Time Warriors Chapter 10

The shuttle glided smoothly through the gaseous clouds as it dipped closer and closer to the surface of the planet. The first mate was at her station, one pace in front of the captain's chair and directly behind the navigator, keeping an eye on the crew as they maneuvered the shuttle through the Alerian Sink.

Sh'mg watched dispassionately as the crew piloted the ship toward the Argarian base, each movement mimicking the terrain of the planet. The navigator and the pilot are working well with each other, Sh'mg noted with approval, the lights on her helmet blinking in a calm, methodical fashion. Her hunch had paid off handsomely; they were exactly on schedule. It didn't pay to stay longer than necessary in the Sink's chemical soup, if for no other reason than the chlorine would dissolve the outer hull in a matter of hours.

Their mother ship was still orbiting the planet, albeit well cloaked, using their Proteus device. As far as Sh'mg could tell, no one except their contacts had noticed their arrival – exactly as planned.

The fewer Argarians who know about our arrangement, the better, she thought, a hard glint in her granite eyes. Those who had been curious in the past were curious no more.

Several audible thuds sounded from the aft section. The captain, seated behind Sh'mg, raised his brow in an unspoken question, green slime facilitating the movements of the individual plates that made up his face. Normally, he stayed with the mother ship and permitted his first to do all the negotiations, but this time he had insisted on accompanying them to the planet's surface. Sh'mg understood his desire to be with his team, but at the same time felt that he should not place himself at risk to simply negotiate for supplies.

It's not right, she thought yet again, frowning as much as her craggy exterior would allow. But her desire to please and serve her commander kept her from voicing her misgivings, even though an uneasy feeling about the mission tumbled in her gut. She turned away from the captain to stare at the back of the command deck.

The rear door slid open, revealing two crewmembers, each straining to pull a large pallet, tightly covered with a shiny blue tarp. The pallet slid on the deck and ground to a halt behind the captain's chair, making a heavy, scraping sound, the hapless H'trch technicians stumbling after it.

"Explain, Ka'srk," the captain said directly to one of the crewmembers with the pallet. His tone was one of mild reproof as he stared at him, waiting.

The pallet guard stepped forward and bowed. "Sir – these are the materials you requested." He fumbled in a small, black bag hanging from his shoulder, pulled a small computer disc from the bag and said, "We brought 5 pallets, each with identical cargo. Also," he continued, handing the disk to Sh'mg with a stony hand, "we have included a file that shows the Galactic credits held for our hosts at the InterGalactic Depository in the usual main account. This disk gives the encryption code to that account." Ka'srk stood back respectfully, inclining his head.

The captain took the disk from Sh'mg, popped it into the viewer on his console and nodded. "This amount is sufficient for payment. We will insure they are satisfied with it." He motioned to Ka'srk to uncover a portion of the bundle; immediately, Ka'srk pulled the tarp out of the way, his movements awkward and slow. The captain stood up, rumbled out of his chair and moved next to the minerals and precious metals on the pallet, inspecting them with a critical eye.

He paused and looked at his subordinate again, his granite eyebrows appearing as a single large ridge across the rocks of his face. "Ka'srk?" he asked.

"Yes, sir?" the technician promptly replied, drawing his gaze from the side of the ship and looking directly at the captain. If a H'trch could have stiffened, Ka'srk would have done it at that moment.

The captain looked down at the pile by his feet. "You certainly have the knack of choosing. Most of this is low grade quality; some of the pieces on the top are high grade, but not many. However, the arrangement of the minerals shows the high quality material to its best advantage. You have done well."

Ka'srk visibly straightened. "Thank you, sir."

The captain turned back to his first mate, motioning Ka'srk to move the pallet to the cargo bay. "How close are we to landing, Sh'mg?"

She turned to peer over the navigator's shoulder. "Within minutes, sir." Nudging the navigator's back, the first asked, "Have they hailed us yet, N'hrt?"

"I am just receiving their identifier," the navigator replied crisply, his gaze slipping across the instrument panel. "Shall I respond, sir?"

