Chapter 1 #2
“What a happy bunch we are,” Murgen said as he pressed a button on the controls. The doors closed. “You’ll have to forgive Nostrus, azhera. He’s worked for me for many years and takes his job quite seriously. The finest security professional in the business, this one.”
Drakkal offered no response. He kept his gaze on the doors, watching in his peripheral vision as Nostrus watched him.
Without a sound, the elevator began its descent; Drakkal felt it in his gut, and some primal part of him railed against moving even farther from natural light.
It didn’t help his unease. In his experience, it was the wealthiest clients who most often decided the terms of an agreement no longer suited them at the last moment, who were the most likely to negotiate a change of said terms. Of course, those last-minute changes usually occurred at blaster point.
But there was more here, something Drakkal couldn’t place. It was almost…a sense of inevitability that eluded definition, somehow related to a scent on the air that was too faint to isolate and identify.
Drakkal’s tail twitched. He leaned back against the wall to prevent it from swinging restlessly.
The elevator drew to a smooth halt.
Murgen twisted his torso to glance back at Drakkal. “This must be terribly exciting for you. I imagine it’s not every day you’re offered such privilege as this.”
Not for the first time, Drakkal was stricken by a powerful urge toward violence.
It certainly wasn’t the sensible solution, wasn’t the moral solution, wasn’t the right solution, but sometimes it was the only way to force people like Murgen—people who thought themselves the most important thing in the universe whether they were talking business or taking a shit—to alter their perspectives a little.
Drakkal hadn’t survived his one hundred and fifty bouts in the fighting pits of Caldorius only to feign interest in the garbage a person like Murgen had to say.
The best way to show someone they weren’t untouchable usually involved a few well-placed punches.
The elevator doors slid open silently.
Drakkal’s nostrils flared. Both that sense of inevitability and the accompanying scent were immediately stronger, though he still couldn’t identify either.
Murgen stepped off the elevator and into a sleek corridor with dark floor panels and walls that curved at both their bases and peaks.
The air—which was recycled and pump-circulated throughout most of the Undercity—had an enhanced crispness here.
Murgen’s waddling gait carried him toward an open-topped hovercart.
Drakkal looked at Nostrus. Brows low, the volturian gestured for Drakkal to exit the elevator. Clenching his jaw against an instinctual growl, the azhera shoved away from the wall and strode forward.
Should’ve just made Foltham deal with me in his office. Who the hell would’ve cared if he took offense to it?
Murgen climbed a set of low steps to enter the hovercart’s rear compartment, which was oval shaped with a wide seat on each side. The craft bounced and swayed as Murgen sat down on the left seat. “Join me, azhera. Nostrus will drive.”
“Master Foltham,” Nostrus said, “this is ill-advised. We can’t trust this—”
Murgen raised a hand and waved it, silencing Nostrus. “All business, yes? I’m sure our friend here is a consummate professional. At any rate, I imagine he will soon be too captivated to even contemplate anything untoward.”
Once again, Drakkal kept silent; Murgen was confident in his control of the situation, and there was no reason to shatter his illusion.
Ultimately, Murgen’s mistaken belief that Drakkal could so easily be intimidated by flagrant displays of wealth would work in Drakkal’s favor if the situation took a turn.
And there was plenty of time for this to go bad, especially given Nostrus’s demeanor.
As aware of Nostrus’s presence behind him as ever, Drakkal climbed into the cart, seated himself opposite Murgen, and wedged his tail beneath his thigh to keep it still.
The volturian’s boots clacked across the floor as he walked to the front of the vehicle and climbed into the operator’s seat. A moment later, the vehicle’s engine hummed to life. The back steps rose and folded up, sealing the rear wall of the cab, and Murgen grinned around his blunt tusks.
The hovercart moved forward. Drakkal felt the gentle hum of its antigrav engines beneath him.
“This is a real treat,” Murgen said, settling a hand atop one of his thick thighs. “My collection is the best in Arthos. You’ve never seen its like.”
Drakkal would’ve asked what Murgen was talking about if only to garner a better understanding of what was happening—which he should have done before coming this far—but the answer became apparent before he could open his mouth.
