Mach I was the biggest shop that sold spacecrafts in all Keelo Prime. An easy feat to achieve, when he was the only one left. All his competitors had left when the market had turned out for the worse, so he was the only one that had remained behind to resupply the planet, and some of the system with it. Some time ago, maybe a year, or maybe even more than that, he couldn’t clearly tell, Vindril had asked him, out of sheer curiosity, why had he chosen the name Mack I for his business. To his knowledge, given how ancient that part of history was, Mach I speed had been breached millennia ago in all systems galaxywide. What was the point of it then? Was he trying to…

The answer was as simple as it was shockingly…straightforward. “It sounds cool.” he said. It sounds cool…

Even now, that he had just finished the check in with the armed guards, who clearly were sweating profusely under the heavy armor they were donning, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of that. Of all the reasons to name a shop…

Not that he was particularly surprised. Yurian was just that way. If he liked something, and had the necessary things to try it out, he would do it without a second thought. And if others didn’t like it, they could screw themselves. A simplistic way of living. But one that had clearly served him well, with all the wealth that man had managed to accumulate through the years.

That very same approach was evidently replicated by the sheer amount of turrets, cannons, and whatever other defensive mechanism he had mounted inside his gigantic parking lot, who almost seemed endless. No matter where he looked, Vindril’s eyes only saw spacecraft amongst spacecraft lined perfectly next to each other, serving as a testament to his immense economic power.

Some were brand new, still hidden under a heavy layer of tarpaulins that protected the outer shells from coming in contact with all the dirtying agents that could be found on the planet, most of all sand.

Some were used, as it was evident by the combat signs that some were sporting on their metal armors. Obviously that was true only for spacecrafts that had been caught into a fight. Merchants vessels, while rarely found in that lot, were for the most part intact. Sure, if said vessels had been attacked by pirates, that would have been another story altogether, but that’s beside the point.

And lastly, but not less important, there were the spacecrafts that would never fly again. Their destiny was to be scraped for parts, to be sold or installed whenever necessary, until only the exoskeleton remained. When that scenario came to pass, it was time to recycle it into a new creation that would either soar the endless night again, or was going to aid production in some other way. Bottom line, nothing of a spacecraft was left to waste. Nothing.

As he walked past the first line of defence, passing by some cannons so big that could even hit out of orbit, a voice called out to him in such a familiar way that not even the shadow of a doubt manifested in his mind. That just had to be Yurian. It had to be.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s finally back. And all dressed up too! And here I thought that I was never going to see you again…”

Vindril smirked. “Yeah, drop the act. You know I’ve been busy.”

“Oh, and why should I have known?”

“Because, as you’ve told me before, information is key to success. It can be traded, bought, and for the right people, it can even fall a government. And to you, my slimy, cunning, and overly rich friend, there’s nothing like it. I mean, you haven’t gone senile on me, right old man? I wouldn’t want to be forced to put you out of your misery.”

A different person might have taken offence in being called old. He was just seven years older than him, after all. Well, not Yurian. He just laughed good heartedly, looking at Vindril with such a pleased look that nobody could have mistaken how happy he was.

“I see you haven’t lost your damned cockiness, you fucker!” he said, giving him a hard pat on his shoulder. Ah…good old Yurian. On the few things Vindril actually missed of that rock of a planet.

“It’s good to see you too, Yurian.” he said smiling.

“You too, my friend. You too. But let’s leave it for later. Come! Let’s go inside my office. Out here is as hot as oven.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Actually-”

“Leave it.” he commanded. “Follow me. And don’t even think of weasel out. You’re not getting away this time.”

Vindril looked at him for a split second as he stared motionless at his back. For a moment he even thought about refusing his sudden proposal; but in doing so he would have said goodbye to any chance of a discount. He sighed. Better put the thought out of his mind and get it over with as soon as possible. Also, what could go wrong? It was Yurian he was talking about.

He needed to relax.

/////

To say that Yurian’s office looked like a king’s castle compared to Vindril’s beaten house would have been an understatement. First of all, even if he ignored the perfectly maintained walls, or the tight sealed windows that faced south, the sheer amount of wealth that had been spent to ensure only the best accommodation was something incredible. It wouldn’t have surprised him if all that opulence came down to a digit with multiple zeros.

