Page 2 of Alien's Luck
Selling individual pieces to collectors was a slow process, having to select buyers one by one. Not just anyone withcredit would do. He required someone with discretion, just greedy enough to want the shiny treasure but not so greedy as to murder Ari and take the treasure for themselves; a rare combination indeed.
The pace at which he sold pieces mattered as much as the buyer. Nothing drove down the value of a priceless artifact like a glut of priceless artifacts. Leaving the planet for a fresh market was not an option. Ari’s confinement to Reazus Prime was as real now as it had been when the planet still operated as a prison. He was here for life.
Soon, it became apparent that zipping around the planet from buyer to buyer like a franticcolibasgathering honey before the winter was a waste of his time and resources. He instead needed to be the spider, waiting in his web for his targets to come to him. Docking his ship long-term in the Hub’s harbor meant Ari could enjoy his wealth and attend lavish parties. The guest lists were carefully curated, and he made sure he was always on the list.
It was a solid enough plan but required patience, a virtue he lacked. It had been months, and he had not freed a single human. Two entire seasons had passed.
The failure frustrated him, but not as much as the circular nature of the problem. He needed credits to buy the humans’ freedom. He had an abundance of assets but a distinct lack of credits. Converting those assets into credit was a tedious process that could not be rushed, lest he draw attention to himself or drive down the value of the assets.
“How is your delightful mate?” Ari asked, stirring up trouble. “Does she miss me?”
Growling came through the call, crackling and popping with static.
“She does,” Ari said, delighted. “Is she there now? Miriam, my sweet human friend, I miss your voice.”
“Stop teasing Perrigaul,” Miriam replied.
“I cannot believe that you only contacted me to harass me about not finding your friend. Tell me there is another reason.”
“Actually, there is a reason,” she said, then hesitated. “Well, tell him. Stop dragging it out.”
“It’s called leverage. You do not freely give information away, especially to one such as him,” Perrigaul said. This sounded like an old argument. While Ari would normally be pleased to be a source of strife for the Nakkoni, he had guests arriving.
“I’m needed elsewhere. What do you wish me to know?”
The static sounded very much like grumbling. This pleased Ari.
“There is a rumor that the death mask of a certain Khargal emperor is on Reazus Prime,” Perrigaul said.
“A Khargal death mask?” Ari knew the piece. Well, he knew of the Khargal death mask in his collection and recognized the petrified stone mask instantly as being an artifact of his people. Did it belong to Emperor Crai, a legendary ruler of Duras, his homeworld? Likely, considering Mer’len only collected the most rarefied of treasure, and the emperor’s death mask qualified as a lost treasure.
Still, the Nakkoni did not need to know this. Leverage was important, after all.
“Crai? On this planet?” Ari asked, keeping his tone flat to sound bored.
“That is the rumor.” Perrigaul was not amused, which amused Ari greatly.
“Do I have it?”
There was another burst of static and some expletives. “My mate insists I inform you that the mask was known to be part of Mer’len’s hoard, and certain entities are on their way from Duras to retrieve it.”
Representatives of the royal family or possibly Patrol agents. Either option was concerning.
Ari himself was only a minor noble, a title and estate with so little wealth that no one gave him much consideration.
The outstanding warrants, however…
“Thank you for sharing this information,” Ari said. “What do you desire in exchange?”
“Just find that human, Darla, so my mate no longer has a reason to speak to you,” Perrigaul snapped.
The call disconnected. The static-filled hum of the equipment slowly diminished, leaving silence. Ari’s wings shifted, his old injury aching. His tail thumped against the chair.
Yes, this was very concerning.
Ari tugged on the cuffs of his finely tailored suit and calmly made his way to the treasure hoard. He kept the collection under lock and key until he could figure out what to do with it.
Mer’len’s treasure came in three flavors: credits, art, and artifacts. The credits and hard currency were a nonissue. Artworks included paintings, statues, jewelry, and even some books. The value of these items did not fluctuate. Artifacts ranged from famous swords to dented cups and bowls—basically, anything that had an interesting story attached to it. The value of those items fluctuated dramatically, depending on the audience. An old blaster was common. The blaster used to assassinate Charlee Trokur would fetch a charming amount of credits from the right buyers.