Sh'mg glanced at the captain, waiting for his answer. Seeing his nod, she ordered, "Affirmative. After you have received confirmation, start deceleration and final approach – and insure that you transmit everything back to the orbiter on a secure channel."

"Yes, ma'am," N'hrt replied, busying himself at the controls. Sh'mg took her position next to the captain's chair, watching as the pilot readied the shuttle for its approach to the Alerian Sink base, already thinking ahead to their meeting with the Alerian officials.

Her outer appearance betrayed nothing of her true thoughts. It's a distasteful, repugnant piece of business – but we have to trade with the softbodies to survive. At least for now.

Damn, these things are dense … Theo thought to herself, squeezing her eyes in concentration, forcing her ghee-sodden mind to work. And I thought Saiyans were bad …

The Guardian tried to push herself delicately into the psyche of the closest Cronch, but their minds were like thick rubber; they gave under her touch, but gentle, subtle pressure only slid the protective coating around. She needed to pierce that barrier to gain access to their frontal lobes – and she belatedly realized that her customary light, discreet touch would not help her at all.

Her right hand held in the air toward Dron as a warning , Theo allowed her anger and irritation at the Cronch to work its way into her thoughts and concentrated that energy at the largest one. Now open, you stupid thing, she thought, exasperated, as she pulled as much power from the wellspring as it would allow – which wasn't much, because it was flooded with ghee – and launched herself at the beast's mind.

Guardians did not have a natural affinity for every creature's mind; in order to access those that proved particularly stubborn, they used a combination of finesse, manipulation and brute force. Less skillful Guardians attacked their quarry head on – that usually immobilized their prey, which was good, but also tended to drop the prey in their tracks, thereby alerting its comrades that something was wrong, which was bad. Theo, however, wanted her quarry to remain conscious and invisibly controlled – a much more difficult task.

She mentally threw herself at the Cronch, trailing power like a crystalline net behind her. While her body remained motionless behind the rock, her mind bridged the gulf between them in an instant. She breached his mind at the base of his skull; it involved an impressive amount of controlled coercive power, directed at the juncture of his head and spine. Theo focused on that spot, allowing the momentum of her leap to provide the impetus, and drilled into his psyche with the precision of a surgeon.

"I'm in," she whispered. "Here we go …"

Once there, Theo sent multiple tendrils of coercive energy to all sections of his brain, stroking the gross motor centers while she drew pulsing power around his mind in a fine mesh pattern. She was everywhere at once, so much so that the Cronch had no inkling that his thoughts, feelings and impulses were being manipulated. All he knew was that suddenly his companions smelled bad; in fact, they stank so much that he gagged and moved away from them, shuddering and retching.

"You – are -- disgusting," the Cronch choked, stumbling away from his companions. "Don't they have 'freshers on your ship, for Kami's sake? How can anyone stand to be around you people – you reek!"

The other Cronch stared at him. "What – "

"Ah, jeez!" the larger Cronch gasped, fanning a large, meaty hand in front of his face, shaking his balding head back and forth. "You have got to be kidding me! The latrine's over there, dungboys! Don't you have that on your ship, either? What are you, brainless as well as filthy?"

Several of the Cronch in the group scowled and snorted at him. "Why, you—"

"You people have got to be the dirtiest, filthiest, bunch of cowardly lowlifes that ever crawled across the surface of a planet – I can't believe that you have the balls to call yourselves Cronch. You should be in that pen, slobbering with the rest of the rejects, not guarding it, for Kami's sake!"

And that was all it took. Every Cronch in that group threw himself, howling "Traitor!" at the one that Theo penetrated. He was ready, too; he had his blaster drawn and fired point blank at everyone hurtling at him, dropping most of them in mid-leap. Several, however, successfully avoided his shots and leaped at him, knocking him back as his blaster flew in the air and dropped several meters away.

He rolled and snarled, managing to stay on his feet as he whipped a wicked-looking serrated knife from his belt and brandished it in front of his attackers. They growled as they circled each other, an ugly, guttural sound, then pounced with a ferocity seldom seen outside their death arenas. When the dust and sand cleared, the Cronch that Theo manipulated lay in a widening pool of his own blood, his chest crushed and his skull cleaved in two by his own knife. The Cronch that killed him stood over his body, wild-eyed and panting, blood dripping from their hands.

