A Terran's Justice

The Gambler, The Witch, and The Psychotic Robot

Francis’s Locust-class starship, Nightbringer, dropped out of hyper-travel with a crude jolt. Azaz’kul was almost thrown from her seat as it did so, the Azrael woman insisting that she had no need for such a ‘primitive’ safety device only hours earlier. Francis smiled as she steadied herself.

“Human tech ain’t quite as nice as Azrael I guess?” he asked with mock sympathy.

“Your rudimentary space traversing machines are of no hindrance to me,” she replied curtly.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered. Before them was a dwarf planet that hung toward the middle of its solar system, Targon four. The world looked similar to Terra’s moon, with no vegetation, or water to show for. It was the core of the world that was the magnificent part. The entire planet had been hollowed out to allow for a sprawling metropolis to be implanted underneath the crust. The city was named Gall’s End, and it was a rough place. Francis hit the comm. switch on his craft and pinged the docking authority.

“State your name, identification, and business here on Targon four,” the dock master’s droning voice cracked through the comm. unit.

“This is Francis Markis, captain of Nightbringer. I’m an officially licensed law-enforcement contractor under the Galactic Alliance vigilante act. I am looking for someone.”

“God damn bounty hunters again,” the dock master grumbled, “fine, you can dock, but if you get killed by some thugs, I won’t lose sleep over it.” The comm. crackled off and Francis was transmitted coordinates to a portal down to Gall’s End.

“He was delightful,” Azaz’kul commented.

“Yeah, they hate bounty hunters here, so if it ever comes up, I’m not a bounty hunter, okay?”

“I understand.”

“Well then, you are about to see the universes cesspool of taverns, brothels, and casinos. This place is really rough so watch yourself.”

“Do not concern yourself with my safety, I can handle myself.”

“If you say so.” Francis caught sight of his landing pad and brought Nightbringer down for landing, deliberately jolting the ship in an effort to knock Azaz’kul out of her seat.

“Was that necessary?” she asked.

“Yep,” Francis replied as he got out of his seat and strapped two holstered pistols around his waist. “Let’s stroll.”

The two of them walked through the steaming, stinking streets of Gall’s End. Thousands of artificial lights cast an eerie glow down onto the sleepless city. Countless children roamed the streets, trying to pickpocket the older, richer denizens, whilst myriad tramps and vagabonds pleaded for any spare change the passerby’s had. Francis rummaged around in his satchel for any spare units he had when Azaz’kuls icy white hand shot out and stopped him.

“What are you doing?” he almost yelled.

“You mean to bestow pitiful gifts upon the needy?” She inquired.

“Yeah?” he posed his response as a question.

“I urge you not to. Look at that one,” she pointed to an old man whose mane was matted with grime and dirt. “If you give him money he will use it to buy the drink that ends his life. Or that one,” this time she pointed to a skinny woman of about twenty. “If you give money to her, before she can spend it, she will be assaulted by those stronger than her, and she will die. Lastly do not give money to the young ones, for it teaches them that they will always find such generosity in the wealthy.” Francis looked at the desperate people, but withdrew his hand from the satchel empty, and continued on his way.

“Alright, so the person we’re looking for usually frequents two places here. Although, he is probably barred from the fancier casino by now so it will be the Star Child’s Gullet. It’s a large, but cheap establishment that sells cheap drinks and doesn’t give a damn about you cheating people out of money. Plus they allow violence as long as it isn’t against their staff. So basically it’s a hell-hole of a tavern, but it’s where he’ll be.”

“Who exactly is he?” Azaz’kul asked.

“His name is Jacque Matthews. He’s a con man. Made millions by selling cheap weapons to both sides of the Human-Xaon war. Once the galactic alliance found out, most of his assets were confiscated. He was really big in the battle-drone business. Anyway, most of his drone foundries made their way into Sebastian Sharrack’s hands. However, Sharrack is a cheap fool and didn’t update any of the drones, most of them being pretty much state of the art. However, Jacque designed them so he knows how the warriors work. He can help us put them out of the fight, or so I hope.” The two of them entered the heart of the city and were quickly lost in the crowds of street-performers, aristocrats, and the homeless.

Jacque Matthews shuffled the deck again and again, the three other men around the table harshly scrutinising his method. They were playing a weird gambling game favoured by the Dressenians, a race of hyper-intelligent humanoid creatures. They were six rounds in, and the stakes were only getting higher. Jacque was winning, as usual, his usual card counting and stacking techniques working perfectly. However, it was not those that were winning him this game. Little did any of his competitors know, his left eye was actually a cybernetic replacement that could read the other side of cards, so he basically knew what was in any of their hands before they played a card. He dealt out the hands, looking at his own. An emperor, two queens, a knight, and three squires. Not a great hand, but it would suffice.

“Alright gentlemen, are we ready?” he asked the table, which consisted of a Xaon, with his four eyes and scaly black skin, a four-armed Xenoct, and another human. His trusty bodyguard robot, Hannibal, stood next to him, atom disruptor mark seven in hand. Hannibal was an actual state-of-the-art drone, unlike the sabotaged versions Sebastian had stolen off of him. The drone could probably take out half the tavern, about two hundred people, before it finally got felled.

