While they were bickering and both Pit-Ghors were staring directly at him, Valerian slipped inside. He spared only the barest glance for his surroundings, noting exits, entrances, and the locations of civilians, of which there were only a few. Fortunately for them, they appeared to be getting ready to leave.
The store was piled high with a variety of bizarre-looking antiques—books, lanterns, and candles, rolled-up carpets, carvings, jewelry, hats and headdresses, pipes of all varieties, animal saddles—but Valerian’s attention was focused on the two newcomers and the back room they were heading for.
Igon Siruss stood there, a massive presence, clearly expecting them. Behind him, arms folded across his large, muscular chest, stood a tall Kodhar’Khan in the prime of his life. He wore armor on his shoulders and down one arm. He had stripes on his bare skin and head, and a vicious scar from a previous fight that had taken his right eye and cut a line down his face. Fit and lithe where his father was obese and trundling, “Junior” nevertheless bore a strong resemblance to him.
Okay, so he probably hadn’t been picked on at Kodhar’Khan school. If anything, Valerian was willing to bet Junior had instigated any bullying that had taken place.
“Hey, Tsûuri! Good to see you again!” Igon boomed. His jovial voice was several octaves below a human’s speaking tones, and it all but rumbled along Valerian’s bones. One of Igon’s guards held the door open for the hooded pair to enter. Moving quietly, and wishing he didn’t smell quite so sunshine-fresh, Valerian entered hard on the strangers’ heels. The closing door missed him by an inch.
The two newcomers halted at the sight of no fewer than six guards standing against the walls of the room. Valerian’s gaze flickered over the slender shapes, noting their locations and their weapons. He was beginning to revise his estimate of their species.
“Please, sit down!” Igon invited. He had moved to stand behind a large table. There was one gargantuan seat to accommodate his enormous behind, and two ordinary-sized chairs at the front of the table. His “guests” would be forced to sit with their backs to the door—a psychologically vulnerable position. The newcomers exchanged glances, and slowly sank down into the proffered chairs.
The one Siruss had addressed as Tsûuri asked, coldly, “Do you have what we asked for?”
“Yeah, sure, of course,” Siruss replied genially, “but I have to tell you, it was a toughie.” He shook his grotesquely large head. “I lost an awful lot of personnel getting it for you.”
He nodded to one of the guards, who placed a rectangular metal box on the table. The front end was not solid, but grated, and Valerian heard a slight shuffling sound from inside.
Then a small creature pressed its face to the bars.
Valerian started. It looks a lot like the pet the princess in my dream had, Valerian thought. Where had that weird dream come from? Alex’s “answer” had raised more questions than it had answered.
The creature’s eyes widened and it squealed gleefully, wriggling in excitement and extending a small forepaw through the bars.
“We will pay you!” cried Tsûuri. His voice trembled with emotion.
“I’m sure you will,” Igon said, with false kindness. “You’re honest, valiant people.” One hand went to his chin as he added, “But this… thing… is priceless. What can you give me in exchange that could really be worth giving this up?”
Tsûuri hesitated. Then he took a small white spherical object out of a pouch at his side.
Her pale fingers cupping radiant spheres and bathing her perfect face with them. Fishermen, harvesting pearls in tiny nets, bringing them joyfully to shore—
Valerian angrily wrenched himself out of the dream recollection.
Tsûuri held the object in his gloved fingers for a moment, then set it down in front of Igon. The “antiques dealer” delicately picked it up in one great hand. The other reached for a large magnifying glass lying on the table. Siruss peered at the pearl through the lens, which made his tiny, beady eye appear enormous.
“Amazing!” he murmured. His voice was hushed and filled with awe, and he was obviously forgetting the first rule of haggling: don’t seem impressed. That spoke volumes to Valerian. His gaze fell again on the box on the table, and the small creature within. What the hell was this animal? And why were these pearls so valuable?
Siruss continued to gaze at the small white object, compounding his violation of the first rule of haggling. “I never thought I’d see one in my lifetime!”
The unknown alien snatched it deftly from the other’s large palm.
“You’ll have hundreds of them,” he promised Siruss. “Just as soon as you give us what we came for.”
Igon regarded him with mock sorrow. “Ah, now… that’s where I have a slight problem, my friend. You see, I’ve been thinking. I’m a big fan of cutting out the middleman.” He indicated the pearl Tsûuri held.
“If you’re going to knock out copies of this baby for me… why shouldn’t I do it for myself?”
He smiled. It was ugly, cruel, and intelligent, and Valerian abruptly hated him with an intensity that surprised him.
Too late, the slender aliens realized their mistake.
Both leaped to their feet, drawing weapons, but Igon’s six mercenaries had beaten them to it. While everybody leveled their gun at everybody else, Valerian slipped behind the Kodhar’Khan crime lord.
“Easy, my little lambs!” soothed Igon.
A female voice snapped, “We absolutely need this converter!” Now she, too, had broken the first rule of haggling. “You told us you could help! You know we are fighting for a noble cause!”
“I know,” Igon said solemnly. “I’m fighting for a noble cause, too.” He grinned. “Mine. Here’s the deal.”
Igon casually pulled a gun and pointed it at the female.
Time to end this. Valerian lifted his visor so he could see himself again, and began to type in the code at the end of his Sleeve.
“I get the converter and this pearl,” Siruss was saying. “You get to stay alive. How about it? A good deal, right?” He guffawed at his own feeble humor, then sobered. His voice was utterly without warmth as he said, “You have ten seconds to accept.”
He began a countdown as the muzzle of his gun split in two, with each muzzle curving away, as if with a life of its own, to point at each of the aliens.
“Five, four…”
Valerian quickly punched the last figures of the code into the keypad.
“Three… ”
Valerian flipped down the visor—
“Two…”
—and saw his arm manifest in the virtual world as he jabbed his gun into the smuggler’s neck.
Igon abruptly ceased the countdown, but his gun did not waver. Nor did those of the mysterious aliens. Those of Siruss’s guards, however, immediately turned to take aim at Valerian. Or at his Sleeve-encased arm, at least.
“Federal Agent Valerian,” he introduced himself. “Sorry to interrupt this great deal, but I’m also here for a noble cause called the law!”
The unknown aliens flipped back their hoods—and it was all Valerian could do not to gasp.
Pale, luminous skin. Eyes as blue, bluer than the sky. Delicate features, now drawn in anger and fear, their foreheads black with it. The beautiful faces did not carry such expressions comfortably.
Pearls, came a thought, drifting and easy as a summer zephyr. They are called… Pearls.
“Wrong place, my friend,” drawled Igon confidently. “There is no law around here.”
“There is law wherever I am,” Valerian stated with surety. Even as he spoke, though, his gaze drifted back to the aliens. “Haven’t I seen you guys somewhere before?”