Grakkan's Union • Chapter Eight - Meeting
Kashen surveyed his apartment. Each piece was put together so neatly, it was like a jigsaw puzzle before it was cut. Legally, this was his home. However, it was foreign to him. He felt more at home in his office, by the sidelines of the arena, even while licking the boots of his Ophidian masters. He never entertained privately, he never dealt business outside of the office, and he seldom slept.
Krashen's skin was as taut as a young adult's. His eyes were dark and aged a century. His true years were somewhere in between. His hair had not yet started to recede. His internal organs still functioned optimally, despite his best efforts to throw away health for fun and power. Before he poured his first drink, he ran his finger across the bar. The bar was dirtier for the experience. He checked the alcohol levels, all bottles were full. Someone was here regularly and was earning their credits. He poured his glass of Byrdarian Wine but was interrupted before he could drink.
"Sir, you’ guests 'ave arrived," said the wriggly little alien that attended him this evening.
"Send him in." Kashen took a look at himself in the mirror. He breathed in deeply, held his breath, and stared. When footsteps echoed in the doorway he exhaled and forced a smile. "Mr. Sylvester Slice," he greeted overenthusiastically, insulting himself and his guest.
"Please, we’re old acquaintances, you can just call me Slice." Slice was not as human as he looked. His head was like a rounded pyramid, placed upside-down on his solid neck. His chin was the sanded-down peak, his hair, orange like the last embers of a fire, black like the ash, formed a flat base. He was smiling, even when he wasn't, his flashing teeth the only distinction between a real smile and the painted grin. His nose hung like a doorknocker, but between his smile and his expressive eyes, it was hardly noticeable. He wore a suit jacket, the flush of a virgin's cheeks. His pants started off as red as a warning light but tapered down into the beige of old, which blended into his shoes. He walked like a dancer with a song stuck in his head.
Behind him, always behind him, was an alien from an extinguished planet, who had had a lot of hardships, affecting him physically. He couldn't talk, but there was no need as no one approached him for conversation. He was hairless, peach-colored, and consisted of rolls upon rolls of muscle-bound flesh. He wore just enough fabric to cover anything that could be offensive, and four metal bands, one on each bicep, and one on each thigh. These bands sent off a continuous dose of Cordormisil, or "Sleep Juice" into his veins, to reduce his rage, and steady electroshocks to relax his muscles, to reduce his strength. Slice introduced him.
"This here is my new bodyguard. He was called Pslpuupt, which is the sound of something hitting a wall in his people's language, so I renamed him Splat."
"It's a pleasure to meet you." Kashen extended a steady hand to shake with the towering alien.
Slice smacked his hand away, "Don't bother with manners on the Humongaloid there."
"What would you like to drink?" offered Kashen, taking a crystal glass into the hand.
"Is that Elinta?" Slice flashed his teeth.
"Of course."
"With ice," commanded Slice.
Elinta was venom from a serpent of the same name. It was an acquired taste, and a taste that was difficult to acquire, as it was often fatal. The lethal dose was only one and a half times the effective dose, but those who hit the balance just right swear it is the finest pleasure the taste buds could enjoy. "Please, sit," suggested Kashen. He gestured towards the couch that was grass green. It was the only item in the room not muted in shade, yet it blended flawlessly.
Slice, with a drink in hand, leaned into the couch. It was neither solid nor liquid, and with an artificial intelligence moved to support him and yield to him appropriately. "This is a fine sit," noted Slice between his teeth. "I might just move in." Splat stood behind the couch, guarding over his master. "Your management must really like you." He gestured at Kashen's head.
Kashen massaged the snake tattoo on his forehead. "Yes, my management."
Slice sipped his venom. "And this is a fine drink. You know, if the snakes ever cut you lose, I could use a private bartender." Kashen tried to laugh; it came out high-pitched, like wet sneakers on linoleum. "And onto the topic of business, I heard something about the Grakkan games?"
"Yes," Kashen could not find enough lightheartedness to cover his seriousness. "I'm putting together a team to compete."
Slice's teeth disappeared, "The next words out of your mouth had better be, 'and I want you to manage it.' "
"I want you to compete."
Slice let out a cackle like a war cry. "You did not ask me to travel three systems, and then some, just to fight in some low-level match." He sipped his drink.