Dron watched the scene unfold in front of him from the security of his rock hiding place, not believing his eyes.

"Next," Theo said under her breath, swinging her head toward another group of Cronch standing outside the fence. She was smiling evilly, her eyes narrowed to slits as she chose her victim. "Oh, you'll do. You're perfect," she crooned, her fingers spread out on the rock in front of her.

Following the direction of her gaze, Dron looked into the desert and saw another group of Cronch swarming toward the first, blasters drawn and ready. Without warning, a large male with an orange crest lunged at the leader of the group, grabbed him around his waist and tackled him to the ground. Several other Cronch toppled over as well; the tightly knit battle group scattered, some stumbling sideways while others lagged behind. Most of them, however, watched in horrified incredulity as the orange crested Cronch flipped the downed leader on his back, stuck his knee in the middle of his chest, yanked a small pistol from his belt and shot him full in the face.

The remaining members of that battle group were momentarily frozen in shock, giving a slight advantage to the orange crested one. After killing his leader, he twisted and rolled to the left, fired a volley of deadly shots at his companions, screamed insults and challenges at them, then lunged to his feet and tore off into the desert.

Bellowing in reply, the other Cronch fired a barrage at the traitor's last position, then gave chase across the desert. As they careened after him, several intentionally shot their own comrades, downing them in a shower of energy bursts. Stray blaster volleys went everywhere; knocking the tops from large desert plants, splattering anyone in the area with sticky, shredded cactus, and boring holes in anything that happened to be in their way – including rocks and people. Unintentional victims, such as Cronch from other combat groups or some of the unfortunate captives inside the fence, became part of the general melee. The maimed and the dying were everywhere – blaster shots did not discriminate. And once a Cronch was injured, his friends went on a rampage to avenge him, screaming their challenges to the open air.

The desert sun rose above the horizon, illuminating the hideous, bloody scene. Cronch from every part of the encampment were brawling; if they weren't shooting each other with their blasters, they were beating each other to bloody pulps in vicious hand-to-hand combat. They rolled, screamed and snapped at each other, literally tripping over the dead and wounded strewn across the desert floor. The sounds and stench from the battle rose over the wasteland in waves, rolling into the sky.

Theo stared intently from her outcrop in the rocks, watching the entire spectacle unfold, targeting Cronch after Cronch, coercing them to fight. During the clash, several shots whizzed over her head, boring small, perfectly round holes in the stone; she remained still and concentrated on the conflict in front of her, apparently oblivious to any personal danger.

Dron, on the other hand, crouched as low as he dared, his pocket laser drawn, his short, gray hair blending into the rocks. Several times he pushed Theo's head down, protecting her from flying debris as blaster shots ricocheted around them; she looked at him and nodded her thanks, but he knew she wasn't seeing him. The color of her eyes was changing furiously, from dark green to dark blue to a midnight black; he tore his own gaze away from hers, shuddering. Much too dark …

Finally she closed her eyes, tilted her head back and slumped against the rock wall for several moments. When she opened her eyes again she gazed directly at Dron. The inhuman glee that shone there was gone, replaced by something that looked like aching pain; and the dark color of her eyes had been replaced with light blue and sea green, slowly swirling together.

"We should go," she whispered, barely audible above the tumult and turmoil of battle. Sunlight fell on the left side of her face, throwing the right side into deep shadow. Her eyes had a hollow look, as though someone had thoroughly beaten her.

Dron nodded once in agreement, staring at her as if mesmerized. "How … I don't … how did you do all this?" he asked, carefully keeping his tone neutral.

She looked beyond the fence, her body still slumped against the rocks. "It was their idea to start shooting, not mine, " she said, her voice subdued. "Once the idea was there, I couldn't stop it. I tried, but … I couldn't."

Dron looked at the bodies littering the ground outside their enclave. "Not an honorable way to die."

