From the Street to the Stars (Andy Nebula: Interstellar Rock Star, Book 1)

Chapter 19: Betrayal

"Suck vacuum, snakebrain," I snarled.

"Mr. Nebula!" The Dealer entered, the door closing behind him. "Surely it is not appropriate, even among humans, to talk that way to one's employer. Or the one individual on this ship who can provide—this." He wore a belt like his hench-hydras had back in Fistfight City, with several things hanging from it. One of those was a silver cylinder. He touched it. When he raised that tentacle again, a green wafer rested on one of his finger-tentacles, glowing in the light against his orange skin

My body's immediate reaction shocked me—my heart raced, my mouth filled with saliva, I shivered. I beat you! I wanted to yell. I don't need you anymore! Maybe so—but I wanted it. Not so much I couldn't fight it—maybe—but I wanted it.

I tried not to show it. "No joy, octoface. I beat the green monster."

The Dealer moved closer, all four eyes fixed on me though their stalks curled and twisted, until he held the flash within centimetres of my mouth. "And you suffered for it, didn't you?" his strange, sexless voice crooned. "Suffered and almost died. But you still want it, don't you?" The flash was so close I could have stuck out my tongue and taken it, and I found myself gaping like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing. But I held on. Focusing fiercely on the pounding pain in my arm, I turned my head away.

Then I suggested The Dealer do something to himself for which he wasn't physically equipped. He imitated human laughter. "Very brave. But stupid. You're mine, Andy Nebula. I have a signed contract for your services."

"But you've never paid for me!"

"It's hardly my fault you chose to—what's the human expression?—ah, yes, 'cut your agent out of the deal.'"

"It's enough to break that contract!"

"You're in no position to take me to court." Two of The Dealer's eyes turned toward Paul. "Any more than he is."

Agony filled my arm now. I pulled helplessly at my hand.

"Experiencing a little discomfort?" queried The Dealer.

"Damn you—"

He laughed again and scuttled over to the controls. The circle of sparkling air shrank by a few centimetres, freeing my hand. Immediately the pain in my arm subsided and my hand flushed red and felt hot; but, oddly, it didn't tingle. I suppose, from its point of view, it had never been deprived of blood at all. I flexed the fingers; no damage. Then I turned to look at The Dealer. "What about Paul?"

"He is doing quite well where he is."

The door slid open. My heart leaped at the sight of Meta and a hydra—and then fell when the hydra, far from rushing to my rescue, shoved Meta to the floor, then closed the door. I recognized him now as the giant hydra who had pinned me in my dressing room in Fistfight City. He squealed/clicked at The Dealer, who pulled Meta roughly to her feet and held her off the floor while three of his eyes focused on her face. The fourth stayed firmly aimed at me. "That was very foolish of you, young lady. And futile. This ship is crewed by robots and captained by a computer. We have never shared the human phobia against putting ourselves in the tentacles of well-made machines. And while those machines are programmed to stop one hydra from hurting another, they're not programmed to recognize humans at all." His tentacles tightened around Meta, who gasped. Her legs kicked futilely.

I lunged toward The Dealer, but the big hydra moved with blinding speed to grab me. The Dealer held Meta a moment longer, then dropped her. "Interesting," he said, as she frantically crawled away from him on her hands and knees. "A protective impulse toward the female. No doubt another evolutionary byproduct of your absurd binary method of reproduction."