Judgement – Best Served Cold: The Appetizer, part 1
by Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin & (G) Arrain - Lieutenant Arrienye t'Merek
Post Details
::ON::
"Oran! Oran!"
The younger man's voice cut above the crowd as Draylin moved off the transport and onto the floating market in orbit around Altair Four. Tarver Quint was one of the occasional unpleasant necessities of Draylin's life. At least the little scrote didn't know his true name. He came rushing to Draylin's side. "I hope you are here for some R&R, cos I found something I think might catch your interest. Trust me. You wont have seen anything like this is your life. Once in a lifetime opportunity. A truly unique specimen!"
Something malevolent flashed in Draylin's eyes at the boy's bad choice of words. "The reason I'm here is none of your business, now get on with it," he told him curtly.
"Alright then, this way," Tarver pointed towards the very centre of the floating market, the oldest, darkest and most dangerous part of the space station that had been cobbled together from flotsam and jetsam over the last hundred years. It was a hurried walk to Tarver's workshop. Once there, he locked the door behind them, and started opening crates and boxes piled around.
"I've tracked down most of what you asked for already. One dozen six shot powerpacks, twenty 500 shot powerpacks, I've stripped and rigged those type 3's you sent me, and they test fire just fine. A meter of ceramic monofiliament, plus handles. The antique you wanted arrives tomorrow, and I've cast you a hundred rounds for it."
There was a pause, as everything about his body language conveyed the conflict between wanting know why one of his customers wanted something so out of character, and knowing he had only survived so long because he never asked those sorts of questions.
"And if you have cash to splash, you can see the little gem a punter brought in." He sat down behind his work bench and turned an ornately lacquered wooden chest towards Draylin. "I swear that people have fought and died for this. You won't find anything else like it. If it was a painting, it'd be in a museum. If it was an animal, you'd want it stuffed and mounted on the wall." He flipped open the box.
Inside, resting on a silk velvet cloth, was one of the most exquisite knives Draylin had ever seen. A terran blade, but beyond beautiful even so. "The personal tanto of the Hattori Hanzo, legendary samurai."
Draylin raised his eyebrows in surprise, obviously impressed as he looked down at the blade. Reaching out tentatively, his eyes still on it, Draylin slid the tips of his fingers over the handle, feeling the small bumps through the thin material of his gloves as if touching it with his bare hand.
Tarver had a big grin on his face that reminded Draylin of a cartoon villain, And now I have you my pretty...
Reaching into the wooden chest, Draylin closed his fingers around the hilt of the tanto and lifted it up, testing the weight. He twirled the blade skillfully between his hands before quickly slashing towards Tarver and the blade stopping just short of his throat, so close he could swear he felt the coldness of the blade near his skin.
"This better be the real thing," Draylin warned him.
Tarver looked offended, but there was also the unmistakable stink of urine floating around him now...
"I am very attached to my skin, Oran. If I dicked my punters about, it wouldn't stay attached to me for very long now would it?"
Draylin made a disgusted face at the smell. 'Coward' he thought in distaste, lowering the blade slowly, examining the unique weapon once more. Not looking up at Tarver, he asked how much it would cost him.
"Not a how much. A who." The weapons dealer said mysteriously. He swivelled in his chair and turned around to the window behind him, bleeping the remote on the shutters that slide aside into recesses in the wall. In the 'street' below, a motley group of people from all over the quadrant were gathered around a small arena fenced off with old deck plates. Inside the enclosure cardassian voles were trying to tear each other apart. "See that guy down there, the fat denobulan with the hairline in full retreat?"
Draylin walked over to the railing and gazed down onto the promenade bellow them. His sharp eyes quickly found the Denobulan. "I see him."
"He's gold plated shit, mate. Gold-plated!" Tarver shook his head in disbelief at the sheer nerve such a character could have. "He's into organs, illicit medical tests and the like. And is using my patch as his personal battery farm. Cons people into betting on a ringer, and then when they lose their shirts he suggests they pay him in things of his choosing. Organs mostly. But children too. And if you don't cough up, he then offers to take your kid via an 'installment' plan." Tarver showed genuine disgust. It seemed that even a rat like him had some limits. "God knows what he does with the kids. I've had feelers out with the usual suspects and they aren't seeing any. It was thought he might be selling them on, you know, for fresh, but I was wrong."
