Chapter XXVII - Drop Zone

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The Great Unzayi Lake was serene as the moonlight shone on its unruffled surface. The ferry gently bobbed from side to side as the water underneath sloshed against its hull. They had left the island spaceport far behind by now, where Glacia could make out the blinking lights coming off shuttle ferries moving to and from the piers.

"You must be wondering why we came to pick you up this time?" the commander of the Wystal guards asked cordially, interrupting Glacia as she admired the view. He had a round face with small, beady eyes and a thick mustache. Under the peaked cap, Glacia suspected he was bald.

Glacia leaned back from the railing and turned her attention toward him. "Oh... I hadn't really given it a thought." She shrugged.

"I see," the Wystal replied, looking rather taken aback. "Well, just so you know, Oracle terminated its contract with the Crimson Crows. They have proven to be too incompetent too many times by now."

"I did hear they somehow managed to get my arena wrecked," Glacia remarked.

The commander raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"I designed the Brivil Arena," Glacia explained.

"Ah, right." The commander nodded. "That too. Plus, they almost squandered the goodwill that has existed for long between Karomoz and Wystalline. All on the behest of a stinking Metalloy cur. Well, we had the last laugh, didn't we?"

Glacia figured it would be a very long conversation if she showed any inkling of interest in the matter. So, she nodded quietly and placed her elbows on the railing to look out over the lake once more. It wasn't long until they would be at Oracle's private spacestrip. From there, Glacia would board a cruiser to be escorted to Ahore.

"They even lost a priceless artifact," the commander went on, unfazed by Glacia's silence. "Turns out that Metalloy slob was with them when it happened. That baffles me to no end since everyone knows he destroyed their camp in the forest right after we Wystals left. But then again, it's the Crimson Crows we're talking about. They're not really the brightest of the bunch."

The spaceport was now only a bright speck in the distance. The lake stretched out for miles, and only the odd vessel occasionally passed them by.

A soldier emerged from the bridge and approached the commander.

"Sir, there's a transmission from Ahore," the soldier said, bearing a transceiver in his hand. "The Ornebular and his associates have found the artifact."

"That's enough!" the commander thundered, snatching the transceiver. He gave the soldier a glare that promised trouble. Then he briefly glanced at Glacia before he headed toward the stern, out of earshot. The soldier looked pale-faced as he nervously followed the commander.

Glacia drew in a deep breath and savored the moment all alone. The gentle breeze teased her hair as she let her head hang back.

As with any Cryovreeze, she always found Malora's climate too hot, so she had dressed lightly. She wore a sleeveless, zippered purple dress with its hem splitting at the front and back of her waist and reaching her knees. Below that, she wore flared, peach trousers. Her shoes were purple wedge sandals, while a matching bracelet was on her left wrist.

She wished it was the quiet Olnice with her on the ferry instead of these Wystals and their chatty commander.

At least they weren't much worse than those Crows with their weird names. She could have sworn there was a man among them named Jackdaw or something. Then there was the woman whose name seemed to be Rook and had once accompanied Glacia to the moon to visit the construction site. Never had Glacia suffered a more uptight person. There also were rumors that the Oracle CEO, Corvair, was once head of the Research and Development cell of the Crimson Crows. Apparently, he had amassed enough wealth and influence several years ago to break off and create a splinter organization, which eventually grew to become Oracle Industries.

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