A Whore at Dread Harbor Ch. 05

Previous choice:

Hide in plain sight. Don't cause a scene.

Deckard clenched his fist so tightly that his fingernails drew blood. He couldn't risk it, not with Corani's reputation on the line. The mission came first. The mission always came first.

He stood up in a rush, striding away from Corani with swift, sure steps.

The Catian was baffled by his sudden departure. "Deckard? Where are you going?" She called after him, but he didn't respond. There was no time, the elevator door was about to open.

Deckard approached the long-eared Loupian from before. She flashed him a toothy smile, swaying back and forth as she put herself on display. The loud music was thumping in Deckard's head. It was giving him a headache. He ignored her bare chest and her unsubtle look, reaching out to grab her by the wrist.

The elevator dinged. Deckard dragged the confused Loupian stripper over to the far side of the couch. He plopped himself down, pulling her into his lap so that his face was obscured by her breasts.

"So forceful!" She growled. Deckard sighed, putting her hand upon his shoulder and pulling her on top of him. He had no time for her practiced lines or faux-flattery.

"Play along." He whispered, "A hundred credits if you pretend to give me a lap dance."

The Loupian's shark-toothed smile made Deckard immediately regret his choice of decoy. She began to grind against his crotch. "For that price, how about a real one instead?"

Deckard would have said more, but at that moment Ararat stepped out of the elevator, and he forgot all about their conversation.

He recognized Ararat immediately: the slicked grey hair bowl cut on his head, the droopy eyelids, the crisp blue company suit with pointed shoulders that made him look even scrawnier than he was. Deckard knew from the moment he met him that the man was scum.

There was a pitiless, calculating look lurking behind Ararat's angular eyes. Something cold had replaced his soul: an infernal device that was eternally quantifying the cost of things, substituting his emotions and empathy with the hard arithmetic of commercial value.

He was not a cruel man, not in the conventional sense. Ararat did not delight in the misery of others, nor revel in the petty trappings of power he wielded over those who served under him. Ararat was averse to conflict, and he had little stomach for violence, as Deckard had learned after he killed the executive's bodyguards and the Catian retched up on his shoes.

No, Ararat was something much much worse: he was a man who simply didn't care.

At the end of the day, he was an accountant of death, a ruthless go-between unmoved in either emotional extreme by the atrocities he committed. He was the kind of passionless bureaucrat who perpetuated a war crime for the simple reasoning that it was his job. That made him ten times worse in Deckard's eyes.

The diminutive Catian hustled out of the elevator like he had a shuttle flight to catch. His head swept the room, passing over Deckard and the Loupian whose breasts were mashed into his facewith less than half a glance before his slitted yellow eyes narrowed on Corani. He strode up to her, clutching a thin black suitcase in hand.

"Ms. Corani." He said, standing stiff as a board.

"Mr. Executive." Corani said, declining to use his first name. She'd already recovered from Deckard's unexpected departure, muting the room to the sound outside so the two could speak.

Deckard grunted, shifting position as best he could with the Loupian on top of him as he tried to get a good look at his old foe from over her shoulder. The stripper - for her part - did her level best to distract him, bumping and grinding atop his groin as she shoved her breasts in his face.

Corani spared her fellow Catian a cold smile as he approached. "...To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I believe you well know." Ararat said. "For the sake of both of our valuable time, I'll ask you to drop the ignorant pretense."

Corani reclined back against the couch, spreading her arms across the top and plumping out her chest in a casual display of power. "I suppose that little rat Derrik came scampering back to you."

"He did." Ararat said, unperturbed by Corani's hostile tone. Deckard did his best to keep his eyes trained on the hated Catian, and not the bouncing Loupian breasts in front of his face. He felt her fingers begin to drift beneath seam of his trousers, and he consciously brushed her hand away.

"I'll keep this brief, so as to spare you undue distress on my account." Ararat's narrow lips tightened. "You need to reconsider your ban on the Wellion Crusaders."

"Why?" Corani asked, affecting a careless posture. She put a leg up on her knee, her white boot tapping the air. "I've given them plenty of warnings already, and they've ignored them all."

"They won't ignore ours." Ararat said in a patient, condescending tone. "Thus far, the Goverian Conglomerate has done its best to avoid interfering in the private business affairs of our subsidiaries. But we are prepared to intervene for the sake of our continued relationship."

