*CLANG*
A skinny body of some blonde hair sissy boy Perunian flew over the bar counter top, scattering the mugs over on the metal floor and narrowly missing the experienced bartender who dodged in time.
The Perunian's limp body went smacked into the wall before sliding down on the floor.
"FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!" the excited crowd in the bar chanted loudly in faux bravery, using the common galactic language spoken across the several systems.
The voluminous space trade between multiple species required the use of a common language.
From my view on the second floor, I watched the mass of the cheering crowd retreating to the furthest corner away from any crossfire between the two combatants.
Or rather one dying alien awaiting the final blow by his oversized bully.
A tall, heavy-built muscle head of a bald Thorian, three times my size, swaggered to the front as the crowd moved aside. He towered over everyone in the crowd.
Never liked Thorians. All brawns, not much of a brain, I thought while downing the deadly moonshine from the uneven metal mug. The mug bore the scars of hastily fixed dents from past bar brawls.
Zhiva shook his head. The Perunian isn't one of his.
His space pirates dropped off from my war cruiser at the Narakan system based on the instructions given by their fleet, but something didn't sit right.
"Never antagonise a Thorian," Zhiva spoke as Garan brought us some mugs of Galorian beer.
That's common-sense with aplomb, referring to the infamous tempers of the Thorians.
I watched the Thorian pick up the limp Perunian with ease and raised him over his body.
"OoooUCH!" The crowd gasped, and a few grimaced, aware of the outcome.
The Thorian brought the Perunian down on his knee, bringing forth the most awful sound.
*CRACKKk*
Zhiva leaned forward and said, "I wonder what happens if you take on the Thorian?"
"I'll lose."
That's my lie. The Thorians banked on their size in hand-to-hand combat, not their minds. I've thrashed a few Thorians because they underestimated my size.
However, showing off in the bar attracted unwanted attention from the undesirable. Besides, damaging my prosthetic skin in a brawl would blow my cover.
Danger lurked in every corner within S1 Capital Planet City, or S1 for short. Attention to oneself attracted more danger than necessary.
S1 is the brown dusty and barren capital in the Narakan system, on the surface of the 5th planet from the yellow dwarf star.
Centuries ago, before the establishment of the Great Swirl Council, several wars broke out for the control of the Narakan system as a space trading route between neighbouring spacefaring species.
The wars left a plentiful graveyard of different alien ships in varying conditions. Enterprising alien groups gathered to pick off ships, spare parts, and even antiques for sale in other inhabited planets.
From several groups of entrepreneurs, four groups emerged as large scavenger syndicates. They built S1 up in the desolate deserts of the fifth planet.
Of the many dodgy places in the Great Swirl galaxy, S1 city cemented its reputation as the most notorious crime infested black market of a shit hole, just outside the border of the Great Swirl Council's territorial space.
Despite being the dodgiest city I've been to, S1 held the reputation for the best supplied black market. Close to everything I wanted was available with one or no questions asked.
Plentiful jobs with large rewards existed for lone mercenaries like me. Most black market jobs on S1 involved both legal and illegal tasks, ranging from smuggling to rescue operations.
From the border of the Narakan system to the rim of S1's planet, space pirates laid in ambush behind the many debris fields along the routes to S1, robbing and pillaging passing ships for spare parts.
Even on my way here, my ship snuck its way around the marauding space pirates, using the debris and skeletal remnants of large warships drifting in a dangerous game of hide and seek.
Scavenger companies bought the spare parts and sometimes unfortunate salvageable ships from the space pirates, fuelling a thriving planetary system economy.
"Why are you staring at? You've been staring for quite a while, even after the fight. Anything interesting below?" Zhiva asked as his eyes followed my gaze.
"This place never changes," I replied, while hiding my regular mental exercise of the senses.
Over dependence on cybernetic enhanced capabilities came with costs in my species.
My cybernetic implants and neural relay system require a timed shutdown for regeneration and maintenance after a period of usage, leaving me vulnerable without the enhancements.
During the atomite cybernetic regeneration cycle, the remaining biological parts of my body relied on my physical combat skills and mental stamina to function and, in this line of work, vulnerabilities created problems.
"Hah! You speak like some old git." He scoffed.
Yeah, I look far younger than my actual age.
Both of us watched the two bar staff drag the dead Perunian away while the others bought the triumphant Thorian drinks.
"Those organs of the Perunian will fetch a good price," Zhiva muttered as he pulled out his tablet messenger and ran his fingers on it, to alert the meat and organ dealers in his space pirate network.
They used even dead aliens as spare parts. Not just ships.
The bar shuddered from the overhead vibrations of a few ships coming in for landing at a nearby parking garage. Easy to spot newcomers to the city because they jump at the vibrations.
"Done," Zhiva said as he got up. "The rest just arrived. Garan will just wait it out here."
"Just go," Garan said. He probably had other business.
I followed Zhiva down the stairs and out of the noisy bar into the dark winding streets and alley ways. Dusk already fell on the planet, changing the familiar sight by midday into a shady environment.
Nothing unusual.
I always expected a long wait when the job involved a high paying client, the most important type of the syndicate's clientele.
As we made our way through the maze of alley ways lined by decrepit shop houses, a bad feeling kicked in at the unusual direction.
The unfamiliar route triggered alarm bells in my head. Zhiva walked ahead without turning back once, unlike his usual habit of laughing and joking.
My gut, although not much of a gut, twisted up enough to warn me that the situation felt dead wrong.
A red line flickered across my vision. My thoughts activated the cybernetic relay within my brain, causing a simultaneous activation of all surgical implants in my body on standby.
The last words I wanted to see appeared, projected by my optical implant in my eye onto my line of vision.
[Cybernetics relays activated: defence mode]
[Warning: 100 paces. 50 bodies, armed]
After the intersection ahead, Zhiva approached the narrowing alley way lined with rows of shop houses, a perfect ambush set up since the width is enough only for a single file of bodies.
I stopped at the intersection, refusing to walk further into a potential ambush.
My hand instinctively slid slowly into my leather jacket and onto the hidden multi-phasic laser gun, ready to draw.
He stopped and turned around with a slow, nervous smile forming on his face, while shuddering in the warm temperature around us.
"Shit," Zhiva mouthed.
[Targeting Frame activated]
[Sending coded subspace standby signal to Arabaki]
Two options opened to me - fight or flight.