New Regali [ICON]
Shalkara
New Regali
Antonovus system,
(SY3-ZHR4)
Tarsan Vosegia
Orientalis Major constellation
domain of the Domovsky Republic
Amaril (Spring),
2nd, 2593
5-2-93
Winds creaked over a jagged, rocky plain as small, sparse clouds tracked against the sky. The silence to be found in these remote regions on an even more remote planet had always been deafening to anyone without a fortitude steeled by the rigors of colonial life. The Domovskians had settled this world nearly a century and a half ago, under the pretext that it was rumored to be a resource rich and easily settled lands with a bounty to support hundreds of millions. The truths and lies to this day, were still discussed amongst the cantinas and taprooms, in the roadhouses carving down the rugged mountain trails and in the markets of New Regali’s sparsely populated towns. Decades ago, still, the companies packed up, infrastructure moved out, and a world of thousands was left to its devices on a planet deemed too much of a struggle to pick at the resources deep beneath the sands and rock.
For those motivated enough however, while New Regali had been forgotten it had not yet been truly lost. Prospectors, merchants, miners and farmers had all plied a trepidacious life in the sweltering deserts of Alakaterek or the high steppes of Kazanskoye. From Talshik in the north, to Partizanka in the south the people of this world struggled against their environment to yet remain upon the planet: it was commendable to their determination and grit, but gave little in the way of rewards.
Here, in Shalkara on the southern steppes, the people reflected that Domovskian resolve to conquer a world that may not even want them. Watching the small collection of brick and adobe structures from out here in the junk heaps however, Otto Sokoloff was perhaps more aware than the many he’d found on the planet just how insignificant their resistance had seemed to affect their surroundings. One hand gripped at the uncertain flap of a withered and frayed vest drawn over his thin shirt, the metal of two magazines stuffed into the pouches already beginning to shine through into waning light. Behind him, a soft clang carried across the boneyard and he turned away from the settlement, two narrow eyes staring about the collection of ruined tractors, sand chewed autos and even a decrepit tank long abandoned by anything that could be called a government.
He’d lost track of his partner again. Pilfering these machine graves wasn’t expressly illegal, though there was little that had that title on New Regali, but Otto had found that the coveted steel and aluminum of these carcases were often closely protected by the villagers of remote settlements. Boots scraped against the hood of an old Glatistant that had seen better days before he dropped down onto the short grass and grinding sand from his perch. A low, desperate sigh escaped him for a moment and he took a glance side to side up the long avenues that stretched between the heaped piles of vehicles, hydro tanks and appliances that littered the yard.
Another soft clanging made him grip at his rifle before he pulled it from his waist and pressed the stock into his armpit, expecting any second now to hear the crack of a weapon. It never came, and instead he began to pick his way over the hoods of cars and through the broken shells of habitats that had long been discarded a century ago. Outside of finding a few choice pieces of metal to peel from their frames, he knew the real merchandise had been picked away long ago. Rusted stretches of wire and tethering were all that was left now. He had spent barely a year on this planet, but after a few glasses of the local vodka and a soup of grassy sprouts or tavobo as the locals called it, he was able to understand the stories of aged old men about what a beautiful, prosperous planet this had been a few short decades ago.
If he wanted any more of that sluggish drink, and that tasteless broth, he’d need to find something of use in this cemetery of alloys. Clambering up into a particularly large module, yet another clattering meandered through the large halls and corridors as Otto craned his head left and right. The old skeleton played a trick with the sound, echoes bouncing off walls in front of him and behind the chambers that used to hold vital impedimenta that was deemed vital for life on a hostile planet. Otto gripped the rifle with two hands now, finger quietly slipping towards the trigger while his other hand reached to tab at the flashlight on his weapon.
“Bog, what the fuck are you breaking into?” He called out through the lonely halls, and his feet carried forward apprehensively as wind began to whip through the chambers of the habitat. After a few moments, his face turned upwards into a scowl as he saw grass and sand pouring through a small break in the structure. He grunted and pulled himself out back from the large module, boots scraping deep gouges into the soft ground as he exited.
A thundering note was the only response he found once again, and then the Domovskian started into a trot along the lanes. Shells of old equipment now reached up over him, eclipsing the diminished light as sunset creeped upon the plains. Every step he took crunched in a thin turf and pocked every strand of dross while the corners came and went.
