Driok releases a growl, but he puts his hand over mine.
“Let’s look around, little mate.”
Fortunately he can’t see my relieved smile. For a moment, I thought he had every intention of diving right into a rescue which was unlikely to be a rescue, not in his frame of mind.
I totally get it. If I thought my friends were here on this planetoid, currently held captive by some horrible aliens, I would happily be shooting everything and everyone to get them back.
But our experience with the baron has proved nothing can be trusted, and in fact, nothing should be trusted, especially when it comes to making plans.
Driok moves out from behind the stall, and I stick by his side as we continue through the dusty street lined with two-storey buildings, all covered in the buff dust which is interminable. More crowds throng this area, most of them dressed similarly to ourselves. Making us almost invisible.
It’s such a contrast to Xracak City, I’m almost surprised when I see some lights glowing through the clouds of swirling dirt.
“What’s this?” I touch at my visor, trying to get a clearer view.
It clicks into place, and it would seem we’re at some sort of restaurant or bar, the patrons spilling out into the street. The smell of greasy food makes its way through my respirator, making me feel queasy.
“We need information,” Driok says.
“What? In there?” I hang back.
“I dislike it as much as you, little mate,” he says, his voice strangled by the mask he wears. “But we have no friends here and no contacts. This place is as good as any to find out what is going on on this planetoid.”
It doesn’t please me to admit we have few options, and ultimately this was my idea. If we are here to collect information, then we’re going to have to make it count.
We head to the bar, Driok going ahead of me to plough a way through the door and into the, slightly less dusty, interior. Given there’s no airlock, all I do is drop the fabric covering my respirator so that anyone wondering why I haven’t removed my headgear will know it’s because I can’t properly breathe in the atmosphere. It works, as no one gives me more than a passing glance.
Driok has flipped up his visor as we get into the middle of the place, and there’s a robot operated dispenser which is surrounded by the patrons, many with their faces covered as Driok’s is.
It would appear we fit in.
Driok maneuvers me into a small booth which has just emptied out.
“Wait here. I’ll get something from the bot, so we don’t look like we’re trying to get information,” Driok says.
I don’t say as virtual strangers, the chances are everyone will think we’re looking for information.
Driok disappears, and I wait, drumming my fingers, encased in gloves, on the table.
“Hel-o.” A metallic voice has my head jerking up to see that another bundle of clothing, almost identical to mine, has slid into the booth opposite me.
“I’m waiting for my friend,” I say, looking out to see if I can spot Driok. Except I can’t.
The bundle hasn’t moved.
“So that’s your cue to piss off,” I add.
“I believe the mistress might need my assistance.”
“I do not.” I finger the pulsar pistol beneath my cape. “Go away.”
There is a loud crash, and I try to jump out of the booth. My clothing is gripped tightly, stopping me from leaving.
“I believe the mistress might need my assistance,” the thing says again as there’s a burst of flame over the top of my head which is suddenly cut off.
Not good. This whole situation is not good at all.
Maybe we overplayed our hand. And maybe we weren’t as stealthy as I had hoped.
