Chapter 5
--
Old Friends
The Hull was the nickname given to the colossal frame of an abandoned dreadnought class warship in Sector 12F, that had crash-landed into the station, back during Omicron's chaotic founding some odd seventy plus years ago.
The humongous derelict ship had been stripped of its values a long time ago, leaving only the decorticated frame. The great strakes, robbed of its metal plating, stood out like the decrepit ribs of a giant metal skeleton, growing evermore imposing as one closed in on the old warship.
From the bottom of each strake, and running up their length like grapevines, were thousands of makeshift buildings and ramshackle constructs covered in their respective pirate insignias, displaying affiliation and designating territories. In between the great strakes were levitating buildings kept afloat with propulsion systems and an impressive armada of pirate ships of various sizes in hovering mode, essentially creating a floating city that connected to the thousands of buildings on the strakes by a perplexing swarm of girders, gantries, and footbridges.
The Hull was basically its own society within Omicron, relying on its own rules and traditions, and united in common purpose against non-pirate gangs and syndicates trying to wrest control of their territory. Yet the Hull had no ruling body or appointed leaders, as the pirates were always competing and fighting each other outside of the station. Stability and the avoidance of war within the Hull were ensured by a common code of conduct, referred to as Decagon's Edict.
The enigmatic Decagon was widely referred to as the king of pirates, and the edict was the code of conduct enacted on his own ships, which had later been implemented in the Hull as a whole. However, no one had seen the elusive pirate king for years, who many suspected was one-third of the triumvirate who de facto ruled Omicron.
In the pirate king's absence, it was his lieutenant Cylass the Crimson who was in charge of his merry band of interstellar misfits known ostensibly as
The Redeemers
.
Jack felt slightly on edge as the autocab made its way through the Hull's airspace, carefully evading and bypassing the massive amount of interconnected buildings and spacecrafts.
The pirate and the hunter community, despite some overlap from time to time, were inherently at odds with one other, as the latter was often hired to hunt the former. Jack had taken on some pirate bounties in the past, and running into the wrong crew here might mean an expedited one-way ticket to the afterlife for him. However, it had been a few years ago since he had last completed a pirate bounty, as pirates were frustratingly difficult marks. Pirates were vastly different individuals of widely diverging morals and ideologies and came in all species. Some did piracy out of greed, others for justice, and some just for the sheer chaos and excitement of it all. There was no certain way or a particular approach to taking down a pirate mark. Often, they would be on their ship surrounded by a murderous crew of trigger-happy scumbags or hidden somewhere deep within the Hull which always complicated things.
It often took blood-money, skullduggery and a little pinch of betrayal to extract a pirate mark without having to kill off an entire crew. It was often more bother than it was worth, so most hunters left the pirate hunting to the Federation and other entities capable of taking on the pirates' significant numbers.
Although thousands lived within the Hull, like larvae in a decomposing body, and despite the fact that the great warship was the home to many bars, gambling dens, hideouts and brothels, it was deep within the skeleton of the ship that one could find the main attraction:
The Pits
.
Finally, the autocab touched down at the bottom of one of the great strakes. The warm lights from the many colorful bars and establishments was a stark contrast to the otherwise dark and cold interior predominant in the upper parts of the huge vessel. Here at the bottom of one of the strakes, mismatched buildings were precariously stacked on top of each other in a bewildering fashion.
The area was a galactic melting pot, with seemingly every species in the galaxy traversing the many footbridges and gantries. Jack hopped out of the autocab, and adroitly avoided an Akarian pimp who was eye-balling him in the hopes of securing some work for two sullen Terran whores puffing nicotiana sticks behind him. Skittering past the pimp and the girls, Jack walked just a few blocks before reaching his destination.
Wedged in between a cluster of stacked buildings covered with tattered burgundy banners emblazoned with a gold sigil, was a three-story building fashioned with a great sign that read:
Madame Morghana's
. The battered old casino, which also served as a sort of cabaret show, music house, comedy club, and speakeasy, had stood the test of time and was famously (or infamously) believed to be the oldest standing building in the Hull. It was technically owned by a particularly notorious pirate crew known as the
Golden Fang,
but the proprietor and daily manager, from whom the establishment was also named, was Madame Morghana.
Madame Morghana had once been a high-class escort in the upper echelons of Omicron society, but had seemingly crossed the wrong client, and had ended up dumped in the Warrens with a shredded and mutilated hand, and half her face carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Plenty of psychopaths at the top of Omicron's hierarchy.
Jack crossed the street towards the casino, with a growing sense of foreboding of entering the pirate-infested den. Somebody inside might know him. If not in person, then by reputation. Jack had made a lot more enemies than friends throughout the years, and on Omicron death was an old friend. He adjusted his clothes, feeling comfort in the hidden gun under his jacket. Then he nodded to two brutish Kinto doormen before stepping into the casino.