Again and again there was a sound of hammering, audible pangs pitching against the husks. As he turned a corner, the old skeleton of a Kreisler slid into the avenue: dust and sand were tossed into a thick cloud as Otto raised an arm up, a few steps more and he would have been crushed. When the frame shifted he pulled back, barely shielding the sand that rushed into a cloud and then crawled forward over top of it.
“Do you know just how much noise you’ve been making?!” Otto shouted, scrabbling down from the atop the cabin of the car before he spotted a pronged foot dangling out from another car. It disappeared just as he spoke, a few more ruffling sounds coming from the rickshaw.
“Bog, Bog!” He called out again, thrusting the rifle against his side once more before then ascending onto a nearby patch of metal as another large frame slipped out of alignment, clanging into the sand and producing a billow of dust.
He shambled along the edge, looking down tentatively to a broken and ruined heater system that laid spilled out on the alley. Its contents had long deteriorated and now all it spewed was just a patch of sand.
As Otto reached the ledge, just a few meters from where he’d seen the dangling foot of his partner, metal groaned as it began to give way and he was dropped onto the mutilated prairie which had grown in between the stacks. He sputtered in the sand for a moment, eyes and throat choked. When he pressed two hands forward and drew himself up from the dirt, a clang sounded from the cab of the Kreisler and a satchel came tumbling out of the passenger’s side. Without a door, the car spat out the bag onto grass and sand.
“Bog?” Otto said through a cloud of dust, watching another thin foot poke out through the open side of the car. There was a short mechanical growl from inside, and the Domovskian quietly shifted the rifle from his shoulder.
“I’m here, Sokoloff - found something.” A droning voice called out, and Otto then reached up to pull himself onto the stacks of plastic and aluminum until he was in front of the passenger side. Before him a hunching, mechanized figure sat on two knees in the seat, leaning over the driver’s side. The next thing to strike him was a coppery, dry smell that almost made him gag.
It was coming from a bundle of ragged clothing and, when Otto looked closer, bleached bones in the seat that had long been scoured by the elements. A wizened, hollow couch came from Otto and he used one hand to cover his mouth and the machine idly turned its oblong head over the shoulder. “What, do I smell bad?”
Otto’s face soured at the machine’s humor, and if it had a face he imagined the not-so-charming grin of an old man - the kind he found making tasteless jokes in the taverns and taprooms in the cities of this world.
“What the fuck are you doing, Bog? You want to bring a pack of khischk on us?” Otto said with a concerned voice, hand still covering his mouth with a scarf. The machine hitched a thumb back out the door towards the khaki haversack.
“Found something … unusual in there.” The robot responded, and Otto quietly turned back to look at the satchel. Rather uninterested in remaining any closer to either the machine or the cadaver he was currently looting Otto dropped back down onto the sand and gave the knapsack a timid boot with one foot. “Not something you’d want to leave with a corpse in an old car.”
Otto went down to one knee as the machine continued to rummage through the cab, one hand resting on the receiver of his rifle as the other lifted the flap. The stench of death still lingered upon it, though soon his hand found something coarse and rugged within. His brow furrowed as he tugged on it and a chitinous, blanch fang poked through the opening of the bag. “Is this a fucking horn?”
“I do not believe so, structure indicates something found in the mouth of a carnivore - albeit a large one.” Bog replied from inside the cab, as the machine began to yank and pry at something. The entire wall of crushed cars and home appliances shifted, threatening to topple at any moment and bury Otto if he wasn’t paying attention. The man was hardly concerned though, and he inspected the rough. “So like a tusk?” Otto inquired quietly.
“Negative, it would have an extra enamel layer if it were meant to be exposed outside of the maw. I believe it is a tooth.” The automaton said with one last annoyed huff, and then Otto peeled back from the fang when he heard a loud rending crunch. As he turned back over his shoulder, a falling shape caught his eye and Otto scrambled backwards.
A human torso, or what had not been withered by the sun and wind, landed on the sand with a tumbling thud. The skull, hitting the dirt first, splintered into various pieces that dug at the dust while Otto wretched yet again at the sight. Fortunately most of the tissue had long decayed - contributing to the smell - and all that was left was merely bones and strings of hair, framed on ragged clothing and coarse leather. “Jesus Christ, Bog. Since when are you a grave robber?”
