“Approaching the Abyssal Nexus,”my pilot announces as if I can't see the infamous Octopod station myself. It doesn't even look like a space station; it looks like a massive Octopod, with a central hub and sprawling, tentacle-like extensions that pulse with bioluminescent patterns into the void of space.
“Status of our backup?” I ask.
“Holding position in the shadow of the gas giant's third moon,” my lieutenant responds. “Ready to deploy on your command.”
I nod, adjusting the neural transmitter on my wrist. Six heavily armed vessels with my most ruthless mercenaries wait in the darkness. The Octopods don't need to know about them. Not yet.
“Open communications,” I order, running my hand through my long black hair and arranging my features into a mask of casual indifference.
The viewscreen activates, revealing the bulbous face of Kry, the current head of the Octopod Syndicate. Eight writhing appendages frame his grotesque visage, each tipped with implanted neural interfaces that allow him to control multiple systems simultaneously.
“Lorian,” he bubbles, his translator converting the wet, clicking sounds into something approximating language. “What an unexpected pleasure. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
“I think you know why I'm here. A shipment that one of your captains claimed was lost seems to have found its way onto the Nexus. We want it back.”
Kry's skin ripples, the Octopod equivalent of laughter. “So many things drift into the Nexus. It's difficult to keep track of what belongs to whom.”
“Allow me to clarify; twelve containers of Dulu antimatter cores, forty units of Imperial-grade neural enhancers, and six crates of Silver crystal. All with our shipping manifests and security codes. Difficult to mistake that shipment for anything else, I'd say.”
Kry's tentacles twitch involuntarily. The neural enhancers alone would fetch millions on the black market. “Ah, I see it now. The ship was almost waylaid by pirates. You know the shipping lanes near the Nexus can be so treacherous. But that's why it hasn't been delivered to you. The ship was damaged.”
“You have one hour to return our property, intact and untampered with,” I state flatly, “or I'll show you just howtreacherousthe area around your station can become.”
“Such hostility,” Kry clicks, his bioluminescent patterns pulsing in what I recognize as agitation. “Perhaps we should discuss this in person? With proper hospitality. The Syndicate values its relationship with the Ascendant Alliance.”
No, they don't.They value what they can steal from us. However, it would be easier to resolve this in person. “Fine,” I reply to Kry, then to my pilot after terminating the communication, “Prepare docking procedures. Alert the strike team. I want six of our best with me, fully armed.”
“Sovereign, is it wise to enter the Nexus? TheOctopods?—”
“Are slimy opportunists,” I finish for him. “They need to be reminded of what happens when they steal from the Ascendant Alliance. I think they've forgotten who we are.” I adjust the concealed blade at my forearm and check the charge on my gun. “Besides, I'm curious to see what Kry wants to try to sell me in that cesspool.”
The interior of the Abyssal Nexus is even more repulsive than its exterior. The moment the airlock opens, the stench hits me, a nauseating blend of brine, ozone, and a sickeningly sweet smell. Fluid corridors and chambers blend aquatic and technological aesthetics, with curved walls that seem to breathe and floors covered in a slick mist that ripples with every step. Perfect for Octopods to glide across, but disorienting for everyone else.
My boots make wet sucking sounds as I stride forward, flanked by my security team. Their expressions remain impassive, but I know they're as revolted as I am.
Kry waits for us in what passes for an audience chamber; a domed space with a raised dais where he hovers in a suspension field, his tentacles splayed out in all directions, each plugged into different control interfaces.
“Lorian,” he greets, his bulbous eyes swiveling independently to assess my guards. “Such an impressive escort. One might think you don't trust us.”
“One would be correct,” I reply smoothly. “Where's our shipment?”
Kry gestures with two tentacles, and a holographic manifest appears between us. “All accounted for, awaiting your inspection.”
“And the compensation for our inconvenience?” I ask, my tone making it clear this is not a request.
“Ah, business before pleasure.” Kry's skin pulses with bioluminescent patterns. “We've prepared appropriate reparations. Twenty thousand UCs, as a gesture of goodwill.”
I laugh. “The late delivery penalties in our contract specified fifty thousand. Plus another thirty for the trouble of making me come here personally.”
“That's extortion.”
“No,” I correct him, stepping closer, unfazed by the wet floor beneath me. “Those are the consequences. Would you prefer me to take it out in other ways? Perhaps the Syndicate's new shipyard in the Helios Vortex? I understand it's quite vulnerable.”
My intelligence about their secret shipyard clearly catches Kry off guard. His skin darkens, and bioluminescent patterns shift rapidly across his bloated form.
“Very well,” he concedes, tentacles twitching in agitation. “Eighty thousand credits. But perhaps we could offer an alternative form of compensation? Something more entertaining than mere currency.”
He gestures again, and a side door in the chamber opens with a wet, sucking sound.