"So what? You want me to find out what happens to them? That won't be too much trouble," 'I'm sure he'll squeal right before I slit his throat' Draylin added mentally. As Tarver spoke earlier, Draylin could feel his blood beginning to boil. Illegal medical research was a sore spot and brought on painful memories of hyposprays filled with burning drugs, scalpels cutting into him and long cold nights inside a sterile, transparent prison.
"No, I want you kill him. I don't know what you do with all my shit, and I don't want to. But I do know you don't use it for flower arranging."
"What I use it for is none of your business," Draylin said in agreement, not taking his eyes off the fat Denobulan. "And do you have any proof of all this medical research going on behind the scenes?" he asked Tarver. He wasn't about to go killing a man with no proof. The blade wasn't worth the trouble.
"Beyond the people who've let him take their organs or had their kids snatched?" Tarver shrugged. "Gotta couple of partial trails on some organ transplants. And a couple of delivery guys have been mugged carrying tissue cultures. But Proof? " Tarver shrugged again. "Proof's for the fuzz."
"Hmm...." Draylin just let out, not committing. He watches as someone approached the Denobulan. Narrowing his eyes, Draylin reached for one ear and pulled out what look like a small, electronic plug from it before leaning forward. There was too much noise coming from below and he found himself unable to distinguish the voiced he wanted and put the special plug back.
"I'll see what I can do. You'll hear from me," he said.
"Nice one!" grinned Tarver
"But Mister Carrex," the middle aged Bolian was practically sobbing. "Please, just a few more days. I can get it together."
Carrex took a long drag on the hookah that ran to the small portable smoke pipe that hung from his belt. A cloud of wet steam streamed from him nose. "Gar, Gar. I just can't let this slide."
"But I really can't pay!" Gar protested.
"Then you know what the default is. Lets go get her, shall we?"
Gar threw himself around Carrex legs, "Please! She's just a little girl. She's done nothing wrong."
"Should have thought of that before you borrowed the cash, Gar." Carrex kicked him away, where two beefy Lurian minders hauled the unfortunate Bolian to his feet. "You're not far from here are you?"
"How much does he owe you?" a voice from the side asked and Carrex and the other man turned to find a tall, white haired man walking over to them.
Carrex surveyed the white haired man. "A very great deal." Carrex was obviously and speedily calculating and recalculating. "And I don't think your credit is good, Mr?"
"Mr. None of your business. Now, how much?" Draylin asked, pulling out a transaction card and handing it to him. Watching Carrex fill in the amount smugly, Draylin typed a proper code into it and the transaction was finished, the debt settled.
Carrex frowned. He'd shifted the decimal place on Gar's debt a couple of places to the right, and the white haired man hadn't batted an eyelid. "What's your game?" He made no motion to see the unfortunate Bolian released.
"I want to make a business arrangement. But let him go first. He doesn't owe you anything anymore," he said pointedly. The Bolian stared at him wide-eyed.
Carrex hesitated, then nodded. The Lurians released Gar, who grabbed and kissed Draylin's hand. "Thank you! Thank you!"
Draylin took his hand away, frowning. "Thank me by getting the hell out here and not making anymore stupid bets. You have a daughter, you fucking idiot," he told him harshy, pushing him away towards the crowd. "Now," he turned to Carrex. "Let's go somewhere more private," he advised.
Carrex's private space turned out to be a long way from the choked and seedy slum that was at the heart of the Floating Market. In fact he owned an office plex in the 'desirable' tower end of the junkyard station. It was pristinely white, shamelessly ripped off from designs used by Starfleet Medical. "What can I do for you really, Mr None Of Yours." Carrex sank down behind a large glass desk, jowls wobbling. "You must want something badly to chase off a potential product."
Draylin felt familiar chills go through him as he looked around the sterile hospital-like room. "I'm looking for some...subjects," he decided, his voice sounding lower as the words left his mouth. "Bolians just won't do."
Carrex's frown deepened. "What for? How many?"
"Over a dozen would do. Preferably male, but I'm not too picky about the gender, to be honest. It's for some, research," he just told the Denobulan, looking down at him.