“I guess anywhere is a grave on this planet, yes?” The robot spoke as it shifted around to crawl back out through the passenger side. Otto shuffled himself backward on his rear a few more feet, before sliding up onto one knee and then cautiously reaching out to grab at the strap of the haversack. Tugging it over towards him, he pressed the fang deep back in the satchel.
“You fucking pulled him in half.” Otto began, nose turning up both in disgust and at the stench once more before looping the haversack over his shoulder and then crawling his way over towards the remains.
“Cursory analysis indicates the cadaver is a female - late thirties, perhaps, Tsov or possibly Coerlish.” Bog returned before dropping down from the Kreisler, pronged feet digging at the sand. He still held a strip of weathered plastic and strand from the seatbelt in his hand. Otto leered from his knee up at the machine, who quietly looked down to the belt and shrugged. “I guess seatbelts really do kill … “
“We came here looking for scrap metal and you find a body, you’re a fuckin’ handful - y’know that?” Otto said through a grimace, and then turned back down to the body in front of him. He placed the scarf back other his mouth and reached a hand out to his - her - jacket pocket. Bog soon joined him one one knee, its own hand reaching to examine a small hole on the back of the body’s spine.
“It appears there was a neural interface component installed.” Bog said, a curious pitch in his automated voice. That surprised Otto as well: few of the planet’s thirty million inhabitants had access to advanced technology, and those who did were often only on the world in a transient capacity. In the cities, as well, were where most of those kinds stayed. Out here, on the steps, it was far and few between to find someone who even knew how to operate a handheld computer.
“What’s a offworlder doing in Kazanskoye?” Otto questioned to himself, his hand soon finding a sleek card in one of the jacket pockets. He struggled for a moment, caught between keeping the cloth over his mouth with one hand while fishing out the item in the other. He caught the stench in full once again, gagging visibly as Bog sat with an elbow on its knee.
“Come on, it’s not like it’s a dead body.”
Otto shot a bitter look over at his machine comrade, before simply shaking at the corpse to tug the card free. The waning sunlight caught a flash on the sleek card, and Otto recognized an ID chip embedded in the lower corner of the notecard. “Fuck up, Bog. What’s this?” He said, pulling it from the heap of tattered clothes and bone before handing it over to the automaton with one hand. The drone silently took the card, turning it over in front of his blank head. “ … It’s a verifier,”
Otto gave a dissatisfied grunt before returning to the jacket with his free hand. He rustled through several more pockets, checking both the breast and side pouches and finding several other trinkets. His index and thumb slid over a disk drive in one of them, and then in the other he found a crumpled scrap of paper before Bog let out a quizzical, automated hum.
“Vnemir Group.” Bog said with a subtle grunt. Otto ignored the automaton, continuing to pilfer the corpse before he noticed Bog handing the card back to him. “What am I gonna’ do with that? What the fuck is Vnemir?” The Domovskian said through his scarf. Bog tilted its head with a mechanical whir to the man as it spoke.
“Vnemir is an chartered exploration and settling corporation, owned by - “ Otto pulled his hand out of the pocket and took the card, flipping it in front of his eyes before he noticed a small emblem on the back corner. His eyes boggled for a moment, moreso at his mind racing while he tried to process thoughts rather than what he saw. “Burzone?”
“Biko-Universal Resource Zone: a federated interstellar corporation and fourth largest agent entity in the Trader Enclave Corporat - “ Bog sounded off, the walking encyclopedia soon reminding Otto that the machine had a lot more than just a bland impression of humor. “I know what Burzone is.” Otto said and then forced the card back at Bog. He then placed one elbow over his knee, brows furrowed in confusion as he inspected the scene his autonomous friend had found.
“What the fuck is a spacer doing on this ball of sand? And why was his - “ Before Otto could continue, Bog tucked the card away into a pocket of his tactical vest and then held a spiney metal finger up. “Her.” It remarked.
“ - why was her body dumped in a boneyard all the way out here?” Otto finished, looking over at the machine and waiting for it to correct him in some miniscule way once more. Instead, the drone seemed to be thinking itself. Cautiously, that robotic hand reached up to scratch at the small manifolds that formed a fake ‘jaw’ rigged to the underside of Bog’s artificial head.
“I would hate to see the user reviews of whatever homestay site she used to find this place.” Bog said dryly, and Otto simply narrowed his eyes back at the machine before he was returned with a simple shrug. “I don’t think this was a vacation - that’s a magazine pouch. Is this hole even on any commercial lines?” Otto said, indicating to a long pouch on one of the sides of the jacket.