"I can pay well. I have almost limitless access to credits..."
Slice leaned forward. "Please, I don't need your credits." He flashed his hand in front of Kashen's face. Whether his claws were filed down to be fingernails or his nails were sharpened to act as claws were debatable. Upon his fourth finger, he wore a ring with a stone of ebony, held to his hand with red gold. "This is the stone found in the depths of the chasm of Yasserbal. It is believed to be the end result of all of the existence falling into a black hole, where life ends and life begins. This is the only one of its kind. If I sold this ring today, I could spend credits for the rest of my days without further income. I don't need your credits."
"You are an honorable man, who understands grudges, who appreciates future threats, above all else I am asking for a favor."
"I have been known to do favors. What are we talking about here?"
"A woman who needs to be put in her place early. Whose ideas are idiotic, but not enough that she's guaranteed to fail."
Slice scratched his nose. "I'm listening, keep me entertained."
"Have you heard of the Myria Uprising?"
"Heard of it? I named my eighteenth daughter after it. Oh, there was some money to be made there. No, wait, was it, my sixteenth daughter...?"
Kashen interrupted his thought, "This man was a soldier in the Kolir Militia during the uprising. By all rights, he should be dead by now, but here he is, competing. Winning." He handed Slice a picture of Captain Impressive.
"Ah, cybernetic implants. The great miracle. Let the weak take advantage of what's out there, I say."
"Do you know of the Distari race?"
"Like cockroaches, them."
Kashen gave Slice a photograph of Galeforce. "She's half-lived her life as a street urchin."
"They make good fighters, street urchins. Every day is training for them."
"And this kid," he passed over a picture of The Kid, "he's no one, rudimentary psi powers, little training. Nothing more than a slave."
Slice looked over the picture intently. "What is that hanging around his neck?"
Kashen let the sides of his mouth turn up, a diabolic grimace. "That is why I need assistance defeating this team. That is a Doombringer. Seems the amulet does not so much hold him, as he gains power from it."
Slice stared at the photo of the amulet wide-eyed. "Now there's something I could get my tongue around." He thought. "Yes, I have a plan. You tell me where they sleep, I'll unleash Humongaloid here, smash them up, and take the Doombringer. Problem solved."
"I'm afraid I couldn't allow that. Part of my directive is to keep order. Death in battle is natural, in the residence it's murder."
"Pss, linguistics."
"And it is not their deaths I want. Their manager is the daughter of an old..." What was the word? Not friend, or acquaintance, or partner, not even an old enemy, "Well, of someone I worked with previously. He was a man who made my bosses... nervous. His name was Dasher Diamond."
"Ah, Dasher Diamond... never heard of him. Was this 'take over their jobs' nervous?" asked Slice.
"Start a revolt against them because of their inequitable treatment of gladiators, nervous. His daughter may carry the same ideals."
"So, the Ophidians are nervous that this little woman is going to overthrow them, and if I demote myself to the rank of a gladiator, it'll stop all of this?"
"No. I'm nervous the Grakkan Games are her ladder to get at the Ophidians, and I'm the final rung. If she makes it past me, the heat from above will be unbearable." Kashen produced a picture of Lady Diamond standing like a queen over her team. "Her name is Lady Dreena Diamond."
Slice looked the photograph over, flashing his teeth again. "Ah, now there's something else I could get my tongue around. She is worth demoting me for. Did she earn the title of Lady, or is it self-distinguished?" It didn't matter. He pocketed the photograph. "Here's the deal, I will fight for you, you will call me Lord Slice going forward, I will win, this team will be humiliated, as compensation, I will have the Doombringer and the Lady."
The goosebumps in Kashen's chest tickled him into smiling. "That's agreeable. I have a few leads on additional fighters..."
Slice put up a hand to silence Kashen, downed his Elinta, and stood, "I have a couple associates I've been dying to work with. I'll bring them in." As an afterthought, "Oh, and the Humongaloid here, of course." Kashen walked Slice out.
Kashen returned and opened a line on his communicator. "Master Fs'sstnn," he humbly addressed the person on the other side of the connection, "with your permission, I would like to enter a team late in the Grakkan Games."
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