Ganz said nothing for several moments, instead taking a long pull from whatever beverage filled his goblet. When he did speak, it was with his usual low, rumbling tenor, though his expression denoted that already he was bored with this particular interaction. “Armnoj, I have to admit, you never cease to amaze me. How is it you’ve been able to survive out there on the fringes after all this time?”
His posture straightening, Armnoj’s chest seemed to swell with pride as he replied, “Well, I have to tell you, it’s been no easy feat, and there was no small amount of obstacles in our way just getting here. Why, just the—”
“It was a rhetorical question,” Ganz said. “Did you bring your records?”
Nodding, the Zakdorn held up his briefcase. “Right here. As you know, all of my files are encoded with a multi-quad encryption algorithm that will thwart any attempts at unauthorized access. I designed the software myself, including a self-regenerating cipher that allows for—”
“Nobody cares.” Ganz’s expression was morphing from disinterest to annoyance. “Just unlock the files, please.”
Armnoj cleared his throat, straightening his posture in an attempt to shrug off having his figurative knees taken out from under him. “Yes, of course.” Looking around, he asked, “Might I be provided with a place to work?”
Indicating where the Zakdorn was standing before taking another drink from his cup, Ganz replied, “You’ve got it.”
The accountant offered a haughty sniff, displeased with the way he was being treated. It took physical effort on Quinn’s part not to laugh, and a quick glance to his left told him that a smile even tugged at the corners of the irrepressible Zett’s mouth.
“It will just take a moment,” Armnoj said as he cradled the briefcase in his left arm while using his free hand to tap an eighteen-digit combination into the small keypad molded into the case’s handle. A few seconds later, he opened the case and Quinn got his first look at its contents. It contained what looked to be a nondescript gray portable computer interface, with a display monitor installed inside the case’s lid.
Taking a square yellow data card from a small pocket to the right of the monitor, the accountant entered another long string of commands and the screen activated. As everyone watched, Armnoj replaced the data card with a red one and repeated the process of tapping instructions into the computer.
Ganz’s sigh was audible across the deck. “Stars are dying out, Mr. Armnoj.”
The bookkeeper did not reply for several seconds, until a rhythmic series of beeps emitted from the briefcase. “There we are,” he said, his face brightening into the Zakdorn equivalent of a smile. From where he stood, Quinn could now see that the computer monitor was displaying a rolling screen of data, orderly columns and rows depicting text and numbers in varying colors, whatever pattern they might be employing far beyond his ability to decipher.
“This is everything?” Ganz asked. “I’m sure you won’t mind if my staff here verifies your figures.”
Armnoj nodded. “Well, why certainly. I think you’ll find everything to be in order, down to the last credit, including a comprehensive ledger detailing every transaction I’ve made on your behalf since you first employed me. The cross-reference database should prove most helpful, as it includes journal entries with locations, dates and times, transaction origin and destination information, all meticulously organized and capable of being displayed via any extract criteria you might—”
“Thank you.” Looking to Morikmol, Ganz indicated for his henchman to take the case from the accountant. As Armnoj surrendered the unit, the Orion added, “I think we’re done here.”
Clearing his throat again, the Zakdorn nodded rapidly several times. “Very well. What would you like me to do now?”
“Disappear,” Ganz said, and Quinn saw the look he exchanged with Zett as the Nalori reached beneath his jacket and extracted a stout silver cylinder with a single red button set into it. Without aplomb, Zett pressed the button.
Quinn’s eyes widened in realization. Holy…
The air hummed and crackled as the obelisks flanking Armnoj glowed to life. Searing white energy spat forth from each of the obsidian stanchions to wash over the Zakdorn. His body was obscured by the blinding flash of light for an instant, allowing the accountant one final befuddled look before his form dissolved. Then the light was gone, and with it Sarkud Armnoj.
“What the hell?” Quinn blurted, a faint lingering scent of ozone the only residue of the bookkeeper’s passing. Stepping forward, but taking care not to move between the obelisks, he directed a stunned look at Ganz. “I don’t get it. You told me he was valuable!”
His expression remaining neutral, the Orion replied, “Actually, what I said was that his information was valuable. As for him? He was whiny and self-important, like most Zakdorns. Why do you think I had him banished to that backwater mudball? He was more trouble than he was worth.” His brow furrowing, he asked, “Didn’t you notice?”
Relieved to at last be free of the irritating accountant but feeling more than a bit put off by the harsh and arguably unnecessary method used to expedite his departure, Quinn’s main concern at the moment was that he might be joining Armnoj sometime in the next few minutes. A quick glance told him that Zett still was holding the small control device in his right hand.
As if reading his mind, Ganz actually released a chuckle, though to Quinn it sounded more like the sound a predator might make upon finding its next meal. “Relax, Quinn. You at least still have some use to me.”
“Glad to hear it,” Quinn replied. As relief washed over him, the pilot was caught by a sudden, unexpected thought: I wonder if Sniffy gets everything in the will.
The Orion held up his glass. “Other men might have tried to take advantage of the situation I placed you in, maybe taken a shot at learning where some of my money was stored; you might have helped yourself to whatever you could cram into that pitiful excuse for a ship you fly. You didn’t. That goes a long way with me.” He offered a mock salute with the goblet before taking another long pull from its still mysterious contents.
Holding his hands out, Quinn affected his best smile. “Mama raised no fools, Ganz.”
“That’s good,” the merchant prince replied. “Then you’ll know when you’re threatening to overstay your welcome.” Nodding in dismissal, the Orion added, “But don’t go too far. I might need you sooner than you think.”
I can’t wait.
Quinn said nothing as he preceded Zett down the stairs and back across the gambling deck. This time he ignored the gaming, drinking, and carousing taking place all around him, focusing instead on the fact that he still needed to deliver the data core from the Klingon sensor drone to T’Prynn, and the possibility that Zett might kill him before he made it back to the boarding ramp.
“I suppose you’ve figured out by now that Broon blew it,” Quinn said over his shoulder. “You always were the smartest one on Ganz’s payroll.”
Unsurprisingly, Zett offered no reply.
Quinn stopped, turning on his heel to face the Nalori. Regarding the assassin’s seemingly bottomless black eyes, the privateer did his best to hide his nervousness, knowing without doubt that his counterpart could kill him six different ways inside of ten seconds. If he was still alive right now, it was only because the normally unflappable Zett was still afraid of angering his employer.
“You could have told Ganz,” Zett said, his lips curving upward to offer a sinister smile while revealing a mouthful of gleaming, sharp teeth. “Why didn’t you?”
“I’m no snitch,” Quinn snapped. “This is between you and me.”
“Between you and me,” Zett repeated, “you were fortunate this time, Mr. Quinn.” His tone and expression betrayed nothing. “That won’t be the case forever.”