The vidcomm beeped, and he thought about just letting it go into his messenger, but decided to answer it on the off chance it might be his granddaughter needing him to baby-sit. He pressed the command on the menu and said, “Hello?”
The sight that greeted him brought him right back to his youth. Two men in black ski masks, obviously crowded into a public vidcomm booth, each with a vocal synth strapped over their mouths. The distorted voice of the one on the right said, “K’Tan’Jir, we are soldiers of the Human League. We have taken your associate, Pri’Kato’Mli, hostage, and will execute him if our demands are not met.”
Calm washed over K’Tan’Jir. It was like slipping on a comfortable old body sheath; all his senses were recording what was happening, his brain attempting to race ahead to the next move he needed to make against them. He felt alive again. “May I see proof that you have my friend?”
The one on the left held up a disk and touched a play command. A short vid of Pri’Kato’Mli played out, essentially saying what they had just told him. There was a clumsy edit at the end of it, but no salient information contained in it at first glance. He’d examine a replay of it later more minutely.
“You were identified as a possible source of contacts within the Mlosh community by the doctor,” the one on the right was saying. “We require funds and cooperation on the part of the global Mlosh conspiracy. We understand that funds are not a problem for you, and if the Mlosh conspiracy wishes to see Pri’Kato’Mli alive again, our demands had better not be.”
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