Suddenly her gaze shifted and pierced him, as brilliant and hard as diamonds. "Honor?" she hissed. "Honor? What are your talking about?"

He felt more than a little uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "They had no idea what actually attacked them - they couldn't properly defend themselves," he responded.

"And that's a problem?" Theo glared at him, outraged. "What did you want me to do? You saw how many there were – they were going to kill us, remember? Would you rather have had them kill you 'honorably?' Because that's exactly what would have happened – you would be dead by now. They're actually doing us a tremendous favor by killing themselves, the stupid brutes – and all we have to do is watch." She snorted slightly, scowled at him and pushed herself upright, clutching her ripped tunic closed in front of her chest. "Come on, let's go. We won't get another chance."

Theo moved away from their haven, muttering angrily to herself as she trotted quickly toward the gate. Her head constantly moved from side to side, her quick gaze checking for danger in their path. Dron followed, his eyes glued to her back, and realized that she had not answered his question.

Frowning in concentration, Piccolo strained his senses to pick up whatever signals he could from the eastern horizon. An undercurrent of psychic energy had hovered near them ever since they had arrived; that power, he was sure, had been the cause of Vejiita's more than usual irritation. Now a significant energy signature had suddenly appeared, blooming like an unexpected rose in the desert. Previously, the signal had only been background noise, so diffuse that it was impossible to pinpoint the source; now, however, it was obvious where the power was located.

It was essentially the same energy signature that had invaded him when the Earth delegation traveled to Argus; that gentle, insistent power had permeated his senses, engulfed his essence and left him unharmed, proclaiming him unique. He had sensed steel behind the gentleness, though, and had fleetingly glimpsed a power that, while totally unlike anything he knew, had a depth and breadth that was tremendous in scope.

Piccolo also recognized that the localized energy source was simply a small part of that greater whole; in spite of that, his warrior's soul was intrigued, feeling its hidden potential. But he wasn't the only one – somehow, the Saiyan prince had recognized that potential as well and had leaped from the balcony not moments before, the predator following the spoor of its prey.

But something's not right, Piccolo thought as he followed Vejiita's trail with his mind. He's acting as if he's been personally insulted. The Namekian had the uneasy feeling that something extremely unpleasant was going to happen when the Saiyan actually found the being with this energy signature – and knowing Vejiita, the unpleasantness wasn't going to be simply confined to sharp, angry words.

Why should I care about what happens to some nameless alien? he wondered, irritated at himself for not turning away. We have enough problems as it is. Without warning a feeling of warmth suffused him, tingling from his toes to his crown, the warmth of pure-hearted souls penetrating his psyche. His sight blurred and shifted, and for a moment Piccolo surrendered to the visions of Kami; he watched and felt the universe through that filter of warmth – but suddenly it disappeared, replaced by intense feelings of desolation and loneliness, a spiritual wasteland surrounding him.

Alternate realities, he realized, showing me possibilities of what could be, with and without this power around us. Sighing, he permitted Kami to nudge him toward the inner apartment, thinking, There's not much time – we'll have to hurry.

Turning from the balcony, the large Namekian stalked inside, scowling. "Gokuu – Gokuu, where are you? We have to hurry – I need your help."

"I'm right here, Piccolo," the large Saiyan replied with a puzzled look, walking into the front room, a large towel in his hands. "What's wrong?" His face and hands were scrubbed clean of the grime and oil that had coated every inch of the machinery Bulma insisted they take with them, but his gi was still marked and stained with large black streaks. Looking around, he frowned in bewilderment and asked, "And where's Vejiita?"

"That's why we have to hurry, Gokuu," Piccolo responded, folding his arms across his chest. "There's something going on with him, and I don't know what it is. Vejiita flew off without saying a word to anyone." Piccolo stopped speaking and looked at Gokuu, considering. "Hey, Gokuu … have you felt anything strange since we've arrived on Argus VI? Anything at all?"

"Strange? No, not really. There's something …. itchy, maybe …," he said, wrinkling his nose and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, looking around the room. "I can't quite place it, but I can feel it right now. "

"Come over here and stand on the patio, Gokuu," Piccolo ordered, unfolding his arms and indicating where Gokuu should stand. "Tell me if you feel anything."