The jazzy house music of a Dravv scrap band was audible as soon as Jack entered the establishment. The rhythmic and improvised music mixed with the high-pitched pings and babble of the casino's many patrons blowing their credits on endless rows of
tazbaar
slot-machines and virtual games of chance, in a cacophony of sound. Of the many vices Jack so freely embraced, gambling had never been one of them. It didn't really hold any attraction to him. When one's entire life were stacked against you, it seemed foolish beyond measure to further stack those odds. Jack mostly played when the odds of winning was skewed in his favor. Which technically wasn't gambling.
The inside of the building was spacious, with light flooding in from several virtual two-story-tall windows, making it look like the insides of a church.
A church owned by a whore
he mused. The ground floor was covered with gambling tables and tazbaar slot-machines, and seemingly one representative of each known species in the galaxy. The first floor had been removed and replaced with a wide gallery overlooking the ground floor. This area was reserved for the high rollers. The VIP clientele.
From the ground floor, Jack could spot Madame Morghana in a large red velvet sofa conversing with a sharply-dressed male Nekarin. A species of bipedal humanoid felines. She was laughing at a remark made by the man, and she skillfully tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and tapped the man lightly on his thigh. A gentle gesture, yet thick with sexual innuendo. Although pushing fifty, Madame Morghana was still a stunning woman. Her skin was smooth and her auburn hair was long and lustrous and tied with golden thread. She wore a simple green and gold dress, exquisitely fitted to accentuate her sensual form. A simple white mask covered one half of her face to hide her disfigurement underneath, and on her right hand, she wore an elegant white glove to conceal her bionic hand replacement. Jack didn't know why she had never had her face re-created. She certainly had the money.
Everyone deals with trauma in their own way.
Jack made his way across the gambling floor, and past a smaller room where a sad-looking Akarian with poorly applied face-paint was attempting a comedy routine for a gathering of mainly Terran patrons, who seemed disinterested in whether the performer was alive or not. Past this room was the back of the establishment, which was reserved for members of the Golden Fang.
There was a small bar in the corner serviced by three busty lilac-skinned Varsii, who flirted and attended to the needs of the many pirates sitting in the room. Jack didn't recognize any of the members but noticed an Avarrian wearing what looked like a golden monocle.
The Avarrian had three golden stars on his brown uniform, and by his feet lay a large red beast with dark stripes. A Mamonian hound. These beasts of prey were prized assets for their fierce loyalty and their ability to shred most organics to pieces in a matter of seconds. It indicated that the Avarrian was a high-standing and successful member of the Golden Fang. Jack walked to the back of the room, under the scrutinizing gaze of the avian pirate and his bestial guardian. In the back of the room was the elevator that led to the pits underneath the casino. Guarding the elevator stood a heavily muscled Skamiir who frisked Jack swiftly for weapon-types not allowed in the pits, such as explosives. The Skamiir nodded to the pirate leader and the Avarrian flicked dismissively with his hand, allowing Jack entrance.
The atmosphere of the pits was as always thick with the excitement of the rowdy crowd, the horde of patrons drinking and betting on the outcomes of the brutal fights. The pits themselves were made inside round metal exhaust frames, creating a circular metal ring with high walls. Around these pits were gantries and platforms that accommodated the hundreds of onlookers. Along the edges of the pits were steel frames decorated with great metal spikes, skulls from an endless horde of different species, and melee weapons that had once belonged to fighters of the pits. The place was reminiscent of a less civilized age. Some pit fighters became famous on Omicron, like gladiators of old, and lived a life in luxury and recognition.
For however long they lasted
.
Jack made his way through the crowded gantry to get a better view of the active pits of the day. On an electronic screen, Jack could see that only two of the six pits were active today - and only one of them had humanoid combatants. He hurried across several gantries and pushed his way past the vast crowd, trying not to provoke anyone too grievously as he made for the front rows. Fists, claws, and blades hung loose in a place like the pits when the excitement of violence and the red mist took over.
He ducked just in the nick of time as a handful of spectator drones whooshed past him. Spectator drones were the way the elite of Omicron watched the brutal fights. Safe within their well-guarded ivory towers, the top of Omicron's hierarchy did not need to lower themselves by visiting the pits physically. Yet, they had their part in orchestrating the fights, acting through liaisons and henchmen, and a not-insignificant amount of the gambling profits was funneled to the top. Jack reached the edge of the pit, stopping next to an excited Akarian dressed in expensive clothing, and chaperoned by three scantily dressed females of different species and a Kormak bodyguard. One of the hookers, a well-proportioned Terran with a beauty-mark on her left sizeable tit, looked at Jack with a bored and docile look. She eyed him shortly in a measuring way, then apparently decided he wasn't worth an effort and turned her gaze back to the pit.
In the center of the fighting pit stood a red-skinned
Tharxian