“Ready,” the other men murmured one by one. The round continued as Jacque knew it would, seeing about three hundred more units slowly trickling into his pot. About thirty minutes later, he sat there a rich man, whilst all his opponents had finally run out of stakes.

“GG no re?’ he asked tentatively. The Xenoct swore in its native language and stormed away, the human grumbled under his breath, but the Xaon seemed transfixed on Jacque’s face.

“That’s a funny eye you have there son…” he said slowly.

“Ah,” Jacque began.

“Funny how I never noticed it before…”

“Funny.”

“Looks like a cybernetic vision enhancer BZ-22… capable of looking at paper and being able to make out what’s written on the other side…”

“Really? It can do that?” Jacque replied with mock surprise.

“You cheated,” the Xaon roared.

“You little shit,” the human growled, pulling a pistol out from under the table.

“If you have any problems, you can consult Hannibal here,” Jacque gestured to the drone.

“Do you need someone liquidated, master” the white armoured attack drone asked in its cheery voice.

“Maybe, Hannibal, maybe. If mister cowboy here has a problem, how would you suggest he solve it?”

“Well master, I would start by telling him to take that little firecracker of his and shove it up his-”

“Okay! Geez! I get the idea!” Jacque said, cutting the drone off.

“Give me back my money,” the human growled.

“Or what? You know the rules of this establishment.” The human brought his gun up to blow Jacque’s head clean off, but Hannibal was too quick. The drone squeezed the trigger on its gun and sent streams of red lasers toward the assailant. In a needless display of brutality, the gun quickly reduced him to a pile of bloodied bones and liquefied flesh.

“Wow!” Jacques exclaimed. “I’ve never actually seen that gun work before, damn!”

“Did I do a good job master?” Hannibal asked.

“Sure did Hannibal, sure did. Now, do you wanna try somethin’ too?” he asked the Xaon.

“No,” the alien stammered as he got out of his seat and made his way toward the exit. Jacques smiled and began to count his fortunes.

The Star Child’s Gullet sat across the street from Francis and Azaz’kul, the dilapidated neon sign casting an eerie glow out into the street.

“There it is,” Francis gestured to the large building, “The Star Child’s Gullet! He’s gotta be here, especially considering the time of day.”

“We best hope so,” Azaz’kul sighed, “time is of the essence.” The duo crossed the street and pushed open the doors to the tavern. Inside was a dimply lit mess of tables and chairs, with some strange music from a far off world blaring in the background. The chatter assaulted them like locusts assault a crop. Francis swept his eyes over the contents of the tavern.

“He’s probably toward the back, but I’m not sure where,” he said quietly to his companion.

“We should split up,” she replied, “tell me what he looks like.”

“I’m not sure splitting up is the right idea.”

“I don’t care about what you think is the right idea, however, my ideas are usually the right ones.”

“Fine,’ Francis conceded, “He is small for a human. White skin, shaggy brown hair, blue eyes, although one of them is fake. Usually can be found gambling or flirting with women.”

“I get the picture,” Azaz’kul said as she began to make her way off toward one end of the tavern. Francis began to push his way through the mess of bodies in the opposite direction, craning his neck to get above the heads of the other patrons and catch a glimpse of Jacque.

Azaz’kul silently made her way through the tavern, ignoring the four-armed bartender as he asked her what she wanted. The patrons of the tavern were the usual scum she expected to find in such a place: desperate people looking for a one-night-stand, thugs for various gangs, fugitives from galactic law, veterans from the resent wars with humanity. She brought her cloak around her more tightly and pushed onward. She did not really need the visual description of the man they sought, as soon as Francis had begun explaining what he looked like, she had managed to extract his physical properties from his memories, a rarely used power that The Order often disallowed. But she was not with The Order anymore. Her train of thought was interrupted when a Krakor suddenly stuck his foot out in means to trip her. She saw the gesture and came to a stop, but she soon found herself surrounded by three thugs, two of them human.

“What’s a nice old lady like you doing in a foul place such as this?” the leader of the gang asked. He was a tall fellow, with defined muscles and close-cropped black hair.

“I was about to ask you the same question,” Azaz’kul replied nonchalantly. The three of them laughed.

“You have some spirit, I like that,” the leader said. “However, me and my boys were about to get another round and well, we ran out of money!”

“An unfortunate situation I’m sure,” she replied.

“Was that sarcasm, boss?” the Krakor asked in the low grumble often associated with his race.

“Yeah, yeah it was Frek.”

“Ah, I’m getting better at this,” the Krakor praised itself.

“Anyway!” the leader roared, trying to get order back to the situation, “We need money and you have a nice fancy cloak so cough it up!”

“I am afraid to shatter your illusions, but I am not in the possession of money.”

“How about,” the second human piped up, “we take you back into our ‘private room’ and see what’s really under that cloak.”

“Oh please,” Azaz’kul cut in, “are you really that desperate?” There was a pause. “Listen boys are we going to stand around here all night or are we going to do this?”