“Out of the way, not many people, this would be a great place for a beach resort.” Bog returned, and Otto leaned back to sit against the wheel of an old dilapidated Pereskat truck. He sucked air through the scarf, a long deep breath that stung at his lungs and nose from the smell before he finally pulled it from his mouth.
“Do you ever stop fucking around?” Otto said, though his embittered face only amused the automaton who gave a dismissive shrug. Bog idly glanced back down at the frayed garb around whitened bones. “ … No, not really.” Otto only rolled his eyes, somewhat acclimated to the msatchelusty odor now.
“And why did she have this?” Otto spoke as he reached down into the satchel and pulled out the large fang. It had quite a weight in his hands, and in all his time he’d been on the planet he knew of no creature that could possibly have teeth like this. “What even is it? There’s not much on this dirt ball that would be big enough for something like this.”
“Maybe she’s a scrimshaw connoisseur. There’s nothing on the extranet fitting something like that from this planet.” Bog responded as he gave another cursory inspection of a pocket. The machine inspected the magazine pouches and found them equally rewarded before making a snide gesture with its arms.
“Something like this probably gets a good catch off world - what, sell it off to some vendor, or a commodities broker. An old Lander from a Throne world would make fuckin’ piano keys out of this. I wanted some old scrap, but what you found - I guess I don’t need to scrap you yet.” Otto said, a dry voice coming from him. When Bog peeled up from examining the cadaver and stared at him, or as best as a faceless machine could stare, a wry smile found its way onto the Domovskian’s face. “I’m kidding, Wires.”
“Now who’s fucking around.” Bog remarked, then reaching two hands down and grabbing the torso by its shoulders. As the machine prepared to hoist, however, Otto slid back onto his knees and raised a hand out. “Wait wait wait, there was a few other things in the left pocket. A thumb drive and some paper - probably some contact info or something.”
“Or just tasteless ‘landscapes’ of Baku.” Bog responded, releasing his grasp and letting the corpse settle one last time as Otto shuffled forward. The machine rose up to its feet, three projected talons digging at the sand. Before Otto hand even begun to turn her back over, however, he was frozen in motion as a lonely call sounded through the boneyard. It bounded of the metal, and sang through the lanes between these forgotten husks.
Otto sat there for a moment, hearing the yap echo on down the way. His blood ran cold as he realized he hadn’t simply heard the sound. Bog had as well, as the machine stood on its two metal legs and then gripped firmly at the trigger and guard of its rifle. “Otto … “
“Yeah, I heard it - what the fuck did I tell you about the khischk?” He said angrily. Before he could hastily pilfer what was left from the corpse, another dry croon reached through the alley as a heavy, four legged frame appeared eclipsed by the sun atop a nearby derelict vehicle. Mottled fur dangled from an emaciated body, and even the skin itself sagged on stocky bones of a thoracic. Otto couldn’t make out any further definitions, though he simply recognized the canis. He had several run ins before with the opportunists - a few bad bites or a broken wrist here and there.
Their threat exponentially increased with their numbers however, and from what he could tell there were quite a few. “That’s not my fault. They smelled the body.” Bog replied with a hitch in its automated voice as the machine shouldered a rifle, racking the chamber of the kalash and bringing it forward. Otto merely gave him an exasperated glare, and then realized too soon he’d have trouble getting the rest of the loot from the woman’s pockets.
He pivoted on his heel, while his knee spun in the sand and then bolted upright. The large wolf above them let out a quick yip, before it was silenced as Bog unleashed a barrage of rifle fire into the beast. It toppled down from the car, three holes leaking crimson while it landed in the sand and grass before scrabbling. Otto was already ten steps away and turned back to Bog, three more new creatures looming amongst the rubble and cars. “Bog, let’s go! Now!”
“Wait! I can get a few more!” Bog called out, shifting the rifle up again before Otto reached a hand out to the machine’s shoulder. He spun the drone about on those pronged feet and then began to drag it away.
“There’s always more, Bog!” Otto growled out, yanking at the automaton a few more steps before peeling around the corner as clawed feet padded atop the hoods and tops of cars. There were several on practically every side - occasionally he caught the sight of a flash of mangey coats or a pair of beady eyes. He quickly spun away from them, sparing a glance over his shoulder to see Bog trotting along behind him.
