Read Terra's World for Free Online Page B

first.
    ‘You smell something?’
     

 
     
     
    1.10
     
     
     
    S trannit Zek checked the clock. Thirteen gafgafs past shoob. The Tastak was late.
    He heaved his bulk – considerable even by Kotari standards – off the couch and lumbered towards the communications console of his ship.
    The ship was expensively furnished; finely upholstered couches, thick carpeting and art treasures from many worlds proudly displayed. It was Strannit’s only home, and he liked his comforts.
    The Kotari lived almost exclusively in space. There had been a Kotari homeworld once; no one even knew where it was now. Some said it had been polluted into uninhabitability; some said it had been devastated by an asteroid; others said (but never in the presence of a Kotari) that the race had been wandering the stars for so long that they had simply got hopelessly lost.
    Some of Strannit Zek’s people had settled on habitable worlds, but this was frowned upon by conventional Kotari. Most of them adhered to the nomadic tradition, speaking disapprovingly of the ‘dirtfoots’ as they called their planet-bound relatives.
    The Kotari were traders. Whatever you might want, they would have it – or could get it for you. They would deal in any and all commodities, big and small, legal and illegal, live and inanimate.
    At war with a neighbour who has you outgunned? The Kotari will ensure your enemies are stricken by a mysterious plague. For a price.
    Planet stricken by a mysterious plague? The Kotari will get you the medicines you need. For a price.
    Need to extract a lone female adolescent from her off-limits world? The Kotari will hire someone who will bring her to you alive. For a price.
    Strannit had put a lot of work the way of the Morbis Guild over the course of his career. They’d never let him down before. He’d been somewhat taken aback when the operative they had assigned had turned out to be a Tastak – he didn’t know that the Guild even admitted insectoids – but the Tastak had seemed extremely professional and focused. Strannit had gone ahead with the deal, in spite of his misgivings.
    Now the Tastak was late and Strannit was reminding himself always to pay attention to his misgivings. He prodded at the communications console with a fat blue finger and spoke.
    - Throx! Throx, are you in range? You’re late, Throx! Another nine gafgafs and we’ll be looking at deductions!
    To his relief, the console lit up and a gravelly voice was heard.
    - I’m inbound. Just come out of infra-light and with you shortly. I’ve got the item; it’s intact as promised.
    Item? Throx hadn’t called the Ymn an ‘item’ when they’d discussed the job. He’d been content to call her a Ymn.
    - ‘Item’, Throx? What’s with the hard-being talk? If you’ve got the girl, just say so.
    - I’ve got the girl. She’s alive. Get ready to receive her.
    The ship’s proximity alert started beeping. Strannit checked the exterior visualiser; Throx’s bug-eyed little ship was pulling alongside and extending a docking umbilical to connect with his own ship’s cargo hatch. He dropped the ship’s energy shields (an essential feature on any ship so laden with riches), deactivated the security protocols and opened the hatch. He hefted himself into a grav-chute and slid down to meet his visitors.
    He emerged into the cargo hold just as the hatch swished shut. He was confused; standing before him was not a Tastak, but a Ymn. A youngish-looking male (Strannit wasn’t too familiar with the Ymn ageing process, but this one certainly didn’t look very old). He was pushing a hovering stretcher, on which lay another Ymn, young again, possibly female, and unconscious.
    - Who the chak are you? grunted Strannit.
    - It’s me, you fool, said the male Ymn. Optical camouflage. I’m disguised as one of her little friends. That’s how I bagged her. The system’s on a timer, so I’m not exposed if I’m rendered unconscious. Stuck looking like this for a bit longer.