LAST EDITED ON Feb-16-10 AT 11:29 PM (EST)
 
Exile Stories #34
"The Crying of Lot 490"
The year is 2356. One unexpected benefit of Gryphon's fugitive status: As a famous criminal, he gets invited to underworld gatherings from time to time. He usually ignores these invitations, but this one is for an auction of illicit military hardware, and where else can a man in his position get hold of a SPARTAN Laser? He plans to get in, make the buy, and get out. But not much ever went according to plan for him in those days, and this will be no exception...

        The auctioneer's voice brightening jarred him from his reverie,
and he returned his attention to the stage.  The man was positively
beaming, all trace of worry or weariness erased from him, as he grinned
over his lectern.
        "Ladies and gentlebeings," he announced as though the place were
still full, "we have another item which has just become available!  This
is unique in my experience."  Behind him, the cargo-handling system was
delivering what appeared to be a cryofreeze tube.  The tube was
occupied, but not activated, and Gryphon blinked at the sight of its
cargo.
        "Ladies and gentlebeings, Lot #490," the auctioneer bubbled.
"Just, er, acquired by our auction security force: a quarian female of
unknown provenance, approximately eighteen Standard years of age, in
good working order with all relevant parts attached.  Exact measurements
were not possible under the circumstances, but she appears to stand
about five feet, five inches high, and I would guess her weight at
around one hundred twenty pounds, not including the encounter suit."
        Gryphon wasn't the galaxy's best eyeball judge of weights and
measures, but to him the auctioneer's guesses looked about right.  The
girl in the deactivated freeze tube was petite but looked well-nourished
and athletic.  She was dressed in the customary sort of full-body
environment suit quarians always seemed to be wearing when encountered
in the wild: half wetsuit, half motorcycling costume, swathes of snug
black duraplast and a purplish-grey textile with the odd grey alloy
panel and the usual tapering, oddly elegant helmet with semi-reflec
visor.  From the way she was banging on that tube lid, she was plenty
strong, though of course even the strongest regular humanoid would never
be able to force a cryotube from the inside.  Her voice could even be
heard, albeit muffled to the point of incomprehensibility.
        Obviously he couldn't see her face - in nearly 400 years of
roaming the galaxy he'd never seen a quarian's face, nor did he know
anyone who had - but there was something about her body language as she
thumped on the inside of the tube and hollered that Gryphon rather
liked.  She didn't seem to be panicked or fearful - more indignant.
That was unusual in someone who'd been captured by people who made
Trandoshan slavers look like the Royal Salusian Tea Society and was
about to be sold at auction to someone out of a group of the galaxy's
hardest-core lowlives.  Maybe she didn't really know how much trouble
she was in.  That sort of thing had a habit of happening on Omega.
        "... And as you can see," the auctioneer was continuing with a
trace of indulgent humor in his voice, "she is quite... er, lively.
What we might call a 'fixer-upper', but I hope you'll agree that the
potential of this item is considerable.  Quarians are rightfully
renowned for their skill in technical matters, and," he added with a
nicely timed twinkle in his eye, "there is the perennial mystery,
perhaps to be solved by -you!-  Ladies and gentlebeings, I must confess
that I have no idea how to price such an item.  What am I bid for this
lovely creature - cryotube not included, of course?  Don't be bashful!
Such an opportunity doesn't come along often, even at a Black Dragon
Society auction.  This will be something to tell your grandchildren
about!"
        Walk away, Gryphon muttered to himself.  You're heading out of
this place into a firefight with yet another scuzzball bounty hunter.
You're on the run from everybody in the universe, and if that girl's
heard of you at all, dollars will get you donuts she hates you just as
much as everybody else.  It's none of your God-damned business.
Besides, what was she doing sneaking around a Black Dragon auction on
Omega?  Probably a thief, or worse, like the rest of these creeps.
She'll get what she deserves.
        "Five credits?" said the auctioneer, peering at his lectern.
"Bidder 201, am I reading this correctly?"
        "You're reading it right, Pops," grunted a hilariously tuxedoed
batarian near the front.  "Five."
        A muffled sound faintly reminiscent of "WHAAAAAAT?!" came from
within the tube.  The quarian girl slammed the heel of one small fist
against the duracrys hard enough to rattle the tube on its cargo rack
and unleashed what sounded like a pretty good stream of profanity from
where Gryphon was standing.
        For some reason, he liked that a lot.
        "Six," he heard himself say.