Wind slashed through the boneyard, mimicking the screeching calls and barking that filled the air around them as Otto did his best to navigate out of the alleys. They passed a derelict water reservoir, which he recognized from minutes ago. “This way!”
“There’s a lot of them - I might have overestimated their size!” Bog responded, sprinting after Otto as he rounded the corner of an old refrigerator. The machine quickly detached its empty magazine, fumbling for a new one in the tactical vest it wore as Otto pointed out ahead to a leaning hill that traced away from the machine graveyard. He spotted a nearby sand road winding away from the yard, and began to skid down the slight hill while angling the stock of the AK-76 into his shoulder. His deltoid muscle strained against the pad of the rifle, and then swung on his heel just as Bog jumped down the hill to land beside him.
“We can take a few of them here, pick your shots!” Otto said, reaching up to grip the handguard of his kalash and level it up the hill. As Bog took his position beside him, Otto scanned the crest of the hill until the first jackals appeared. The machine snapped off a shot in reaction, catching the dog square in the face and painting the sand beneath it in a mire of gore. Otto spotted the next one, and promptly pulled his weapon into his shoulder before pulling the trigger.
The AK-76 rattled in a three round burst, blemishing the dirt just ahead of the jackal until the two rounds slammed into its side. The dog toppled sideways, crawling away as yet another one appeared on the plume of the hill. A second later, two more were slowly padding their way out from the yard. “There’s a lot more of them, Bog!”
“I would suggest we extricate, quickly.” The machine returned, planting its weapon upwards again and unleashing burst of fire up into the hill. It forced the dogs back for a moment, while Otto angled his weapon down to glare over his shoulder to the nearby road. A few dozen meters away, sand pulsed into the air behind the spinning wheels of a pickup, the waning sun glinting off a white gloss body.
“Over there!” Otto pointed out, tapping at Bog’s torso. The machine sprayed another burst of fire up the hill at the jackals to keep them from another momentary rush. Bog simply gave a short nod of its head and Otto then peeled himself up into a run. He heard the soft crunch of the machine’s feet behind him as he sprinted away into the road. When he turned to face the truck, it swerved just slightly as he saw the driver - one hand on the wheel while the other seemed to be fumbling with something under the dash.
The car’s tires ground against the dirt and soft sand when the driver pumped at the brakes. Otto deftly traced back a few steps, avoiding the bumper that might have struck him had the Domovskian not kept upon his feet. One gloved hand smacked at the hood of the truck, and he shouted hoarsely. “Hey priyate, we need a ride!” He shouted, and then noticed the young man in the seat staring with wide eyes as he pulled at something underneath the dash.
“Bog, get in the back!” Otto yelled, and the automaton only obliged by sprinting towards the truck while dumping the magazine from his rifle. Reaching the lip of the bed, two metal hands clenched into the metal and tore at it while the robot hauled itself into the bed. When Otto glanced back, the drive had produced a camera in both his hands. Then, the door popped open while the Domovskian only confusedly glared back to him.
“Buddy, we need to leave!” He said again, before the thought crossed his mind that the young man in his ragged jacket wasn’t even understanding him. The dying cackles of the wolves were lost on him for a moment, as Otto made a rough hand gesture up towards the hill. “Khischks! Wolves!”
The youth refused to answer, instead peeling out of the car to walk back just slightly, all the while holding the camcorder and occasionally snapping at the button on top of it. Otto shambled his way around the hood of the vehicle, grabbing at the open door of the car. “Get the fuck in! We need to go -- “
“More of them!” Bog shouted, sliding onto its back and hanging the rifle over the bed. He snapped a few shots off before the machine’s body clunked against the bed of the truck as it laid flat. Otto barely had a moment to register the flash of fang and fur that leapt over the bed, slamming into the man’s side before taking the young man down to the ground in a flurry of rending teeth. He barely had a moment to scream before the voice died out in a gurgling sputter, hot blood staining into the sand underneath them.
“Jesus!” Otto howled, but spared no more words before simply climbing his way into the driver’s side and slamming the door shut. A few more pained shouts and cries filtered in from the outside, but he refused to peek into the side view mirror while he threw the clutch and shifted the car into gear.
“We’ll want to go now, Otto. We’ll want to go now!” Bog shouted from the bed of the truck, shifting back up and hanging over the side to blast away at the creature busy mauling the young man. Dirt spun against the wheels when the truck began to finally peel away. The back of the vehicle fishtailed just slightly as it ran against the trail.