"I don't make a habit of providing whole subjects. An organ here, and organ there. If you're not fussy, I suggest you try Verex 3. I'm sure the Orions will do you a job lot on the ugly ones no one else will buy."
"Hmm...I did. They sent me to you. So don't play dumb, I know exactly what kind of business you're in. Don't play with me," Draylin said in warning. "I know what I'm talking about," he added, taking off his glasses to reveal pale silvery eyes around a dilated black pupil.
The eyes got Carrex's attention, but not in the way Draylin was used to. Interest and calculation burned, an expression Draylin hadn't seen in his adult years, one seen too often at the other end of a laser scalpel, probe or hyposray.
"Alright, but this will take time. A mass dissapearence is not easy to orchestrate, even in somewhere as lawless as this cluster of flotsam. I have friends in high places, but there is always a limit to how far one should push the boundries." He pushed a stylus and PaDD across to Draylin. "Give me a shopping list - age, species, etc. Then I can give you an estimate."
Draylin nodded. "I will need to consult my notes and will let you know my findings in an hours time."
Carrex's eyes narrowed. "You come to me, but don't know what you need?" The suspicion was obvious.
"I do know what I need, but expect a man of you caliber would rather I actually give you a detailed list then scribble some half-assed list now. Or do you actually believe I carry my order around on a padd for all of security to confiscate at their leisure if they happen to pull me aside for a random check?"
Carrex said nothing, but you could cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. There was a tenseness in him now, the cobra coiling to spring.
Draylin didn't say anything, simply taking out a padd and typing a few things into it as he sat down, keeping one eye on Carrex.
Unbelievably, the corpulent denobulan was quicker, and Draylin found himself fixed to his chair.
TBC...
A Jp Between
Draylin Tal, professional hitman
NPC by Maja
&
Tarver Quint, illegal weaponsmith
Dr Carrex, denobulan organ trader
NPCs by Notty
by Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin & (G) Arrain - Lieutenant Arrienye t'Merek
Post Details
| Title | Best Served Cold: The Appetizer, part 1 | |
| Mission | Judgement | |
| Author(s) | Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin & (G) Arrain - Lieutenant Arrienye t'Merek | |
| Posted | Thu Jul 07, 2011 @ 3:23pm | |
| Location | Altair Four | |
| Timeline | Two and half years ago |
"Oran! Oran!"
The younger man's voice cut above the crowd as Draylin moved off the transport and onto the floating market in orbit around Altair Four. Tarver Quint was one of the occasional unpleasant necessities of Draylin's life. At least the little scrote didn't know his true name. He came rushing to Draylin's side. "I hope you are here for some R&R, cos I found something I think might catch your interest. Trust me. You wont have seen anything like this is your life. Once in a lifetime opportunity. A truly unique specimen!"
Something malevolent flashed in Draylin's eyes at the boy's bad choice of words. "The reason I'm here is none of your business, now get on with it," he told him curtly.
"Alright then, this way," Tarver pointed towards the very centre of the floating market, the oldest, darkest and most dangerous part of the space station that had been cobbled together from flotsam and jetsam over the last hundred years. It was a hurried walk to Tarver's workshop. Once there, he locked the door behind them, and started opening crates and boxes piled around.
"I've tracked down most of what you asked for already. One dozen six shot powerpacks, twenty 500 shot powerpacks, I've stripped and rigged those type 3's you sent me, and they test fire just fine. A meter of ceramic monofiliament, plus handles. The antique you wanted arrives tomorrow, and I've cast you a hundred rounds for it."
There was a pause, as everything about his body language conveyed the conflict between wanting know why one of his customers wanted something so out of character, and knowing he had only survived so long because he never asked those sorts of questions.
"And if you have cash to splash, you can see the little gem a punter brought in." He sat down behind his work bench and turned an ornately lacquered wooden chest towards Draylin. "I swear that people have fought and died for this. You won't find anything else like it. If it was a painting, it'd be in a museum. If it was an animal, you'd want it stuffed and mounted on the wall." He flipped open the box.
