For those of you who have a worse memory than a short haired jukamut (a kind of dog), or maybe haven't visited SciFi-Babe in a while, Darvu Funn, the younger brother of Marku Funn - the man who'd caused genetic chaos on Toknar ( Click to read Alethea's report) - had just bought me at a slave auction on Casalmara for twenty-nine million Ortanotes - about two hundred and forty thousand dollars. Having released me from my cuffs and chains, he eased me into a hired skimmer and handed me a brand new pair of shoulder-length gloves, thigh-high boots - all in gorgeous soft, black, leather - and a custom 'Greer', lace and leather, corset. Well, that sort of mellowed me and I was in a totally receptive frame of mind when he told me about his sister being kidnapped by some very bad honchos from Cor-te-Eva. I really must have momentarily taken a trip out of my gourd, at that point, coz when he told me the 'Cor-te-Eva' wanted me, in exchange for his sister, coz they wanted me to write about what was happening on their world, I happily agreed to go there - right after he'd laced me into my nice new corset, of course. *grin* If you want to read that report first, in the interests of a linear timeline, just click to read about my trip to the markets of Saith and Dara, on Montanera.
Well, finding the 'Cor-te-Eva' is pretty easy. You just follow the smell. That's according to Alethea, of course; but then she has a real 'thing' about personal hygiene. Truth is, neither sex on Cor-te-Eva is too up on washing. Being a totally sociopathic, warrior nation, they think removing all that daily grim weakens them, or something. I should point out, I think, that the females are just as evil tempered as their males, probably have no sense of smell, whatsoever - or the species would have died out generations ago - and are usually to be found in the middle of a battle, swinging their razor sharp yataras (swords) from side to side and chopping peoples' heads off with total abandon.
I just know you people find all this stuff fascinating, but the fact is, getting to Cor-te-Eva is not at all easy. It's not on any cruise route, and very few trading vessels visit there, because the Cor-te-Eva have no money to spend on trifles. In fact, I'm not sure they have any money at all. They believe if you want something, you should simply take it. They make really great assassins, too, unless of course you want subtlety. Walking into a hotel lobby, swinging a five-foot long yatara around your head - like a demented Kurgan - is not going to pass unnoticed. But, heh, that's their style!
A few low-life drug and arms runners, who usually hang around in the strip bars and 'dance' clubs that line both sides of Toksa Street, City of Yak'am, on the nearby planet of Coochar, will take a person there. They mostly take in low-tech weapons, like knives and stuff, and some basic medical supplies, in exchange for snik-snik tusks (a little like ivory, and just as valuable). Occasionally they will act as intermediaries, soliciting one or more Cor-te-Eva for an off-world 'hit', or as mercenaries in some far-flung tribal dispute, where the total elimination of one side or other is the ultimate goal. I should point out, here, that the Cor-te-Eva had insisted I came alone to their world, but Darvu wanted to be close at hand for when his sister was released, and was going to wait for her on Coochar. You know, he and I had been in each other's company for almost a week now, and I still wasn't sure why his sister had been anyplace where she could have been kidnapped. On the two occasions I'd asked him, he'd said he didn't know. I suppose it's possible, but Coochar, let alone Cor-te-Eva, is the wrong side of anywhere. I decided I was going to make that my first question when I met Jarmia, his sister, right after, "Are you okay?"
After walking up and down Toksa Street for half an hour, I eventually settled on Tutu Varma's club, for no other reason than it's illuminated sign had all the words lit. I was sitting at a small table, with a less than clean cloth drapped over it, clutching a glass of juice for almost an hour before a small, bald, evil-looking man, in a threadbare yellow jumpsuit, entered. He walked past me, without even a glance, and eased himself into a booth at the rear, right next to the low stage. A bored looking, large-breasted humanoid, with feline features, bleached hair and a long flicking tail, was grinding out an uncoordinated dance routine to some sort of pipe music. The fact that the 'dancer' was moving in time to a rhythm that was completely out of sync with the rhythm of the music was obviously lost on the three guys who were busy working their way through every bottle and container on the top shelf behind the bar. Presumably, provided they were still conscious, and more importantly weren't totally broke, they fully intended to carry on to the next shelf. I had no doubt that Varma hoped they would. It didn't look like too prosperous a place, as bars go. I'm sure he'd tried everything he could to drum up business, but I imagine the competition was murder! I never had the time to count, but there had to be upwards of two hundred dance, sex clubs, and bars of all kinds in less than a mile.
The newcomer was obviously a regular, because Varma poured a tall, green colored drink and brought it over to him without the man saying a word. As he returned to the bar, Varma looked at me and nodded. I took a deep breath and walked over to the booth. "Hi," I said, smiling, "I'm Sashi."
"I'm busy," he replied between sips. He pulled a datafiler from his breast pocket and started tapping keys.
Well, it's really not that often that I get 'iced' by a guy, and it threw me for a second or so. Not one to quit, though, I stuck out my boobies, cleared my throat to get his attention, gave him another smile, and asked, "Can I sit?"
Without a word, he absentmindedly pointed to the seat opposite and returned to his datafiler. I sat and slid myself along until I was next to the wall. Over the next thirty minutes, he consumed three more green colored drinks, tapped his keys occasionally, I learned his name was Evo Pugme, and that he owned a near derelict ship, 'Guila', named after his second wife. I also learned that he had a fairly large cargo of medical supplies he was planning to deliver to Cor-te-Eva - consisting mostly of painkillers and anti-bacterial creams. Eventually, after feigning reluctance for a moment, presumably so he could jack up the price, he said he would be prepared to take me with him, entirely at my own risk, of course. I mentioned that he would be bringing Darvu's sister, Jarmia, back to Coochar with him, after dropping me off. He smiled, exposing me to a view of his teeth that I would have preferred to miss, and told me that, since he'd not planned to return to Coochar afterwards, it would cost me... a lot! Anyway, after another drink - juice for me, and another green one for him - we eventually settled on a price. I stood up, smiled, so he could see what really nice teeth look like, and said I'd meet him at the bar later that evening. 'And, yes,' I said, 'I would be sure to bring the money!'
I'd already said farewell to Darvu, earlier, so, after Pugme had checked the money, we made our way on foot the short distance to where his ship was parked on an abandoned industrial site. 'Coochar' has a pretty informal attitude to the kind of things most governments feel an irresistable urge to regulate, like: booze, food quality, drugs, arms sales, tax evasion and, of course, parking your spaceship as close to the bar as you can. After a short pre-flight check, consisting of kicking the odd panel, flicking the occasional switch, and thumping the navigation computer's display until it powered up, we strapped ourselves in and took off. In a surprisingly short time, we made orbit, took a navigational fix and headed for Cor-te-Eva and what was to be the most unusual experience of my entire life.