Otto huffed slightly, occasionally glancing into the rearview to see the jackals surrounding their fresh kill - which could just as easily have been him - as they faded from view. His knuckles gripped white at the steering wheel, swerving every once in a while to avoid a nearby rock until he heard Bog let out an robotic cackle as it leaned back against the cab. “Well, that was fun.”
“Shut the fuck up Bog, you almost got us killed!” Otto shouted back into the rearview, pulling the satchel off his neck and tossing it into the passenger seat. The fang glinted from light pulsing through the window and he gave it a cursory glance before returning back to the road. Another long sigh coming from his throat. Bog shifted in the back slightly, hanging the rifle between its legs. “It wasn’t that bad, you got a pretty tooth out of it, huh? What are we gonna’ do with that thing anyway.”
Otto scoffed back at the machine, eyes straining from a sweat that had profusely drained while he was busy scrambling for his life through the boneyard. He reached back to the knapsack, unclasping the cover and inspecting the tooth for a few more moments once again. “I think I got a guy a few villages up the Dikizemye line - commodities agent that probably knows what this thing is.”
-
Otto pulled the pickup out of drive for the last time, and the Pereskat idled a few more moments until the engine finally died. The frame of the truck settled against the fine sand of the road through the small village. The machine beside him produced a pair of binoculars from its pack, idly planting them against its blank face. Otto let out a huff at the comic appearance of it, while he glanced through the windshield to stare at the ‘business’ in front of them. Bog made a timid hum while metal fingers fumbled uselessly against the dials of the binos.
“I’ve seen plenty of fronts, but this one has to take the cake.” The automaton mumbled quietly, still staring at the facade of the structure in front of them. The taverna was a drab affair, a cyrillic sign dangling by one rusty nail that clanged against the metal poles it was rigged to with every gust of wind. Otto adjusted the shooting glove on one hand, the other stretching for the handle of the door.
“Yeah, Foma’s a bit of a crook.” Otto shrugged, popping the door and stepping out. He left the rifle in the cab of the truck, though kept a pistol at his hip for any eventuality. Bog studied the building a few more moments before doing the same, clambering its way out from the car. "He's not too bad though, just eccentric."
"Well, everyone needs a friendly neighborhood contraband smuggler." Bog replied from the passenger side. It pushed the binoculars into the pack on its waist before joining Otto as they walked towards the entrance. Otto placed one hand out in front of him to press the door open, smoke and the stale odor of vomit assaulting his nose when he did. He turned his lips up into a scowl before glancing around the front of the bar.
Several of the patrons gave him a cold look, though they returned to their shallow cups of vodka after a few moments and allowed the two to enter quietly. Rather than head straight for the bar, Otto motioned for the robot to follow closely as he strode for a back door to the left of the counter. Before he could reach it however, a burly tsov produced himself in front of Otto, one hand stretching out to block him. "Who the fuck are you?"
Otto gave a dismissive grunt, looking the man up and down before waving a quick hand in front of the man. "I'm just here for Foma - tell him Sokoloff is here."
"I don't know a Sokoloff. You ain't got an appointment, Foma doesn't want - " Before the man could finish, a dull clang was heard from behind the door. Then a grunting, bitter voice shouted a quick expletive. "Is that Sokoloff?! Dima, stop being a fucking dik and let him in!"
Otto gave a sly grin back to the bouncer, who only furrowed his brow before shrugging and then standing to the side behind the bar. The Domovskian gave him a reassuring nod before opening the door to a small stock room complete with a desk, couch and several chairs. A large hookah sat on a carpet in front of the sofa and a pudgy man sat behind the carrel. "Sokoloff! You ugly ublyudku, how are you?!"
"Not too bad Foma, just passing through." He replied, waiting for Bog to enter behind him. When the machine joined the two of them, Otto gripped at the handle of the knapsack and tugged it in front of him while stepping towards the desk. "Found something in a boneyard outside of Shalkara, though it might be something you'd know about."
Foma leaned back in his chair just slightly, steepling his fingers and shifting a bushy eyebrow up at the man. He glanced over towards the machine as well, who took a seat quietly on the sofa. "Aaaaah, looking for a sale huh? I'll still buy that bucket of bolts too, thirty cays for the thing. Or whatever you'll take for it."