His house instead…

Better no think about it.

“Take a seat.” said Yurian, jolting Vindril out of the trance he had fallen into. “I’m going to prepare some cold tea. Want something to eat along with it?”

“Yurian, I’m good. There’s really no need-”

He didn’t even give him a chance to respond. “Alright, no food for you. I’ll be back.”

“No. Wait-”

That light skinned man, who had blonde short hairs that were matched with the bluest eyes he had even seen, disappeared in a flash inside the kitchen area.

Vindril cursed under his breath. Of course he was completely ignored. He swore, it was easier to elude some of the most scrutinized customs all around the galaxy than have his way with his hard headed friend.

After some minutes, Yurian came back with a couple of mugs and a tray of food. To his credit, even if he was filthy rich, it had not gone to his head. He was still eating the same over the counter pastries he had been eating since he was tall enough to grab them.

Without saying a word, he simply passed him his mug.

It was cold. Pleasantly so. The ice cubes that had been put in that murky, but utterly delicious tasting tea, were floating in it like islands in the crystalline seas. Vindril took a sip. Yes. Oh, yes. He would have never admitted it to anybody even under torture, but that was just what he needed to calm down in that torrid heat. He didn’t know which tea blend Yurian used; but every time his lips tasted that delicious liquid, he always wanted more. Truly, that thing was amazing.

“I heard that you’ve faced some…difficulties during your last voyage.” said Yurian as he drank some of that tea, before eating a small pastry that had to taste like lemon by how yellow the frosting on it was. That, and even Vindril, who was seated at the other side of the coffee table, could smell the citrous fragrance that was coming out of it. “Did the- munch -cargo got taken- gulp -away?”

How did- never mind -it was Yurian. Of course he knew about it all.

“…Yes. Damned space pirates took the cargo after boarding the ship. All of it. There was nothing that could have been done.”

“So even…”

“Yes. All of it.”

“Well, can’t say I’m surprised.” he said, turning around to grab a metal object that was placed on the counter nearby. By the size and shape of it, it almost looked like-

A projection appeared over it, manifesting through the minuscule hole that was on it. Yep. That was a holo-projector. An older model, given how big and…well, ancient it was. It was the first time since…he couldn’t even remember how long it was since last time he had seen one that was still normally functioning. New models, like the one he was wearing on his right hand, were shaped like a ring and had storage space that was almost inexhaustible. He even heard from a reliable source that the top models were also as secure as Arn-6X, the planet/bank were most currencies were stored, but the price tag for that level of privacy was astronomical.

“That sundarin is the man who captained the starship you were on board.” Yurian said, staring at the projection of a man that was coming from the metal sphere. “Gorr Jyfaw. Tough in a fight, especially with the thermal gun he always carries with him. But as piloting skills goes, he’s pretty much useless.”

“Yeah. I saw. Don’t know how he managed to lend there with those skills. Aren’t sundarins great pilots?”

“Generally speaking, yes.” he said. Then he turned around to grab a controller to activate the computer that was at the center of the table. After inserting some commands, the complete map of the galaxy that appeared switched in heartbeat to planet Sundar, projecting it in the air.

“Sundar’s atmosphere is one of the many reasons why its people are great pilots. Its many challenges, be it in the form of frequent storms, or the heavier than average gravitational pull, makes a great schooling for their pilots. But Gorr wasn’t born on it. So even if he’s a sundarin to the bone, with the couples of small horns that stick out the top of his forehead and the pupils that are way bigger than the iris, he’s never been trained on Sundar.”

“Ahhhh, now I see. So he’s a phony.”

“Well, kinda.” said Yurian smirking. “Anyway, I hope you’ll stay away from his ship. He’s not worth the trouble. To be honest, I loaded my cargo in there only because someone I knew specifically asked me to.”

This time it was Vindril who smirked. “It’s funny you said such thing.”

The look of confusion that spread like wildfire on Yurian’s face spoke more than words ever could.

“I’m here to buy a starship.”

In that moment, surprise replaced confusion, and Yurian almost spilled all the tea he was drinking to the floor. It was in moments such as this that Vindril found it almost impossible not to laugh.