Page 21 of Kidnapped By the Alien Chieftain

A wide grin spreads across my face. “Hail, Briegs, my old friend!” I exclaim, reaching over the counter to offer him my hand.

Briegs looks up from pouring a drink, his expression morphing from surprise to delight as he recognizes me. “Krogoth, is that you?” he says, smiling as he clasps my forearm.

We exchange pleasantries for a moment, catching up on old times, before I get down to business. “I need a pound of refined Elerium and fifty tons of arcweave plating to repair my ship,” I inform him.

Briegs’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You're serious?” he says, shaking his head. “Jeez, that’s a tall order, Krogoth. I hope you’ve brought a lot of credits with you.”

I admit to Briegs that I have no credits on me. “Not a one,” I say, looking a little dismayed. “The bastards at the dock wouldn’t let us bring anything.” I shrug, feeling frustrated.

Briegs shakes his head and smirks at my audacious request. “Unbelievable, even for you,” he says. “Looks like you’re going to have to do some mercenary work, my friend. Luckily, there’s plenty of it around here, if you know where to look.”

I scan the room, wondering where to start, when Briegs leans in closer and whispers, “The leader of the Psykes gang is in the back there.” He nods towards a shadowy back room. “He’s got more ships than anyone else on this station. Reckon he can help you repair your ship, if you can convince him.”

“Interesting. I’ll speak to him. We were also told to seek Javik for work. You know anything about that?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

“Javik, eh?” Briegs says, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve been hearing some strange things. Word on the station is that the Whores Orphans hit something big on one of their pirate excursions and stole something valuable. Now the Crimson Beasts are desperate to get it, but they’re trying to feign respectability these days, so they won’t move openly without just cause.”

I flash a daring grin, relishing the thrill of the challenge. “Desperate is good, Briegs. Desperate means more credits,” I say, determined to take my chances with Javik. “Thanks for yourhelp, as always. You sure you don’t want a lift out of this gods forsaken station?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I like it here. Plenty of action and easy credits for a guy like me.” Briegs chuckles, slipping me detailed instructions on Javik’s whereabouts.

“I owe you one, my friend,” I say, firmly clasping his forearm. “Until we meet again, Briegs.”

“Good luck, Krogoth,” Briegs replies, releasing my grip with a nod.

With a nod of farewell, I make my way through the crowded bar towards the back room with the Psykes leaders’ location.

I approach a door enveloped in neon tubing of every color and stride through. Inside, a dense fog obscures the figures sitting around a small metal table with bench seating surrounding it. As the mist clears, I spot four Glaseroid aliens, their thin, spindly limbs holding up their flat, narrow heads with two large antennae protruding from the top. With four legs and six arms, only two of which are equipped with hands, the other four serve as deadly, bladed sensors — a nod to their evolutionary roots of crawling along the ground.

Upon noticing we entered the room, the four Glaseroid aliens leap out of their seats, their thin, spindly limbs quivering with fear. “Klendathians! Who sent you, the Osiron scum? We pay more!” one of them cries out, his gold-tipped antennae quivering in desperation. His frantic speech makes it impossible to answer his questions as he squirms into the corner of the room, his eyes darting nervously around.

“Compose yourselves. We come seeking trade,” I declare, struggling to hide my disdain for their cowardice.

As the Glaseroid with golden-tipped antennae clears his throat, I cannot help but clench my fists. However, he assumes an air of authority and introduces himself as Yaksai, the mighty leader of the Psykes.

I cut to the chase and state my demands: “I require a pound of refined Elerium and my ship repaired, which requires fifty tons of arcweave,” I say, tapping my foot impatiently.

To my surprise, Yaksai bursts into laughter, his bug eyes twinkling with delight. “Yes, you amuse me! I cannot part with my precious Elerium; it is vital to my fleet. I can repair your vessel. What do you offer in trade?”

With a ferocious expression, Xandor strides menacingly towards Yaksai, closing the gap between them. “You pathetic, bug-eyed cretin! Moments ago, you offered us anything to save your pathetic lives!” Xandor growls, his sharp claws gleaming dangerously in the light.

Yaksai appears momentarily startled by Xandor’s fierce aggression but swiftly regains his composure. “That was then, and this is now. You understand, yes? And do not forget, who would repair your ship if you attacked us?” he retorts, attempting to ease the tension.

Intrigued, Yaksai continues with a probing question. “Curious. Yes, what kind of ship needs such extensive arcweave repairs?”

Quickly intervening before the situation can escalate, I step forward, positioning my arm protectively in front of Xandor, guiding him to stand down.

“Our vessel is a Scythian battlebarge,” I reveal, my voice tense with anticipation. “A Seeker Swarm ambushed us during our travels.”

Suddenly, Yaksai’s eyes lit up with new found interest. “A Scythian battlebarge! Never has one docked at Terminus Exile Station,” he exclaims, his fingers tapping eagerly against his chin. “You gift us one of your precious Klendathian warvisors. I know a collector who will pay a fortune for one, and we, the Psykes, will repair your ship, yes?” he declares, his gaze fixed intently upon me.

Xandor’s voice booms with rage, his every word dripping in venom that echoes throughout the room.

“How dare you demand a Klendathian warvisor! It is our sacred duty to return them to our home world,” he thunders, his arms flailing wildly in frustration. “For all we know, you could intend to steal our ship!”

Yaksai’s sharp tongue cuts through the tension in the air like a razor-sharp blade, his bug eyes narrowing to slits as he fixates on Xandor. “You really ought to keep him on a tighter leash,” he sneers, his tone dripping with disdain. “And as for the warvisor, if it were easy to obtain, it wouldn’t be worth the work we’re giving for it, yes? I tire of his tantrums. I demand an answer, and I demand it now.”

Already I have made my mind up as I prepare to double-cross this loathsome creature. “Your terms are acceptable, but the repairs must be completed before the delivery of the warvisor—” I begin, but Xandor’s pleading interrupts me.

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