Dubious, Gokuu complied – but as soon as he stepped out of the apartment, his face lit up in happy recognition. "That's it, Piccolo!" he enthused, turning to his old friend. "That's the feeling! Wow, it's a lot stronger – and it's coming from over there!" He nodded his dark head toward the eastern portion of the city where the sun was peeking over the horizon.

"Do you think it's friendly?" Piccolo asked, probing his friend for more information.

"Well, it's not evil, if that's what you're asking," Gokuu responded, staring into the sky. "It's … it's just like … " and he trailed off, thinking. Suddenly his eyes brightened, he snapped his fingers and he stared straight at Piccolo. "It's just like that energy we felt before we came here!" he exclaimed, happy at solving the mystery so completely. Immediately, however, his face fell and he became puzzled again. "But … it isn't exactly the same, either," he said, bewildered. "This chi doesn't feel as strong as the other."

"I think that's because there's only one person here," Piccolo rumbled, looking eastward toward the rising sun. "There were several people linked the last time this happened."

"Several people – how do you know?" asked Gokuu, looking perplexed, his nose wrinkling in concentration.

"Because they spoke with me," Piccolo said, raising an eyebrow at Gokuu as if daring the Saiyan to contradict him.

The Saiyan shook his head, his unruly hair waving like errant spikes, and looked back into the eastern sky. "If you say so, Piccolo, then I believe you," he responded with equanimity. "What did they say to you?"

"They explored my mind, and called me unique," Piccolo said, reliving the memory again, feeling the warmth of their spirits merging briefly with him again. "I felt – happy. Complete. And they felt – like one. You're right, they aren't evil – but it's hard to explain. There's a lot more power there than meets the eye." He looked at the marble floor, then back at Gokuu. "And then suddenly their chi changed. It was almost as if they recognized something that made them afraid – and they pulled away from us, out of the ship."

"And you think it was Vejiita that changed them, don't you?" Gokuu asked shrewdly, watching the play of muscles on his friend's face, candidly gauging his reaction.

"I do, Gokuu," Piccolo rumbled, nodding. "I think they felt him and pulled back as far as they could go. He's been acting strangely ever since it happened."

"I know – I talked to him about it once," Gokuu said. "He told me he'd met this energy before, and that it knew him. He told me –" and here Gokuu frowned, thinking hard, "that he would find it again – and that he would punish it, too, because it tried to attack something he was sworn to protect – something that was his. He was pretty serious about that."

Piccolo snorted. "Now he has his chance. I think this particular alien is just unlucky – his crewmates must have left him behind, not realizing we'd come to this planet. We have to hurry and stop Vejiita, Gokuu," Piccolo continued, his large eyes narrowing in concern, "because I think he's going to do something to this creature that will put us all in danger. I can feel it."

"In danger? Really?" The Saiyan warrior shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck again, plainly bothered by the turn of the conversation. "Well then, we can't let him do that. We can't let Vejiita hurt this alien just because he wants to punish others like him, especially if it puts us in danger. That's not right."

Gohan walked into the brisk morning air, massaging his arms quickly. "Bulma decided to sleep for a couple of hours before working on the machine, so she threw me and Kuririn out of the bathroom and told us to leave." He grinned ruefully. "At least she let me dry off before she threw me out."

"Yeah, she didn't do that for me." Kuririn's voice floated out to the balcony, muffled by the towel he was using to wipe his face. He had managed to wipe off the worst part of the grime, like Gokuu, but hadn't changed from his stained and soiled gi, either. "She wouldn't even let me dry off – just threw the towel in my hands and pushed me out the door. I was lucky she gave me the towel."

Gohan turned to look at his father and Piccolo, a questioning look on his face. "Can you feel something in the air? It's – it feels electric, somehow … and it seems to be coming from over there …" He nodded toward the eastern part of the city, frowning. "My head tingles."

