal wave of his cigar.

  Rochelle went on.

  'And because Askaria is such a vital part of this global community, if anything newsworthy were to happen anywhere on the planet, somebody here would most certainly have heard of it, wouldn't they? Being such well-respected Asylonians as you are, if somebody did know where a famous Earth soldier was, who would they trust the most to confide in? I know if it were me, I'd feel safe leaving that knowledge with such fine gentlemen as yourselves.'

  Cringor nodded, impressed.

  'Yes, yes. I suppose they would, and whilst we're busy supposing things, let's just suppose that we do have some information for you about your missing colleague. What's in it for us?'

  David scratched his head.

  'What would you like?'

  Cringor laughed.

  'Like!' he bellowed. 'Young man, we like many things. There are lots of things that could be useful to us in many different ways. It isn't about what we like. It's about what you have to offer that we would consider a fair and equal trade. For a deal of this magnitude, most of our clients barter with weapons, guns, ammo, precious metals, jewels and the like.'

  David cupped his hand over his mouth and rubbed at his chin, picturing his weapons resting at the bottom of an Asylonian ocean.

  'Erm,' he said again.

  'No, I'm afraid we don't accept erms, whatever an erm happens to be' Cringor scoffed again. There was more laughter from every Askarian besides the sick one, who coughed louder, and pushed the back of his hand against his face to wipe away the trail of gelatinous, grey-coloured liquid that had leaked from the gash in the middle of his face. Rochelle saw him and strained to keep her guts in check, then bounded forward and threw her hands in the air, as though trying to take flight.

  'Medicine!' she exclaimed. 'We have lots of medicine. Captain Cringor, I have much experience in treating all kinds of sick creatures, right across Asylonia. This poor soul here looks very poorly indeed. I'm certain I could help him,' she continued, motioning to the sick Askarian.

  Cringor folded his arms on the table again and leaned forward.

  'Really? You, human? You could really heal my father's ailments?’

  The sick creature looked up at his son, pleading. He turned his gaze to Rochelle, and she closed her eyes to prevent them meeting his. Behind them, at the forefront of her thoughts, she saw flashes of the past; sick and dying Asylonians reaching out to her for help. She saw herself frantically running among them, delivering shots, issuing tablets, spooning medicine into the mouths of the terminally ill. A tear began to form. She swiped it away quickly with a crooked finger. That was the past. That was beyond her control. David was right, she had done the best she could with what she had at the time, and her best had not been all that bad. She had helped people, she had saved them, and she could do the same again. Seven simple words formed in her mind from nowhere. At once, they seemed so strange, and yet made perfect sense.

  Now or never, Rochelle. Now or never.

  She opened her eyes again and met the glance of Cringor's dying father.

  'Yes,' she said boldly. 'Yes, I can help your father.'

  For the first time, Rochelle saw that the smile on the Askarian's face was one of genuine joy rather than sinister cunning. The creature sat on the opposite side of Cringor's father leaned forward too.

  'Say, um. My ma, she got sick a few months ago. She still ain’t quite gotten over it. You think you could help her, too?'

  'Yes of course,' Rochelle said with confidence, and thought that she would have done so even if there had been nothing in it for herself and David.

  The one remaining Askarian, who had not yet uttered a word, suddenly sprung up from his seat, waving gross-looking arms at Cringor.

  'But Captain, The Tem...'

  Cringor batted the hand away.

  'Shut up, Dalvor!'

  He sat upright at the table, one hand on his father's trembling shoulder, the other reaching out towards the humans.

  'Mr. Attreus, Ms. Asa, I believe we're in a position to make a trade with you.'

  XXXVIII.

  And so the deal was done. In exchange for engine parts, circuits, an engineer's tool kit, a workspace for David, and information on the whereabouts of General Noah Fallon, Dr. Rochelle Asa would treat Askaria’s sick and dying. Her hospital ward would be put together in an office complex behind the Exchange building.

 

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