The Quarry

[Rage Menelas]

[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Blood cries for blood. Ryan waltzed into the dimmed lighting of the Galaxy Club. The blaring music—an eerie fluting tune with several unidentifiable instruments playing in the background—vibrated the very air with its beat. Up on the circular stage was a tall, golden-skinned goddess, dressed to accentuate her already ample assets, her incredible corona of red hair veritably ablaze in the stage lighting. Blood cries for blood.

Ryan found an empty air-chair, ordered a drink and leaned back to watch the show. Alien, four-legged birds were now sweeping the stage airspace in flocks. He didn't know if they were real or hologram images but they fairly lit up the air with splashes of color, swirls of motion. Below this surreal panoply, the lady sensuously gyrated, her sleek scantily clad body undulating enticingly to the beat.

His peripheral vision suddenly awakened him from his reverie; he noticed a large stone (stage-right), apparently levitating in mid-air, now rotating slowing in toward the stage. Two larger birds separated themselves from the flock and swooped down to lift the dancer bodily up onto the asteroid. And she never missed a beat! Atop the rock now, which began to slowly orbit the periphery of the crowded clubhouse, she flew into a wilder choreograph as the music tempo escalated, mounting toward its crescendo. She wowed the audience with a spectacular series of intrepid leaps, bounding gracefully from one rocky ledge to the next, balancing on the sheer precipice of death! Never did she balk, never did she stumble, never did she miss a beat... It was amazing! The closest thing Ryan had ever seen was a show back in Paris at the Moulon Rouge; the thought took him back several decades, a young college kid on summer break. But, good as that was, this was several million miles beyond it in quality. Blood cries for blood.

He called over the bartender, got a refill and asked about the star of the show.

“Isn't she the total game?!” the young Strett quipped, excitedly. He was—like all his race—broad of face with eyes placed impossibly far apart and a large nose thrusting out from between them. His bristly hair, white as snow, and his beady eyes made him look like nothing if not a human buzzard. His ice-colored beard, tipped with silver jewelry topped off the bizarre visage, striking a stark contrast to his charcoal gray flesh. And his wicked grin lent credence to the alarming notion that he just might be some sort of cosmic pirate. Blood cries for blood.

“Yeah,” Ryan admitted, “the total game!” Blood cries for blood. Blood cries for blood. He couldn't get that damn voice to shut down. It had been zipping around in his head ever since he had come back from talking with Quang. He closed his eyes for a moment and the conversation automatically replayed itself across the screen of his brain.

“You must get close to this woman,” Quang had stated, speaking of Ma'areol, of course.

“Why? ...and just how do you propose I do that anyway?”

“Use your head, squid.” Ryan narrowed his eyes at the denigration.

“Okay, so I manage to get close to her... to what purpose?”

“Because blood cries for blood.”

“Well what the hell does that mean?”

“Back in my old outfit that was our motto, our creed... If the enemy kills one of yours, that man's blood cries for blood. None of his brothers-in-arms will rest until he is avenged.” There was death in his eyes as he stated this, dead-pan, without feeling. It sent a silent shiver down the other man's spine. Quang must've noticed. He smirked wickedly and added. “Welcome to the real world; we play for keeps.” Blood cries for blood.