"'Avoiding interfering in private affairs,' you say?" Corani purred. Her sharp fingernail circled the top of the cushion next to her. "...Tell that to the former residents of Hab Block E."

Ararat did not do much as blink. "The difference between the legal reacquisition of company property and a hoodlum's bar fight are self evident to the point of irrelevance, Ms. Corani." He replied in a bloodless tone. "Please dispense with the petty jabs so we can maintain a level of constructive discourse."

"I suppose 'Eminent domain' is a much kinder term than blatant theft." Corani cooed.

Ararat cleared his throat. "To stick with the topic at hand: will a public apology from the Wellion Crusader's commander, alongside a guarantee from the corporate office of non interference suffice to convince you of our sincerity?"

Corani let out a sultry chuckle. "There are many things your Corporation can be accused of, Mr. Executive. 'Sincerity' isn't one of them."

Ararat sighed, checking his holo-communicator at his wrist. "Whether you are aware of it or not Ms. Corani, your numerous businesses - despite their independent ownership - have come to serve as a hub of commerce for the Conglomerate's affiliated subsidiaries residing on this station."

"Look where you're standing, Ararat." Corani gestured in a lazy circle with her finger at the packed crowd inside the Abyss, "I'm well aware of my position."

Ararat's face remained an inscrutable mirror. "-Then you understand the impact that expelling a major mercenary company has to the healthy running of business on Dread Harbor, to say nothing of maintaining the tenuous stability of this station."

"Expelling your major Mercenary company, Mr. Executive." Corani corrected him. "You didn't seem too worried about their antics when they trashed my bar last week."

"I was unaware of this incident." Ararat said, sincere in a way that only a practiced liar could be.

The smile Corani shot back was colder than a glacier.. "How odd. I lodged a formal complaint with your office the day it happened, but received nothing but static." She leaned forward, her eyes flashing a fierce red. "Yet suddenly, now that there are consequences, here you are: telling me how to pilot my starship."

Ararat didn't rise to her choleric tone. "I wouldn't dare to presume to tell you how to conduct business in your own establishment. Your ventures are your own. Think of this as merely a free consultation."

Corani huffed, "If your 'consultation' was worth a damn, you wouldn't be giving it out for free."

Ararat kept an expressionless face, but Deckard could see wrinkles of annoyance build in the corners of his eyes. He did his best to keep watching from behind the cover of his partner's overenthusiastic lap dance. "Not everything of value has a price, Ms. Corani. But everything has a cost, and your intransigence could cost this station quite dearly."

Corani's eyes narrowed. She rose up off the couch, stretching to her full height, towering over the diminutive Catian with her unnatural size.

"...Was that a threat, Mr. Executive?" She said, looking down her nose at him as her eyes flared.

Ararat didn't bat an eye. "I'm not in the business of making threats, Ma'am. You know as well as I do the long term ramifications of Corporate Warfare. I am trying to dissuade you from rash action that will affect our mutual bottom lines."

"Rash action?" Corani let out a growl. "The last time the Wellion Crusaders decided to squat in my bar, they sent three of my employees to the medical deck. I'm done playing hostess to their thuggery."

Ararat sighed, punching in something into his holocommunicator. His cold eyes flicked up to take the measure of Corani before he punched in a few more buttons. "Very well. Chief Executive Fulgrum anticipated your recalcitrance, and has authorized me to make you an offer."

"Should you agree to lift the ban, our brand representatives will impress upon the Wellion Crusaders' officers the need for stricter discipline while on your premises. In addition, I am authorized to personally extend to you an offer of compensation for the damages you've incurred, paid to whatever amount you feel is fair."

"Keep your bribes, Ararat." Corani said, baring her fangs. "The Conglomerate can't buy me off that easily."

She took a step towards him. Ararat took a half step back. "That glorified gang of thugs have disrespected me since the day they landed on Dread Harbor." Corani listed off on her fingers as she spoke. "They wreck my storefronts, intimidate customers, and harass my staff, and I'm done with them."

"You want the Wellion Crusaders back in my bar so badly? Tell Commander Rutger to come here himself, so he can grovel at my feet. That way I can bend him over, shove his face against the glass, and fuck him up the ass in front of everyone, like he's trying to do with me."