"The bot's still not for sale - besides I think this thing might be worth more." Otto replied, pulling the rugged fang out of the satchel. Foma spread a hand out onto his desk, fumbling for a pair of glasses that sat by a handle of alcohol. He placed them atop his nose with a long, winded breath while Otto put the tooth down in front of him.
Foma had a short moment registering what he saw, a confused look crossing his chunky face before two hands stretched out to paw at the coarse molar. His eyes balked a bit for a moment. "Otto you crazy ublyudok, where'd you find this?"
"On a body, in a boneyard outside of Shalkara." He responded, crossing his arms and watching the smuggler's reactions. Foma gave a short chuckle before reaching up and dragging the glasses down his nose.
"Do you know what this is? Pheskocherv, Sokoloff. These things go for a pretty high price off world." Foma returned, and Otto was finally beginning to feel that the effort could have maybe been worth it. Before Foma could continue, however, Otto planted a hand down on the desk. "How much?"
"Hmmmn, a good twenty thousand monetas - maybe even five or ten thousand cays, if you're willing to sell it white." Foma said as he brought the tooth closer to his eye and inspected it. Otto had trouble hiding the hungry grin at those numbers. "You won't get this thing off world through the star ports though, the Agent's Guild would be all over you with their customs enforcers."
"That's where you come in, Foma." Otto said promptly and then snatched the fang out of the fat tsov's grip. Foma pursed his lips and then nodded. While he thought, a chunky hand scratched at the bottom of his chin.
"I guess it is. This won't be as easy as putting it in a couch cushion or bottom of a water reservoir though - I actually might be able to help you." Foma said, looking at scraps of paper and a few locked journals while he seemed to be searching for something. After a few silent moments, while Otto watched him suspiciously, Foma produced a sheaf of papers with intricate scrawling.
"You run a little rendezvous for me, while I start calling around to see who I can find. I recently hired a band of nayemniki, hired guns that should be landing outside of Karamola in a few hours. It's just an hour or two up the Dikizemye." Foma said, shuffling through another set of papers until he found the one he was looking for. He unfolded the scrap of paper and then stretched it out to Otto.
"Need a taxi huh?" Otto returned and took the note and studied it a moment. There was little information besides a list of names, and he simply placed it back into the satchel with the tooth. "I think I can do that - and you're sure you can find someone who won't fuck us like in Baku?" He said intently, though Foma's hearty titter caused his whole thick body to strain against the chair.
"Aaaah you don't have to worry about Maxsimily anymore, I had Dima over there cave his fucking head in and leave him in the Caspian." Foma said. When Otto returned with a curt nod, the smuggler reached out across his desk to grasp for a small cellular phone. "Go go, I will find the right man for this - just make sure you find the man at the top of that list. He's the one I'm really paying for! If anyone else at Topar Landing wants a job though, tell them there's fifty zoloto at the start. Based on performance, there may be more."
Otto only responded with a nod, turning back to Bog and then making a quick motion as the machine stood up. They exited while Foma began pecking at the screen of his phone with a bulging finger, settling into the chair that squeaked and groaned beneath his weight as the door closed.
They quickly left the bar, Otto knowing they had little time for a drink - yet, that is. After the number he heard, he was already planning a weekend in Karagandy, away from Bog. A beautiful girl from the bar, an actual one and not some taverna where smugglers skulked. He was brought out of his thought as Bog popped open the door of the truck. "You sure you can trust this Foma? He seems to be more the kind that profits off the work of others, doing little more than just cutting a deal."
Otto didn't trust Foma as much as he could throw him, which wasn't very far considering his weight, but due to their history alone he knew the smuggler was aware just what Otto would do if he was ever crossed. It involved either a bullet, a knife, or simply strangling the fat bastard with his own belt. He didn't consider that a real possibility in the meantime, however.
The drive to Karamola, and to Topar Landing, was a bit of a short one only punctuated by brief conversations or speculation about the nature of their find. Their new occupation as 'associates' of Foma were a topic of discussion as well, though Otto simplified it as a temporary partnership. As they neared the gentle plateau where a rudimentary lander had been established for the off-loading of small materials and personnel, Bog idly began to roll down the window before the truck disappeared into the rough shanty town of vendors and inns for travelers waiting for an atmospheric craft to leave the planet.
"Let's hope his gunslingers are far more charming than Dima - I don't think he liked you very much. Zapadnians like him can be a pretty touchy bunch. You probably did something to piss him off, though."
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