Elemorts

Chapter XII - Heraclark II

"He is posing as one Alcidiff Scotnyx," the hitman sent by Umberton had coughed up. "You will find him at the hotel under that name."

My father's name, Heraclark thought bitterly, sat in a lone seat in one corner of the grand foyer just within earshot of the front desk.

He had already scouted the suite where Umberton was staying from afar. As expected, it was heavily guarded with hawk-eyed goons prowling the doorway. He could have taken out one or two of them, but Heraclark could count at least five. He had wondered if the Grebrik he had rescued the night before was capable enough to help him clear the way. He had to be to escape the spaceport alive, but Heraclark was not sure he had enough leverage over the Grebrik.

In the end, he had decided to fall back to his backup plan to gain access. Umberton had a meeting organized with an executive of an organization of some sort, the hitman had told Heraclark. The blueprints the hitman was sent to steal were somehow crucial to the meeting since he was supposed to have recovered them before the meeting took place. Heraclark still had no clue what the blueprints were for, and he meant to find that out. Before I strangle the pig with my own bare hands, of course, Heraclark resolved.

His body was stiff by now from the waiting. He had been sitting in the same place since morning. He could not afford to leave his seat for more than a moment, or else it might get taken — there was no better place for listening in on the front desk.

The foyer of the fifty-story Hotel Grande somehow reminded Heraclark of the lobby of the Bank of Loogmor save for the fact that the hotel was brightly lit. A breathtakingly enormous, crystal glass chandelier descended from the roof of the hotel far, far above like a gigantic, upside-down tree and hung over the foyer still and weightless and yet also so palpably heavy that Heraclark almost felt like he was being crushed underneath. The lights on it twinkled like a thousand stars in the night sky as the crystal itself sparkled and gleamed at every turn of the head.

To Heraclark's far left was the spacious, exquisitely furnished waiting area proper. A holographic projection hovered in midair, silently displaying news about some forest in Karomoz involving angry Wystals, some logging company, and an archaeological dig site.

The sleekly dressed patrons crept about the foyer, most of them heading for or coming out of the half a dozen elevators. Everybody seemed to be about their own business, looking straight ahead as they ambled about so that an eerie quietness hung in the air. The only sounds were of boots clacking and echoing against the exquisitely polished marble floor, the telephones ringing at the front desk and the soft murmur of the desk clerks themselves... and the crunch of the chips Heraclark munched on every now and then. He tried his best to be discreet about it but gave up after he found it to be impossible. Moreover, he was already hating missing the gym and his protein bars.

Heraclark patted the device in his pocket — shaped like swirling, dark-orchid mist with a scarlet screen, he had taken the VBP from the hitman. He had made the hitman format the voice-user interface so that it no longer recognized his voice. Heraclark had then fed in his own voice and renamed the weapons stored inside. If things went wrong, at least he would have something to shoot the pig with.

Client after client came to the front desk, but none said anything about Alcidiff Scotnyx. Heraclark was beginning to worry if there were some code words involved, and he had already missed Umberton's visitor. A man in a long, black trench coat and a hat arrived at the front desk and softly said something about room service. A woman with a pixie cut and an oversized scarf around her neck came next, followed by another morbidly overweight man with a heavy gold chain.