Rendra stepped through the massive archway where at one time equally massive doors had kept out unwanted visitors. The interior of the temple was shrouded in musty darkness, and she had to pause a moment to allow both her eyes and her lungs to adjust to the new environment.
Shapes slowly coalesced in the black void before her—stairs leading downward… rows of seats running in concentric circles around the chamber… a domed ceiling of opaque plasteel tiles stretching overhead. And in the very center of it all, at the lowest level of the temple, a triangular dais covered by the decaying remains of a once-great altar.
A cold gust of wind swirled the dust at her feet, and she pulled her waist-length flight jacket more tightly about her to ward off the chill. “Can’t meet in a nice, warm space station, no,” she said, her words echoing around the chamber as if caught in a whirlwind.
She headed down the worn stairs toward the dais, scanning the seats for signs of her contact. It seemed he was late—not necessarily a good way to begin a business relationship as far as she was concerned. She chuckled to herself as she realized her father’s wisdom was still lurking in her mind no matter how hard she tried to rid herself of it. She had no intention of winding up like he did, and if he had lived his life by the same tenets he had taught her, she wanted no part of them.
But still, showing up late could cost you a deal—she couldn’t really refute the logic of that axiom. So it seemed she was following that adage, at least until she could figure out some way to disprove it. For now, though, she’d have to let it ride.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she glanced up and around. Standing on the low ground made her somewhat anxious, but the archways that led outside were still clear, and she’d seen no indication of trouble thus far.
She ripped the blaster from the holster at her hip so quickly and with such ferocity that she almost tore the straps holding the holster against her leg. She let her eyes pass along the top row of seats, and then slid the pistol back into its resting place.
Yeah, still the fastest draw in the galaxy , she thought as she turned her attention to the dais. Three stairs led up each side of the triangular platform, but they were covered with so much debris that they seemed impassable at the moment. All that remained of the altar was a ragged hulk of rotting wood—even with the moonlight spilling in from a shaft directly overhead, she couldn’t make out any of the symbols running across the sides. Whatever god this temple had once venerated had been long-forgotten or his people long-conquered, the thought of which gave Rendra the creeps, as if she were standing in the middle of an ancient crypt swelling with angry souls looking for some mortal to take the blame for whatever evil had befallen them.
Why do I do this to myself? she wondered as she eased back from the dais. The first row of seats halted her progress, and she whipped around, just in case someone or something had managed to sneak up on her.
But she found only decomposing wood and fabric—not much of a threat as far as she could tell.
“Maex,” called a voice. Her name spiraled around the chamber as if possessed of its own life.
She snatched her blaster from her holster and pointed it in various directions as she sought out the voice’s owner.
“There’s no need for that,” said the voice. This time she was able to catch its point of origin—a group of three, maybe four, figures moving through the same archway she’d entered a few moments before.
“You’ve got interesting taste in meeting places,” she said, lowering her blaster. “If I knew you better, I’d suggest looking into psychological testing.”
“I’m sure you could do with a bit of that yourself,” the being said dryly, apparently far from amused. He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped about five meters away from her. In the minimal
Shapes slowly coalesced in the black void before her—stairs leading downward… rows of seats running in concentric circles around the chamber… a domed ceiling of opaque plasteel tiles stretching overhead. And in the very center of it all, at the lowest level of the temple, a triangular dais covered by the decaying remains of a once-great altar.
A cold gust of wind swirled the dust at her feet, and she pulled her waist-length flight jacket more tightly about her to ward off the chill. “Can’t meet in a nice, warm space station, no,” she said, her words echoing around the chamber as if caught in a whirlwind.
She headed down the worn stairs toward the dais, scanning the seats for signs of her contact. It seemed he was late—not necessarily a good way to begin a business relationship as far as she was concerned. She chuckled to herself as she realized her father’s wisdom was still lurking in her mind no matter how hard she tried to rid herself of it. She had no intention of winding up like he did, and if he had lived his life by the same tenets he had taught her, she wanted no part of them.
But still, showing up late could cost you a deal—she couldn’t really refute the logic of that axiom. So it seemed she was following that adage, at least until she could figure out some way to disprove it. For now, though, she’d have to let it ride.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she glanced up and around. Standing on the low ground made her somewhat anxious, but the archways that led outside were still clear, and she’d seen no indication of trouble thus far.
She ripped the blaster from the holster at her hip so quickly and with such ferocity that she almost tore the straps holding the holster against her leg. She let her eyes pass along the top row of seats, and then slid the pistol back into its resting place.
Yeah, still the fastest draw in the galaxy , she thought as she turned her attention to the dais. Three stairs led up each side of the triangular platform, but they were covered with so much debris that they seemed impassable at the moment. All that remained of the altar was a ragged hulk of rotting wood—even with the moonlight spilling in from a shaft directly overhead, she couldn’t make out any of the symbols running across the sides. Whatever god this temple had once venerated had been long-forgotten or his people long-conquered, the thought of which gave Rendra the creeps, as if she were standing in the middle of an ancient crypt swelling with angry souls looking for some mortal to take the blame for whatever evil had befallen them.
Why do I do this to myself? she wondered as she eased back from the dais. The first row of seats halted her progress, and she whipped around, just in case someone or something had managed to sneak up on her.
But she found only decomposing wood and fabric—not much of a threat as far as she could tell.
“Maex,” called a voice. Her name spiraled around the chamber as if possessed of its own life.
She snatched her blaster from her holster and pointed it in various directions as she sought out the voice’s owner.
“There’s no need for that,” said the voice. This time she was able to catch its point of origin—a group of three, maybe four, figures moving through the same archway she’d entered a few moments before.
“You’ve got interesting taste in meeting places,” she said, lowering her blaster. “If I knew you better, I’d suggest looking into psychological testing.”
“I’m sure you could do with a bit of that yourself,” the being said dryly, apparently far from amused. He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped about five meters away from her. In the minimal
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