Janwar realized he’d been staring at her far too long in a place like this and tore his gaze away. A figure making his way through the throng caught his attention. “My contact is here,” he murmured.
Nandara nodded as he reached their table. Another Akseli who had objected to the totalitarian turn their government had taken, he was one of only a handful of people Janwar trusted to deal honestly with him on this planet.
Soval scooted over to make room for him.
Nandara sank down across from Janwar. His skin was considerably darker than Janwar’s but still bore a reddish hue. His thicker black hair was drawn back from his face in similar braids adorned with almost as many warrior beads as Janwar’s: one for each battle from which he had emerged victorious. “Good to see you, brother,” he murmured.
Janwar clasped his forearm in greeting. “Good to see you, Dar.”
His friend’s curious gaze slid to Simone.
“This is Simone, the newest member of my crew. You may speak freely in front of her. Simone, this is Nandara.”
Simone showed no surprise over being labeled a crew member. Her face impassive, she nodded. “Pleasure to meet you. Are you a brother by blood or more of a brother in arms?”
“Brother in arms,” Dar replied and sent Janwar a quizzical look.
He ignored it. “What do you have for me?”
Leaning forward, his friend lowered his voice. “Not as much as I’d hoped. A battered Gathendien ship reportedly limped into port a couple of beks ago. They lingered only long enough to buy whatever they needed for repairs, then left.”
“Does anyone know where they’re headed?”
“They’re rumored to have a base on a moon not far from here. But Pulcra is the only one who claims to know its location.”
Janwar and Soval both swore.
“Who’s Pulcra?” Simone asked curiously.
“He owns the fighting arena that draws most of this sorry planet’s visitors,” Janwar grumbled. “Of course, that grunark would know. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Gathendiens supplied some of his competitors.”
Simone frowned. “Fighting arenas? Do you mean places where people pay to watch others fight?”
“Yes,” Janwar said.
“Do the players fight voluntarily or because they’re forced to?”
“Most are forced to.” Slavery was illegal in all Aldebarian Alliance worlds. But Promeii 7 had been colonized by wanted criminals, escaped prisoners, and others who wished to hide for one reason or another. When rumors of the precious stones found on the planet had leaked, the gem industry had swept in and installed mines that reaped greater rewards when those running them disregarded Aldebarian Alliance rules. And the profits they’d raked in had inspired local businessmen to do the same. “Others fight by choice.” Although it wasn’t much of a choice. Fight to earn enough to feed your family, or don’t fight and watch your children starve because you couldn’t find work.
“For sport or to the death?” she asked.
Dar answered this time. “In the matches with the highest viewing fees, it’s usually to the death.”
“Or dismemberment,” Soval added.
Dar nodded. “Sometimes they stop it when a competitor loses a limb.”
Janwar grunted. “And sometimes they can’t before the competitor loses another.”
Scowling, Simone slumped back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, that is damned disappointing.”
“What is?” he asked.
“That alien races who have advanced enough to travel through space,” she snapped, “are backward and barbaric enough to still do that shit.”
Dar looked at Janwar.
He shrugged. “She’s from a planet that is not yet advanced enough to explore the galaxy.”
She snorted. “And they call us primitive? At least we don’t force people to fight to the death for our entertainment.”
“Not all are forced,” Dar reiterated cautiously, as though he didn’t want to increase her ire. “Some volunteer, knowing that their families will receive enough credits to keep them fed for at least one solar orbit if the contestant dies. And if he lives, he might earn enough to get them off this drekking rock.”
Some stiffness left her posture as she leaned forward and rested her arms on the sticky table. “It’s regrettable that some would have to resort to such. I noticed on our way here that poverty is a serious problem on Promeii 7.” She grimaced. “And in all honesty, I’m sure there are plenty of assholes back on my planet who would pay richly to view such contests.”
“What planet is that?”
“Back to business,” Janwar said, forestalling her answer. He’d already identified at least a handful of bounty hunters scattered throughout the bar. If Gathendiens had let it be known that they would pay richly for Earthlings, it would be best to keep Simone’s origins a mystery. “Did you talk to Pulcra?”
Dar grimaced. “Yes. But the grunark refused to tell me, so I set up a meeting. He should be here shortly.”
“Does he look like a pug?” Simone asked as she examined the crowd behind Dar. “Because if he does, I think he’s already here.”
Janwar followed her gaze and saw Pulcra’s stout form plodding toward them. According to his translator, a pug was a small mammal similar to an Akseli taelanu with drooping jowls and a flat, wrinkled face. An apt description for the wealthy grunark. Except Pulcra walked upright on two legs and had a broad, boxy body.
He also stood only a head taller than Simone.
Pulcra halted beside their booth. “Janwar, my Akseli friend,” he boomed in Alliance Common, “it is good to see you again.” Without waiting for an invitation, he grabbed a chair from a nearby table, dumped its occupant onto the floor, and seated himself facing the booth. “Nandara told me you wished to see me but didn’t say why.” He motioned to the bar. “Has my brother served you well? Would you like another drink? No payment necessary, of course.”
Janwar motioned to his half-full glass. “This will suffice.”
Pulcra nodded, jowls jiggling, and clapped his hands together. “What can I do for you, my friend?”
Pulcra didn’t even qualify as an acquaintance, let alone a friend. But the bloviating sack of bura knew claiming friendship with Janwar publicly would increase his status.
“A Gathendien ship docked here a couple of beks ago,” Janwar said. “You can tell me the location of the outpost they were headed toward when they left.”
“Hmm. A Gathendien ship, you say?” he asked and appeared to search his memory.
Dar sighed heavily.
“Yes,” Pulcra said finally with a nod. “Yes, I believe I did hear such a rumor.”
Dar released an impatient growl. “It wasn’t a rumor. You told me yourself that they docked here.”
“Indeed, I did.” His golden eyes acquired a cunning gleam as he addressed the other male. “That I told you for free.” His gaze slid to Janwar. “But where they went? This will cost you.”
Janwar had assumed as much. Men like Pulcra cared nothing for right or wrong. They cared only for profit. “How many credits?”
Pulcra leaned back in his chair and linked his hands over his belly. “No credits this time.”