"Well, I don't feel anything at all," Kuririn put in, moving next to Gokuu and staring toward the east. "It just looks like a regular sunrise on a regular day to me, that's all. Of course we are on a different planet, and all. Maybe that's why you're feeling strange," he offered to Gohan.

"No, he's right, Kuririn," Piccolo said, his green skin tinged with pink from the dawn. "There's something happening here, and we're going to have to find out exactly what it is. Are you ready, Gokuu?"

He nodded, the corded muscles in his neck bunching in anticipation. "I want you to come with us, Gohan. And Kuririn, old friend, I'd like you to stay here. Keep an eye on Bulma and her father for me."

"Sure, Gokuu," the Earthman said, shaking his head in agreement. "Whatever you need me to do … you know that." He shrugged and continued, saying, "I'll be able to catch all the local news here, so I can tell you anything you need to know about the city. That is, if Bulma lets me use the video terminal."

"Oh, she will, she will," said Gohan, giving his friend an impish smile. "We found the security camera recordings, remember? Just tell her that – and show her the copy. She'll let you do almost anything you want after that, I guarantee it."

Piccolo and Gokuu looked at Gohan, mystified; the younger man chortled, saying, "You don't need to know about this. It's just something I saw that looked pretty funny, and I showed Kuririn. And we checked out the video security system here while we saw that … thing."

"I'll see what I can do about it, Gohan," Kuririn said, looking much more cheerful and satisfied. His eyes were bright as he considered the possibilities. "I think you're probably right."

Gokuu motioned the other two warriors to move closer to him. "Grab hold of each other and someone hold onto me," he directed.

Gohan and Piccolo immediately understood what Gokuu wanted. They stood next to each other; Gohan had a light grip on his sensei's arm, while Piccolo held Gokuu's wrist in one hand. Gokuu closed his eyes and put two fingers of his free hand to his forehead.

"Where are you going?" asked Kuririn, backing away from the little group.

"We're going to find Vejiita," Piccolo said, his voice grim as they vanished.

Small beads of perspiration snaked their way down Lieutenant Grant’s temples and found their path into the collar of his uniform. He and his crew stood inside an enormous hanger, one of the largest buildings in the Sink – but he was sweating as if he was closeted in a 2 by 2 meter room with five large, mean, hungry aliens.

Looking at the H’trch directly across from him, he felt eternally grateful that he was not required to get any closer to them than he was; not only was the temperature several dozen degrees warmer than normal, but the stench coming from the aliens was almost unbearable. Add to that their odd, helmeted twitches whenever they were addressed and the overt hostility coming from their mission crew, Grant had the undeniable feeling that these rock creatures would like nothing better than to rip and consume each ‘softbody’ they saw. The fact that his crew was armed with small laser cannons did nothing to quell his misgivings.

The H’trch captain, by contrast, saw nothing of the honed predator Grant professed himself to be; instead, the H’trch saw an uncertain, brash human, willing himself still in front of his crew when it was patently obvious he would prefer to be running in the opposite direction. The captain gave him high marks for courage, at least in meeting and negotiating with them, considering that this human understood the H'trch's true nature. He wondered, idly, if the young man could be pressed into their service. Spies were common enough on Argus VI, and the captain was savvy enough to realize that someone who wasn't some type of spy was suspicious in and of itself.

"We appreciate your meeting us on such short notice," the captain began smoothly, inclining his massive head toward Grant, his translator's tones resonant and as solid as the equipment on his chest. "Your efforts on our behalf have been noted."

"It is our pleasure to greet our friends," Grant returned formally. He swept his arm behind him, indicating the tall, covered pallets that were flanked on either side by his squad. "As is our custom, we prepared your standard order for you. We hope it meets with your satisfaction – we were, unfortunately, caught off guard with your early arrival, and did not have time to prepare it as usual.."

The H’trch captain nodded. "You are well known among the H'trch, Grant," he rumbled. "We are sure that you honor us, as you honored our sister ships. Also, we understand that you did not have the usual amount of time to prepare the specimens. It is understandable if some parts of the refinement process have not been completed."