The hovercraft passed a shallow recess in the wall—a large observation window at least two meters tall by four across.
Beyond the window was a lush, dense section of jungle, within which stood several big, squat, golden-scaled creatures.
They were khochi, native to the swamps of Zanjin—popular quarry for intergalactic trophy hunters.
“All genuine,” Murgen said. “Holographic displays don’t do the animals any justice. It’s always best to see directly with one’s own eyes, I say.”
They drove past a few more displays, each containing unique environments and creatures, some familiar to Drakkal, many not. Drakkal glanced toward the front of the vehicle. The corridor stretched on and on ahead, bisected by intermittent perpendicular corridors.
This place was a zoo. A damned zoo, right beneath the Gilded Sector.
Drakkal’s unease intensified. All these cages, all these cells…
Murgen’s eyes gleamed with pride. “I’ve rare species from across the known universe here. Some of the most beautiful, most dangerous animals in existence. It’s taken decades to build this collection.”
All Drakkal could do was nod and force his expression to remain neutral.
His eyes flicked from cell to cell; the hovercart must’ve passed a dozen such displays on either side before Nostrus guided it around a corner into a wider corridor.
The mysterious scent strengthened further; it was reminiscent of sundrinker flowers, a fragrance Drakkal hadn’t smelled since before he was enslaved nearly twenty years ago.
But this scent was spiced with something exotic, something foreign, something… alluring.
Murgen chuckled, making his body shake. The hovercart trembled. “We’re almost to the best part, my friend. The heart of my collection. The specimens that make it truly unique. You know, I…”
Though Murgen continued speaking, Drakkal didn’t hear the words.
The azhera’s chest was tight, his blood hot, his stomach knotted.
He’d spent several years of his life hunting and fishing, but seeing these creatures caged in a place like this, held by a person like this…
it woke something within Drakkal, a primal rage that railed against all cages.
Drakkal clenched his fists at his sides, barely resisting the urge to bury his claws in the seat cushion beneath him. And Murgen kept talking, jowls jiggling, his voice reduced to a meaningless, self-absorbed drone in Drakkal’s perception.
But Drakkal’s rage only intensified when the vehicle came to a stop in a large, circular chamber with viewing windows all around. The fires burning in Drakkal were momentarily overpowered by a chill so strong that it threatened to freeze his blood.
“These are the real prizes.” Murgen grasped the edges of the cab and pushed himself onto his feet; the cart wobbled with his efforts.
The rear steps unfolded. “Animals that think themselves more than what they are. Smart enough to learn some language, perhaps even to reason on a rudimentary level”—he grunted as he stepped down—“but little removed from beasts, regardless.”
Nostrus turned his head to glare over his shoulder at Drakkal, but the azhera barely noticed.
There were people in these cells. People.
Powerful memories clawed their way to the forefront of Drakkal’s mind. It didn’t matter how long ago he’d earned his freedom—freedom that had been his all along—it felt like only yesterday that he’d been kept in a cage, that he’d been treated like an animal himself.
Only that smell, that sweet sundrinker fragrance, stronger here than before, kept him grounded and afforded him a modicum of self-control. He stood up and exited the vehicle, his movements slow and stiff.
“Of course, my interest in these creatures is largely based in scientific curiosity.” Murgen walked toward the nearest window without a backward glance at Drakkal.
“I’ve always said I’d have become a scientist, were it a career that actually earned any money, and I’ve gone so far as to hire on a few researchers to help guide my pursuit of knowledge. ”
This is just business. Endure it for the sake of business…
That thought only soured Drakkal’s stomach. Pressing his lips together, he forced himself forward, joining Murgen in front of the window. Nostrus’s footfalls were light as he moved to stand behind Drakkal.
The interior of this cell was plain compared to the others Drakkal had seen thus far, much closer to the quarters of a slave—or a prison cell.
The walls were decorated with simple paintings depicting animals and people in basic shapes and lines.
Two people were huddled together on the cot attached to the far wall, both with pale gray skin, long white hair, and dark claws.
Drakkal knew their species only because of one of Arcanthus’s more memorable clients.
They looked lost. Afraid. And so young.