“I like her,” the Krakor grumbled. Suddenly, the leader had a knife in his hands and made to plunge it into her stomach. However, with a flick of the wrist, a hissing orb of sapphire energy shot from her palm and connected with the lead thug’s chest, sending him hurtling across the room and into a table, overturning the half dozen drinks precariously balanced on its top and causing them to fall onto the ground and shatter. The Krakor growled and ran toward Azaz’kul, who wreathed her hands in electricity and sent ball after ball of it toward him, the metal armour he wore sending the harsh current across his body until his hearts stopped. The last thug stopped in his tracks as Azaz’kul turned to face him.

“Y-y-you-your one of them?” he stammered. “A cleric from The Order?”

“Not anymore,” she growled, calling forth a glowing lance of energy and hurling it into his neck, severing his head and sending it rolling away under another table. Half the bar fell silent and stared at Azaz’kul. “Would anyone else like to try?” She asked. “No? Good.”

Francis finally found Jacque, who was counting money at a gambling table under the watchful gaze of a white robot made to look like some kind of bulky human Skelton.

“Master, more fleshlings approach for me to liquidate,” the drone said as Francis got close to the table. Jacque looked up, and at the sight of Francis, a large smile spread across his youthful face.

“Francis!” he cried, “Buddy, it’s been too long!”

“Lucifer nebula if I recall,” the solder replied, taking a seat next to the gambler.

“Is this one a threat?” Hannibal asked in his deceptively happy tone.

“No Hannibal, he’s a friend,” Jacques replied.

“Friend is not in my vocabulary banks, please define,” the drone said.

“Um… like a really good acquaintance. Someone we don’t wanna kill.”

“Okay master, Friend added to vocabulary.”

“What are you doing here?” Jacque asked, turning his attention to Francis.

“I’ve got a job,” Francis replied, “and I need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yeah. It’s for a great cause, there is money involved, excitement, and revenge.”

“Revenge you say?” Jacque said leaning in closer. “I’m listenin’.”

“There is a small, primitive, town on one of the moons of Azarg. There is some kind of relic buried underneath the town and ‘The Order’ are hiring a gang of thugs to tear it up.”

“What’s the revenge?” Jacques cut it eagerly.

“The thugs are lead by Sebastian Sharrack-” Jacques sighed loudly. “What?”

“I though you meant there was revenge in it for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know you and Sharrack have your differences after the whole shitshow at Morrigon, but I don’t need to be dragged into this.”

“Didn’t Sharrack steal your drone business?” Francis countered.

“Actually, the galactic alliance confiscated my drone business and gave it to him but… hang on a sec. You need me to deal with his drone army for you don’t you?” Francis sighed.

“Yeah,” he replied. Jacques began to laugh.

“So let me get this straight, you want me to risk my life, so you can get revenge on Sharrack, all whilst pretending to be nice dudes by saving a town from destruction?”

“That’s about right.”

“You said there was money?”

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

“Not sure. She didn’t say.”

“She?”

“My contractor.”

“Master,” Hannibal cut into the conversation.

“What is it?” Jacques asked.

“There appears to be some kind of ruckus happening over there.” The drone pointed to a clump of people where three thugs were being tossed about like ragdolls. Flashes of energy cut through the air as the duel happened.

“Wow,” Jacques commented. “Looks like one of them space clerics at work.”

“Space Clerics?” Francis asked.

“Yeah, the members of The Order. They are trained to like see the universe flow or somethin’. Let’s them shoot lasers and telekinetically throw people about, manipulate electricity and the like. Has something to do with them using the full 100% of their brains… but I’m not really sure.” From the mass of people, Azaz’kul came forth and made her way toward their table.

“Master,” Hannibal began, “Should I?”

“No,” Francis said hastily, “She’s with me!” Hannibal turned his faceplate toward Francis.

“I do not take orders from you!” the drone cried, a little hurt.

“It’s okay Hannibal, if she’s with Francis she’s a friend.”

“Friend: definition: Um like a really good acquaintance. Someone we don’t wanna kill.”

“That was impressive,” Francis muttered as Aza’kul walked around the table and sat down next to Jacque.

“Hello, my name is Jacque, and you are?” the gambler outstretched his hand. Azaz’kul did not take it.

“I assume this is the man we seek.”

“Yeah,” Francis replied.

“Can he help?”

“We were just discussing that…”

“Okay,” Jacque began, “Before Sebastian took over I sabotaged the drone program. They are not as good as they were supposed to be, but he ain’t dumb. He removed most of my triggered commands I had put in them. However, I know the frequency their targeting analysers work on and, if given the proper equipment, I can disrupt it. Meaning, their targeting goes crazy and they start to shoot at anything. Friend or foe.” There was a silence around the table.

“It’ll have to do,” Francis conceded.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah. Hold up,” Jacque said. “I haven’t agreed to it yet? What’s the pay?”

“Considerable,” Azaz’kul answered.

“How considerable?”

“Half a million units each,” she replied. Jacques eyes widened.

“Pack up your things Hannibal, we’re going on an adventure.”