Grant repressed a shudder when the captain mentioned his ‘sister ships’ and the 'refinement process.' The last H’trch delegation to Argus VI had not been as pleasant as the present one; in fact, it had almost been necessary to escort them out of the system at gunpoint. They had insisted upon eating immediately upon their arrival, and had caused pandemonium among the crew who were unfamiliar with the dietary habits of the aliens. It had taken all Grant’s diplomatic skill to get them off the planet and insure that the military hotheads did not use atomics to help the H’trch on their way. At the same time, he had to ship and collect payment for the provisions ordered by the H’trch; after all, payment was, first and foremost, the most important item on the agenda. Payment and, of course, the possibility of additional monies when the H’trch came back.

Motioning behind him, the H’trch captain indicated several pallets of their own, covered by large, thick tarps. "And, as is our custom, we have your payment for such excellent goods and services." As he spoke, the H’trch standing next to each pallet picked up the long lead line and dragged it over to Lieutenant Grant. One of the H'trch offered him a black canvas bag that had been swinging from his giant shoulder. Grant accepted it calmly, opened it and pulled out the disk, then nodded to the alien's captain.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and, in almost the same movement, flipped back the corner of the tarp with a flourish to expose the pallet load of precious stones and minerals. An audible gasp came from those in the unit who had never seen that much wealth before, earning an immediate glare from the sergeant. Keeping his face carefully blank, Grant scrutinized the gemstones closest to him, choosing several and handing them to his sergeant, who placed them in a small, black box. Grant made a mental note to insure that all squad members were fully indoctrinated in proper negotiation behavior before they were permitted on missions. That reaction, had it been at a more critical time, could have been the difference between full payment and partial payment, or a contracted negotiated in their favor or the H’trch’s. And payment was, of course, the most important piece of the transaction, and the only reason the Argarian government did any trading at all with the H'trch.

Grant covered the mineral pallet and nodded to his sergeant. The soldier stepped forward and snapped his hand, motioning several people from the ranks to come forward and drag the pallets to the back of the hanger.

"I will need to examine the disk, of course," Grant said, pulling a small palmboard from his pocket and ignoring his men struggling to drag the pallet away. "But please – feel free to examine our material, as well."

The H'trch captain inclined his massive head again toward Grant, then motioned for several of the crew to go to the human-prepared pallets and examine the merchandise. Several members of the crew nodded, moved away from their comrades and walked toward the opposite end of the hanger.

As the H'trch moved toward the pallets, Grant muttered to his sergeant, "Get anyone who hasn't seen this before out of here right now."

Nodding his head, the sergeant barked several orders to his troops; in an instant, five men stepped forward.

"Guard duty, in the corridors. No one in or out, no matter who they are. Now!" the sergeant snapped, managing to look vicious and intimidating even while alien monsters were shuffling on either side of him.

"Sir!" the troops shouted as one, and immediately ran for the hanger doors.

Grant shuddered again, fervently wishing that he, too, could leave the hanger and never look back. But that's not for me, he thought with a bitter flash of insight. I'd never make my bonus that way.

The H'trch walked in front of the pallets, with the human soldiers tripping over themselves to get out of their way. As the rock warriors bent to untie the ends of the tarp from the pallet, it was obvious that whatever the humans were trading to the H'trch was enclosed in a large, transparent, rectangular tanks. Something that was thick and green, almost gelatinous in nature, filled the container. It was oozing slowly side to side, small bubbles in the substance showing its slow, swirling path. There seemed to be dark shadows in the middle of the tank - something was floating above the base, apparently anchored to the bottom - and an eerie, phosphorescent glow about the tank's visible portion.

Each Argarian carefully controlled their expression, but their posture straightened and they gripped their weapons loosely in front of them. Every soldier knew what the tanks contained and braced themselves for the inevitable.

Grant forced himself to calmness and stared at the tanks, feeling the H'trch commander's gaze on him.

The captain looked at Grant, shook his head and turned to watch as his people uncovered the vessels and started to test the material inside them. I will never understand a species that trades their own, he thought to himself in disgust, watching his people drop their probes and meters into the substance, never. We're fortunate there are plenty of them ...