Corani sat back in her seat, reveling in the way she made Ararat squirm in place. "And while I'm asking for the moon: tell your builders to plant detonation charges at the base of that goddess-awful tower you're building on the north side and blow it out into space. It's a fucking eyesore."

Ararat stared at her in silence for a long moment, as if calculating potential profit vectors in his head. He let out another sigh. "Very well. It seems we have nothing more to discuss." He nodded at her, his dead eyes showing no emotion as he stared into the roiling colors of Corani's own. "The offer still stands. Think on what I have said, Miss. We will be in touch."

"Of that, I have no doubt." Corani said. Her piercing gaze bore a hole in the back of Ararat's head as he left. Deckard watched him pass by with nary a second glance as he entered the elevator, the thick doors sliding shut behind him with a whisper of noise.

Corani stared at the door for a long moment. "Miss." She muttered under her breath. "Sei-jou." She added, cursing him in her native tongue. Corani let out a sigh, casting a curious look in the direction of Deckard and his lustful partner.

By now the Loupian had really gotten into the charade. She bounced and twerked atop him, simulating coitus with just the barest fabric of clothing separating Deckard from her femininity. She finished her routine with a flourish, throwing her arms around the hesitant gunslinger and planting a deep kiss on his lips. Deckard came up spluttering.

Corani strode over to them, her shoulders tense as her wide hips swayed back and forth. She crossed the distance in five steps.

"Elga, take a walk. Tell the other girls to work the lower levels for a bit."

The Loupian stripper - with some reluctance - disentangled herself from her hapless customer. She planted a last playful peck on his cheek, marring his face with blue lipstick before she flounced off of him, jiggling her breasts one last time with a wolfish grin.

Deckard shot her an annoyed look and pulled a hundred credit chit - his only cash - out of his pocket. "Here. For your trouble."

"Keep it, sweetie. That was fun." She stood up off of Deckard, striding away with a wink and a nod. Corani's eyes lingered on her retreating employee for a moment before turning to face her old friend.

"Deckard, what the hell was that about?" She asked, sitting down next to him on the couch. "You straight up bolted on me."

Deckard's hands were shaking. He hadn't even realized it until now. Seeing Ararat again had brought a seething rage up from the surface. It had taken a near-superhuman effort not to throw himself at his old foe.

He did his best to play it cool. "It doesn't matter." He said, falling back into the cushions of the couch now that the weight of the Loupian was off of him. "Ancient history, let's not dredge it up."

"No. Tell me." Corani said. Her voice was cold and stiff like iron. "You don't run unless you have good reason to, Lieutenant."

Deckard sighed, pulling out a cigarette. If it were anyone else asking him, he would have clammed up and refused to talk. Friendship was hell, sometimes.

"That slimy little eel you just sent packing? We have history with each other." He said, lighting the cigarette with his false thumb. "Bad blood, you could say. You remember that Goblin slaving ring I told you about?"

Corani nodded. Deckard took a puff. "The Goverian Conglomerate had their dirty fingers in it." He snapped his thumb shut. "Ararat was the ringleader. One of 'em, at least."

Corani's brow furrowed. "Ararat?" She said in disbelief.

"The very same."

Corani's eyes blazed a righteous gold. "That little wretch!" She snarled, standing to her feet in a rush. She began to pace the room, her mind racing. Deckard hid a budding smirk behind his cigarette, letting her vent. "That fucking asshole. Calling me 'Miss,' knowing I have no Pryde-name. And now this?"

Corani spun around to face him. "How did he get away with it?" She demanded.

"How does anyone with money, power and influence get away with anything?" Deckard asked in a sarcastic tone. "The Goverian Conglomerate covered his ass, and now he's here on Dread Harbor. Irony of ironies."

"I... I had no idea Deckard." Corani said. The more she thought about it, the more worked up she got. Her hands clenched into balled fists, her tail twerking frantically behind her.

"That... that fucking worm!" She snarled. Corani scowled, rounding on Deckard. "...Why did you hide from him? Why didn't you confront him? He was right here, with us, alone!"

Deckard took a long, careful hit off his cigarette, making a point to exhale before responding. "It wasn't the right time, Corani."

