Xeno Core

Robar doesn't take his eyes off the armored figures in the shuttle. "No, Mos Gol. I don't but I do know what they represent."

The black and yellow armored leader steps out of the precursor vessel, odd device still pointed at the blue and white uniformed officer.

"And what might that be?" Mos Gol does not seem amused by the confrontation happening before her.

"These three thieves stole that vessel from our research facility. That's how I recognized the ship."

"Gau shit," spits the armored leader.

Gol's tendrils spread out dominantly, taking mastery of the area around her. Bruen and Zek move back, out of her reach. She plucks the weapons from all four. Her strength is greatly enhanced by the runic arrays embedded in her own armor plating.

Gol turns around in satisfaction. She lowers the weapons to the ground, a cocky swagger just detectable in how she moves. She adjusts her tunic before turning back around but freezes up almost immediately.

A loud retort echoes around the clearing. Smoke rises from a much smaller device in the hand of one of the two smaller armor suited figures. The third figure falls prone, smoke rising from the side of her helmet. Blood leaks down the black metal.

Her visor peels back, revealing a female face that bears a striking resemblance to Robar. "Robar Povril," her voice is cold and flat. "Good to see you again, cousin."

"Ye daft thing! What have ye done?" His visor also rises, showing his scarred gray face. His large eyes brim with moisture.

"Just doing my civic duty, Gel," she says, voice devoid of emotion. She turns her weapon, pointing it at him. "Why don't you drop the knife, Gelly, before I have to hurt you, too."

"And take off that fancy armor, thief," adds Robar.

Unsure what's going on, Bruen pulls a length of cord from his belt pouch while the alien, Gelly, removes his armor. His former companion keeps her weapon trained on him the whole time. Once he's out of it, Bruen ties the gray merchant's arms together behind the alien's back.

The scarred gray alien then does something that causes Bruen to freeze in shock. He speaks in the common tongue of the Southern Tribals.

"These two are criminals. Their group was banished from our world, for the cruelty they committed against our kind. Don't let them do this."

Robar Povril lunges forward, his intent to strike the already subdued alien apparent with the way he draws back his gray fist. Bruen stops him, catching the officer with his strong lower tendrils. Mos Gol likewise disarms the killer of her toy. Their Somner uses her control of energies to lock the alien's armor in place around her.

That was no honor duel! Biting down his anger, Bruen inspects the weaponry confiscated from the aliens. A light maker, or charged particle beam rifle, as well as two rifles of unknown type and two deceptively light single-handed weapons. Finally, he looks at the smallest hand weapon, as well as a well-worn knife, its handle rubbed smooth from constant use. Carved into it are imitations of the runic arrays used by chieftains.

"He acts with too much sense to be a tribal," comments Gol. "Yet he speaks their language better than his own."

"And yer no the first as to say it, either," rejoins Gelly.

"Gag him, please," begs the murderer in her cold voice. "Or let me shoot him!"

"Gag them all, I think," Gol states, gnashing her pedipalps together.

All three have large sticks lodged into their fleshy mouths. They are held in place with cord from Gol's pouch. Robar's arms are also tied behind his back, as well as his cousin, who is also stripped of her metal shell.

"What do we do with them?" Zek's posture indicates mixed interest. She turns so that the vessel is in easy view of her peripheral eyes. "And this thing?"

Bruen pulls his tendrils closer to his body, signaling his unwillingness to answer before his elder does.

"Robar we must return unharmed to his people," decrees Gol calmly. "We will not be the ones to break trust. However, we shall interrogate all three of them before we do anything further. Somner Zek, you shall take the murderer. Mos Bruen, your charge is the ugly one."

At this Gel's face darkens. His former companion falls over, muffled laughter spilling past her gag. Zek strikes her once, not harshly, with an upper tendril.

Bruen tenses up, expecting another hidden attack weapon. He relaxes when she proves only to be slightly hysterical. The stress must be too much for her primitive mind.

They each lead their captive off into the swamp. Once Bruen can no longer detect his allies he stops. He speaks to his captive in a language he knows they share, the tribal argot.

"This is far enough. Gel, is it?"

He pulls the aliens knife from his belt and uses it to cut free the gag.

"My friends call me that," answers the alien in the same tongue. "And you're Mos Broom."

"Bruen. Just Bruen is fine. Tell me, did you steal that ship, Gel?"

"The Bag? No, it was," he pauses, possibly to collect his scattered thoughts. "It was a gift, I think. Or another trap."

"Where did you get it? Was it from these Navy people's base, as Robar says?" Bruen stands very still as he talks, trying to be as non-threatening as he can. His tendrils remain close to his thorax, almost submissively so.

"No. We woke up in it, after who or what ever decided it was done with us. Can I ask you a question?"

Bruen remains silent, so the gray alien continues. "I think I might know another of your kind. Have you heard of Mos Denn?"

Six thick lower tendrils grasp the creature by the thin stalk that holds its hideous head up.

"Describe him to me now, and if you are wrong, I shall squeeze the life from you."

"Well, I can't say he's as pretty as I am, but I may have worked with the old cuss. Old, proud and not very cooperative most of the time. Once we got comfortable around each other he mellowed out, but he was still very prickly about how you addressed him."

"Yes, that sounds right. Go on."

"Acts like he knows better than everyone around him. He inserted himself into the command structure of the ship. Probably running that damn rock by now with no one to keep him in line."

"Impossible. I saw his corpse myself."

"Oh, yes. He never gets tired of telling about the wicked wizard that cut him up. Jerry Nust, or some such."

Bruen stiffens in shock. He quickly releases his hold on the alien's neck, realizing he had grasped too hard. Gel coughs until he can breathe again.

"What," Bruen stops. He takes a deep breath and tries again. "What happened?"

The gray alien explains as much as he can. It all lines up with what he knows of the murder.

Bruen then extracts an outlandish tale from his captive. A gigantic ceramic ship with nobody inside, and a trap where the victim is released unharmed in a different part of the galaxy.

When he finishes questioning the alien merchant, Bruen leads him back to the precursor shuttle to wait for his companions. He leaves the alien free to speak but does not yet untie his hands. The others return after a short time with their own prisoners following behind. Bruen notices that the other two aliens are gagged once more.

"This one lies poorly," declares Mos Gol. She shoves Robar forward harshly and he falls to the ground beside Gel. Zek pushes her captive down as well.

"Mine could lie believably, but her story was an obvious fabrication. Her tale did not match Robar's lies except in the broad sense of what he said in front of her."

"What Gel says is hard to believe, but he knows other things that he shouldn't," reports Bruen. "I'm inclined to trust his word over the other two."

"Agreed," responds Mos Gol. "Repeat your story for us, gray one."