Sh'mg was monitoring the technicians, efficiently directing each to drop probes in various places in the tanks. Even thought the tanks were over three meters tall, the H'trch had no problems accessing the tops – they were nearly four meters tall themselves.

She walked over to her captain and offered him a look at her readouts, ignoring the stricken expressions of the Argarians as they stared at the tanks and their contents, clutching their guns to their chests. "Everything seems to be in order, sir," she murmured, clipping her words, the only sign of her discomfort with the humans. "The energy readings are within the normal range. We should be able to make do with material like this for several months, at least."

"Excellent," the captain replied, holding her monitor in his large, granite hand. "Discounting for stray energy currents in this building, I agree with you. The quality isn't good, but … it will do."

"Yes, sir," she said, taking the unit back from him. "I'll just let—"

Without warning, the hand held monitor started to whine – softly at first, but then becoming more strident with every passing moment. Sh'mg and the captain looked in disbelief as the indicators climbed out of the normal to the extreme range, the volume and pitch of the alarm increasing simultaneously.

"That can't be," Sh'mg said, incredulous, "unless—"

Suddenly the technicians that had been dropping probes into the tanks stepped back from their work, howling, the helmets covering their heads blazing with light. Guttural, incoherent roars sounded from the three techs as their arms punched toward the ceiling. As one, Grant and his soldiers fell back from the H'trch, drew their weapons and trained them on aliens that had suddenly gone berserk.

"STOP!" roared their commander, throwing his massive arms out on either side of his body. Immediately, the techs were silent and motionless, their bodies tensed to do whatever their commander wished. Only their helmets showed their extreme agitation.

A beat passed as the commander and his second regarded their people, completely excluding the Argarians.

With his blaster drawn and trained on the H'trch commander, his shaky finger on the trigger, Lieutenant Grant grated into the silence, "H'trch captain. Explain. What the hell was that?"

Both the commander and the second turned to look at Grant at the same time. He almost screamed in response; as it was, his blaster seemed to jump in his hands and his mouth had become as dry as the desert outside of Port City Four.

Rocks don't have expressions, he told himself, terrified, but if they did, I swear these would be … ravenous. Evil. Vindictive. And dear Kami, we invited them here. He heard his men shifting nervously behind him.

"Well?" Grant demanded, locking his legs together to prevent his knees from trembling.

"She … is here," the commander said slowly, his facial planes shifting as he stared through Grant. "The destroyer of our race … the Time Lord … the murderer of our children … is here. On your planet."

Sparing a glance at the uncovered tanks behind the aliens that stood forgotten in the middle of the hanger, Grant had a momentary twinge of conscience.

… children …

"I still have no idea what or whom you are talking about," declared Grant, looking back at the H'trch and losing what little control over his own emotions he had been able to retain. "What is a Time Lord? and what does it have to do with –"

The H'trch covered the ground between them in surprisingly little time, looming over the lieutenant who involuntarily clamped his mouth shut and recoiled in fear. The alien leaned down toward Grant, the sulfurous odor that surrounded his gargantuan body gagging the smaller man. He reached out with one hand and turned Grant's blaster away from his chest with a gentle finger as the lieutenant watched with enormous eyes, breathing hard.

Placing one flintlike hand on Grant's cringing shoulder, the H'trch captain hissed menacingly, "This Time Lord is wanted for crimes against the H'trch, human. I vowed to find her and make her pay for the destruction of my people… my planet … my civilization." The captain's hand closed painfully on Grant's shoulder, crushing it without breaking it as he continued in a voice shot with venom, "She's here, on your planet … and I want her, human. I want her delivered to me – or else my crew and I will search your planet thoroughly for her. And I do mean thoroughly." The H'trch straightened to his full height and breadth, stared down at the hapless man and pushed his red maw into an ugly parody of a smile. "Your choice, of course."

Staring back at the granite giant, Grant could only nod his head and rasp, "We … we are at your service, captain. We will find whomever you want, wherever they may be on the planet."

"Good," the giant rumbled, a cold, calculating look on his jointed face.