Inside, resting on a silk velvet cloth, was one of the most exquisite knives Draylin had ever seen. A terran blade, but beyond beautiful even so. "The personal tanto of the Hattori Hanzo, legendary samurai."
Draylin raised his eyebrows in surprise, obviously impressed as he looked down at the blade. Reaching out tentatively, his eyes still on it, Draylin slid the tips of his fingers over the handle, feeling the small bumps through the thin material of his gloves as if touching it with his bare hand.
Tarver had a big grin on his face that reminded Draylin of a cartoon villain, And now I have you my pretty...
Reaching into the wooden chest, Draylin closed his fingers around the hilt of the tanto and lifted it up, testing the weight. He twirled the blade skillfully between his hands before quickly slashing towards Tarver and the blade stopping just short of his throat, so close he could swear he felt the coldness of the blade near his skin.
"This better be the real thing," Draylin warned him.
Tarver looked offended, but there was also the unmistakable stink of urine floating around him now...
"I am very attached to my skin, Oran. If I dicked my punters about, it wouldn't stay attached to me for very long now would it?"
Draylin made a disgusted face at the smell. 'Coward' he thought in distaste, lowering the blade slowly, examining the unique weapon once more. Not looking up at Tarver, he asked how much it would cost him.
"Not a how much. A who." The weapons dealer said mysteriously. He swivelled in his chair and turned around to the window behind him, bleeping the remote on the shutters that slide aside into recesses in the wall. In the 'street' below, a motley group of people from all over the quadrant were gathered around a small arena fenced off with old deck plates. Inside the enclosure cardassian voles were trying to tear each other apart. "See that guy down there, the fat denobulan with the hairline in full retreat?"
Draylin walked over to the railing and gazed down onto the promenade bellow them. His sharp eyes quickly found the Denobulan. "I see him."
"He's gold plated shit, mate. Gold-plated!" Tarver shook his head in disbelief at the sheer nerve such a character could have. "He's into organs, illicit medical tests and the like. And is using my patch as his personal battery farm. Cons people into betting on a ringer, and then when they lose their shirts he suggests they pay him in things of his choosing. Organs mostly. But children too. And if you don't cough up, he then offers to take your kid via an 'installment' plan." Tarver showed genuine disgust. It seemed that even a rat like him had some limits. "God knows what he does with the kids. I've had feelers out with the usual suspects and they aren't seeing any. It was thought he might be selling them on, you know, for fresh, but I was wrong."
"So what? You want me to find out what happens to them? That won't be too much trouble," 'I'm sure he'll squeal right before I slit his throat' Draylin added mentally. As Tarver spoke earlier, Draylin could feel his blood beginning to boil. Illegal medical research was a sore spot and brought on painful memories of hyposprays filled with burning drugs, scalpels cutting into him and long cold nights inside a sterile, transparent prison.
"No, I want you kill him. I don't know what you do with all my shit, and I don't want to. But I do know you don't use it for flower arranging."
"What I use it for is none of your business," Draylin said in agreement, not taking his eyes off the fat Denobulan. "And do you have any proof of all this medical research going on behind the scenes?" he asked Tarver. He wasn't about to go killing a man with no proof. The blade wasn't worth the trouble.
"Beyond the people who've let him take their organs or had their kids snatched?" Tarver shrugged. "Gotta couple of partial trails on some organ transplants. And a couple of delivery guys have been mugged carrying tissue cultures. But Proof? " Tarver shrugged again. "Proof's for the fuzz."
"Hmm...." Draylin just let out, not committing. He watches as someone approached the Denobulan. Narrowing his eyes, Draylin reached for one ear and pulled out what look like a small, electronic plug from it before leaning forward. There was too much noise coming from below and he found himself unable to distinguish the voiced he wanted and put the special plug back.
"I'll see what I can do. You'll hear from me," he said.
"Nice one!" grinned Tarver
"But Mister Carrex," the middle aged Bolian was practically sobbing. "Please, just a few more days. I can get it together."
Carrex took a long drag on the hookah that ran to the small portable smoke pipe that hung from his belt. A cloud of wet steam streamed from him nose. "Gar, Gar. I just can't let this slide."
"But I really can't pay!" Gar protested.
"Then you know what the default is. Lets go get her, shall we?"
