“Just leave the talking to me, okay?”
Pennington shrugged in response to Quinn’s request as the pair made their way up a stone walkway leading from the busy market street toward an area of calm and serenity. An immaculately groomed lawn, replete with trees, shrubbery, and several small gardens teeming with exotic plants and flowers, surrounded what the journalist saw as an unassuming home. The quaint, one-level, unpainted prefab structure reminded Pennington of the houses built by the dozens on flourishing colony worlds throughout the Federation. Rustic, peaceful, and isolated, the place struck him as downright pleasant to behold.
Stepping onto the house’s porch and approaching the heavy wooden door that was adorned only with a large brass knocker and a small circle which Pennington recognized as a peephole, Quinn wasted no time shattering the courtyard’s tranquillity. “Hey!” he yelled as he pounded on the door with his fist. “Sakud Armnoj? You home? Hellooooo?”
“No need to shout, you know,” Pennington said, his hands in his pockets as he moved to stand beside the pilot.
From behind the door, a nasally, whiny voice called out, “You don’t have to shout. And thanks for using the knocker. Moron.” Pennington noted a flash of light through the peephole, realizing that they were being watched by whoever was inside the house. “Oh, pardon me. Morons,”the voice amended.
“Just open up,” Quinn said, putting his hands on his hips. “My name’s Quinn. Ganz sent me to get you and take you to him.”
“How do I know you’re not lying?” the voice asked. “You could be trying to kill me for all I know.”
“Assassins don’t announce themselves by banging on your door, you wanker,” Pennington snapped, earning him an appreciative glance from Quinn. “Now open the bloody door.”
There was a pause before Pennington heard the occupant disengage a series of bolts and locks—enough to sound as though a prison cell were being opened—before the door swung aside to reveal a Zakdorn dressed in what appeared to be a geisha’s robe and thong sandals. His pasty complexion was broken only by the series of ridges jutting from his cheeks. What little hair he possessed on the sides of his head was brown and cut close to his scalp. He regarded Quinn and Pennington with black eyes.
“No need to be testy about it,” he said. “One has to be careful around here, after all. You can’t go opening your doors for strangers.”
“Your door’s open now,” Quinn said, his expression deadpan. “We might still be here to kill you.”
The Zakdorn—Armnoj, presumably—waved away the suggestion. “I’ve known you were coming for three days. Ganz’s people contacted me and sent me a complete file on you.” His eyes narrowing as he regarded Pennington, the wormy little humanoid added, “They didn’t send anything about you, though.”
“I’m his caddy,” the journalist replied, making no effort to hide his mounting annoyance. To Quinn, he asked, “Can we get on with this?”
The pilot nodded. “Absolutely.” Turning his attention back to the Zakdorn, he said, “Mr. Armnoj—if that’s who you are—we need to be going. Ganz wants you and your accounting records in front of him before the end of the week.” He shrugged. “Of course, you could always just transmit the files to him over subspace. You know, save us all a lot of heartache.”
Armnoj released a boorish grunt. “That would hardly be helpful. All of my files are encoded with a multi-quad encryption algorithm capable of thwarting any attempts at unauthorized access. I designed the software myself, including a self-regenerating cipher that allows for unparalleled data security.”
“Wonderful,” Quinn said, rolling his eyes. “Well, you and your encoded multi-quad whatever-the-
hell-you-call-them need to get packed. We’re a bit pressed for time, here.”
Shaking his head, the Zakdorn affected an expression of disapproval. “You’ll have to come back later. I’m on my way to the sauna.”
Pennington noted that Quinn was making a valiant effort to maintain his composed demeanor. Drawing a deep breath, the privateer clasped his hands behind his back and attempted to smile. “No time for that, sir. Ganz said he wanted you back as soon as possible. It’s a long trip, and the sooner we get started, the happier everybody will be.”
Armnoj sniffed the air with evident disdain. “Very well, but you’ll just have to wait while I change into traveling attire and pack a few things.” Eyeing them both, he added, “You may come in, but kindly refrain from sitting on my furniture.” He turned and walked back into the house, muttering something Pennington could not hear before saying, “You can be sure Mr. Ganz will hear about your lack of courtesy. I’m not in the habit of being treated this way.”
Alone on the porch, Quinn and Pennington exchanged stares and shrugs.
“Nice guy,” Quinn growled. “Reminds me of my first wife.”
“She was that ugly?” Pennington asked.
“That, and talking to her for two minutes was usually enough to make me want to launch her out a photon torpedo tube.”
Stepping through the door after Quinn, Pennington noted that the inside of the accountant’s home was as well appointed as its exterior. His boots sank into plush woven carpeting, and he looked longingly at the trio of overstuffed chairs positioned around the sitting room. The rest of the chamber’s furniture was equally opulent, and a collection of expensive-looking curios populated shelves and hutches. He recognized the spiced aroma of a notably expensive Zakdorn incense scenting the air.
Being a crime lord’s bookkeeper definitely has its advantages.
“You live here alone?” Pennington called out toward the room into which he had seen Armnoj disappear.
“Of course,” the Zakdorn replied from what Pennington presumed was the accountant’s bedchambers. “I like it that way.”
“Yeah,” Quinn said, low enough so that only Pennington could hear, “because the ladies are kicking and scratching to get in here.” In a louder voice, he asked, “Aren’t you afraid someone might come by to cause trouble?”
“Never happened before,” Armnoj replied. “Besides, I have Sniffy.”
Exchanging looks with Quinn, Pennington frowned. “Sniffy?”
“Guy doesn’t get out much, does he?” Quinn remarked. “File me under ‘shocked,’ why don’t you?”
As if in response to the conversation, Pennington’s attention was attracted to the sounds of movement across the carpeted floor and he turned to see…something…waddling into the room. Seemingly a cross between a dog and a walrus, the animal appeared to be encased in blubber draped in smooth, brown hair. It whipped its spindly front legs while dragging its hindquarters more or less uselessly. With wide nostrils and puffy cheeks, the creature managed to make its way close to the duo before settling in and squinting at them with beady, black eyes.
“Sniffy, I presume,” Quinn said.
Frowning as he regarded the animal, which appeared harmless, Pennington asked, “What the hell is that?”
Armnoj emerged from his bedroom, dressed in a colorful silken shirt and matching trousers. “Why, he’s a slijm,”the Zakdorn said, “and a fine one, too. Pedigreed.”
Uh-oh,Pennington thought.
As if reading his mind, Quinn held up a hand in warning. “It can’t go with us.”
“Out of the question,” Armnoj declared. “He’s hardly been out of my care his entire life. He means everything to me. I can’t leave him.”
Rolling his eyes, Pennington said, “Surely you have contingencies when you travel on business.” I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation.
Armnoj crossed his arms, saying nothing.
“I don’t have any room on my ship, anyway,” Quinn said. Casting a doubtful look toward the animal, he added, “Besides, it doesn’t look like it’d even make it to the spaceport.”
“Spaceport?” the Zakdorn repeated, his eyes wide with anxiety as he shook his head rapidly. “That simply won’t do. I don’t fly suborbital. You’ll have to fetch yourself a suitable ship and come back.”