"Like hell it wasn't! He was on my turf, with no bodyguards in sight! I could have cut his throat in front of the whole club, and no one would have batted an eye!" Corani bared her fangs, her eyes flaring a blistering white. "The Deckard I knew would have-"

"He would have known better." Deckard snapped back, rising to his feet, going face to face with her. He pointed at his chest. "I hid because Ararat would have recognized me. I've got a bounty on my head, and the Conglomerate's got half a station full of mercenaries looking for a quick payday. Killing him would have only caused us both problems, and you know it."

"You should have told me." She said in a low, deadly tone. "Had I known what he did... I'd have ripped him limb from limb myself."

Reasoning with Corani when she got like this was like trying to calm a berzerk Troll. Deckard grabbed his friend's arm, stopping her short. He affixed her with a hard glare. "Think for a minute, little mouse. What did I always tell you about the mission?"

Corani's multi-hued eyes held to his with predatory fury, her pupils slitted down to a hair's thinness. He stared back at her, unintimidated by her seething rage. Slowly, painfully slowly, Corani's anger dissipated. She blinked, then glanced away, unable to meet his gaze.

"...The mission comes first." She muttered.

"The mission always comes first." Deckard agreed. "What good are we doing your people trapped on that moon base if we start a blood feud with the biggest Megacorporation on Dread Harbor?"

"But-"

"But nothing." Deckard countered. "What's done is done. I'd love nothing more than to give Ararat a short push out an open airlock, but it's not in the cards." Not yet, at least. He added to himself.

Corani's shoulders drooped. Her dainty ears wilted atop her head. "I know, Deckard. I just... knowing what he did-" her eyes lifted to meet his, a mournful expression across her face. "No one deserves that fate."

"They don't." Deckard agreed, "Which is why we need to keep a level head. What's done is done. We can't help his victims, but we can help your team."

Corani sighed. "You're right. I'm... sorry for getting worked up."

"Don't worry about it." Deckard said. He smiled, lifting his hand and opening his palm to show her the deep fissures he'd made with his fingernails. "It happens to the best of us."

Corani let out a terse laugh. "You're lucky I like you, Deckard." Her gaze trailed downwards, lifting an eyebrow. "But If it's all the same to you, Lieutenant..." She shot him a sultry smile. "May I please have my arm back? I promise to be good."

Deckard glanced down, realizing that he still had her arm in a vice like grip. He let go, grinning sheepishly.

"Hmm, strong as ever, I see." She purred. "I think we've spent enough time here. I don't think anyone's gonna ask any questions at this point if I take you back to my place for the night."

"We aren't leaving for the facility?" Deckard asked, impatient to begin the arduous task ahead of them.

"Calm yourself, Lieutenant," Corani shot him a wry grin. "I still need to make a few calls. The stuff you asked for won't be delivered to your ship till tomorrow morning at the earliest. Besides," She flashed her fangs, "I have a gift for you."

* * *

It was a ten minute anti-grav elevator ride from the bottom of the station where the Abyss was located to Corani's apartment. She was situated atop one of the tallest spires of Dread Harbor, a two story viewing deck that had been converted into an apartment suite.

When they first entered the apartment Deckard was immediately struck by the expense of it all. One wall was a glass exterior facing the empty void of space, slanted inwards at a seventy degree angle. It stared and stared out across the pale gold exterior of Dread Harbor upper facade, gazing into the myriad Kornous asteroid belt. When Dread Harbor's orbit was just right, it also gave a dazzling view of the distant glow of the systems' dwarf star.

The first story was an open living space, with a large kitchen next to the elevator door with a long island in the middle, and a large couch facing the emptiness of space. A single stairwell led upwards to the second floor, where presumably Corani's bedroom and personal living space was.

"Home sweet home..." Corani said, mirroring Deckard's assertion earlier in the day when he had first caught sight of Dread Harbor. She made a wide, sweeping gesture with her hand. "Not quite as homey as the old flat on Deck C, but-"

"I'm obviously in the wrong business." He remarked, marveling at the holographic images on the walls, whose shimmering facades made it look like they were surrounded on all sides by a series of gushing waterfalls.

The place was spacious and clean, but bare. Lacking in the kind of ostentatious displays that Deckard might have expected from a home of such expense. It was well lit, cheery in its inviting interior and futuristic deco. There was even a stocked bar in the corner. Deckard made for it immediately.