Gar threw himself around Carrex legs, "Please! She's just a little girl. She's done nothing wrong."
"Should have thought of that before you borrowed the cash, Gar." Carrex kicked him away, where two beefy Lurian minders hauled the unfortunate Bolian to his feet. "You're not far from here are you?"
"How much does he owe you?" a voice from the side asked and Carrex and the other man turned to find a tall, white haired man walking over to them.
Carrex surveyed the white haired man. "A very great deal." Carrex was obviously and speedily calculating and recalculating. "And I don't think your credit is good, Mr?"
"Mr. None of your business. Now, how much?" Draylin asked, pulling out a transaction card and handing it to him. Watching Carrex fill in the amount smugly, Draylin typed a proper code into it and the transaction was finished, the debt settled.
Carrex frowned. He'd shifted the decimal place on Gar's debt a couple of places to the right, and the white haired man hadn't batted an eyelid. "What's your game?" He made no motion to see the unfortunate Bolian released.
"I want to make a business arrangement. But let him go first. He doesn't owe you anything anymore," he said pointedly. The Bolian stared at him wide-eyed.
Carrex hesitated, then nodded. The Lurians released Gar, who grabbed and kissed Draylin's hand. "Thank you! Thank you!"
Draylin took his hand away, frowning. "Thank me by getting the hell out here and not making anymore stupid bets. You have a daughter, you fucking idiot," he told him harshy, pushing him away towards the crowd. "Now," he turned to Carrex. "Let's go somewhere more private," he advised.
Carrex's private space turned out to be a long way from the choked and seedy slum that was at the heart of the Floating Market. In fact he owned an office plex in the 'desirable' tower end of the junkyard station. It was pristinely white, shamelessly ripped off from designs used by Starfleet Medical. "What can I do for you really, Mr None Of Yours." Carrex sank down behind a large glass desk, jowls wobbling. "You must want something badly to chase off a potential product."
Draylin felt familiar chills go through him as he looked around the sterile hospital-like room. "I'm looking for some...subjects," he decided, his voice sounding lower as the words left his mouth. "Bolians just won't do."
Carrex's frown deepened. "What for? How many?"
"Over a dozen would do. Preferably male, but I'm not too picky about the gender, to be honest. It's for some, research," he just told the Denobulan, looking down at him.
"I don't make a habit of providing whole subjects. An organ here, and organ there. If you're not fussy, I suggest you try Verex 3. I'm sure the Orions will do you a job lot on the ugly ones no one else will buy."
"Hmm...I did. They sent me to you. So don't play dumb, I know exactly what kind of business you're in. Don't play with me," Draylin said in warning. "I know what I'm talking about," he added, taking off his glasses to reveal pale silvery eyes around a dilated black pupil.
The eyes got Carrex's attention, but not in the way Draylin was used to. Interest and calculation burned, an expression Draylin hadn't seen in his adult years, one seen too often at the other end of a laser scalpel, probe or hyposray.
"Alright, but this will take time. A mass dissapearence is not easy to orchestrate, even in somewhere as lawless as this cluster of flotsam. I have friends in high places, but there is always a limit to how far one should push the boundries." He pushed a stylus and PaDD across to Draylin. "Give me a shopping list - age, species, etc. Then I can give you an estimate."
Draylin nodded. "I will need to consult my notes and will let you know my findings in an hours time."
Carrex's eyes narrowed. "You come to me, but don't know what you need?" The suspicion was obvious.
"I do know what I need, but expect a man of you caliber would rather I actually give you a detailed list then scribble some half-assed list now. Or do you actually believe I carry my order around on a padd for all of security to confiscate at their leisure if they happen to pull me aside for a random check?"
Carrex said nothing, but you could cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. There was a tenseness in him now, the cobra coiling to spring.
Draylin didn't say anything, simply taking out a padd and typing a few things into it as he sat down, keeping one eye on Carrex.
Unbelievably, the corpulent denobulan was quicker, and Draylin found himself fixed to his chair.
TBC...
A Jp Between
Draylin Tal, professional hitman
NPC by Maja
&
Tarver Quint, illegal weaponsmith
Dr Carrex, denobulan organ trader
NPCs by Notty