Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets: The Official Movie Novelization

CHAPTER SIX

Two tall, willowy humanoid figures approached the storefront. They wore gloves and hoods and kept their heads ducked down, so Valerian couldn’t get a glimpse of their faces. They strode right up to the store, making no pretense at being ordinary tourists out for a day’s shopping. Parting the hanging red curtain, they stepped inside. A Pit-Ghor growled at them, but one of the guards reprimanded it and yanked on the creature’s chain. It subsided, unhappy but obedient.

Valerian was forced to follow the two customers almost immediately, lest further movement of the curtain at the entrance betray him. Again, the Pit-Ghor reacted, baring its ugly teeth.

“Fluffy, what’s with you today?” the Kodhar’Khan guard said, glaring at the animal.

“I told you,” the other one replied, “he needs more exercise. Big healthy boy like him. Don’t you, Fluffy? Huh?”

The creature wiggled happily at the guard’s tone of voice.

“I give him enough exercise,” the first guard said, “but every time I ask you to take him out…”

While they were bickering and both Pit-Ghors were staring directly at him, Valerian slipped inside. He spared only the barest glance for his surroundings, noting exits, entrances, and the locations of civilians, of which there were only a few. Fortunately for them, they appeared to be getting ready to leave.

The store was piled high with a variety of bizarre-looking antiques—books, lanterns, and candles, rolled-up carpets, carvings, jewelry, hats and headdresses, pipes of all varieties, animal saddles—but Valerian’s attention was focused on the two newcomers and the back room they were heading for.

Igon Siruss stood there, a massive presence, clearly expecting them. Behind him, arms folded across his large, muscular chest, stood a tall Kodhar’Khan in the prime of his life. He wore armor on his shoulders and down one arm. He had stripes on his bare skin and head, and a vicious scar from a previous fight that had taken his right eye and cut a line down his face. Fit and lithe where his father was obese and trundling, “Junior” nevertheless bore a strong resemblance to him.

Okay, so he probably hadn’t been picked on at Kodhar’Khan school. If anything, Valerian was willing to bet Junior had instigated any bullying that had taken place.

“Hey, Tsûuri! Good to see you again!” Igon boomed. His jovial voice was several octaves below a human’s speaking tones, and it all but rumbled along Valerian’s bones. One of Igon’s guards held the door open for the hooded pair to enter. Moving quietly, and wishing he didn’t smell quite so sunshine-fresh, Valerian entered hard on the strangers’ heels. The closing door missed him by an inch.

The two newcomers halted at the sight of no fewer than six guards standing against the walls of the room. Valerian’s gaze flickered over the slender shapes, noting their locations and their weapons. He was beginning to revise his estimate of their species.

“Please, sit down!” Igon invited. He had moved to stand behind a large table. There was one gargantuan seat to accommodate his enormous behind, and two ordinary-sized chairs at the front of the table. His “guests” would be forced to sit with their backs to the door—a psychologically vulnerable position. The newcomers exchanged glances, and slowly sank down into the proffered chairs.

The one Siruss had addressed as Tsûuri asked, coldly, “Do you have what we asked for?”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Siruss replied genially, “but I have to tell you, it was a toughie.” He shook his grotesquely large head. “I lost an awful lot of personnel getting it for you.”

He nodded to one of the guards, who placed a rectangular metal box on the table. The front end was not solid, but grated, and Valerian heard a slight shuffling sound from inside.

Then a small creature pressed its face to the bars.

Valerian started. It looks a lot like the pet the princess in my dream had, Valerian thought. Where had that weird dream come from? Alex’s “answer” had raised more questions than it had answered.

The creature’s eyes widened and it squealed gleefully, wriggling in excitement and extending a small forepaw through the bars.

“We will pay you!” cried Tsûuri. His voice trembled with emotion.

“I’m sure you will,” Igon said, with false kindness. “You’re honest, valiant people.” One hand went to his chin as he added, “But this… thing… is priceless. What can you give me in exchange that could really be worth giving this up?”

Tsûuri hesitated. Then he took a small white spherical object out of a pouch at his side.

Her pale fingers cupping radiant spheres and bathing her perfect face with them. Fishermen, harvesting pearls in tiny nets, bringing them joyfully to shore—

Valerian angrily wrenched himself out of the dream recollection.

Tsûuri held the object in his gloved fingers for a moment, then set it down in front of Igon. The “antiques dealer” delicately picked it up in one great hand. The other reached for a large magnifying glass lying on the table. Siruss peered at the pearl through the lens, which made his tiny, beady eye appear enormous.

“Amazing!” he murmured. His voice was hushed and filled with awe, and he was obviously forgetting the first rule of haggling: don’t seem impressed. That spoke volumes to Valerian. His gaze fell again on the box on the table, and the small creature within. What the hell was this animal? And why were these pearls so valuable?

Siruss continued to gaze at the small white object, compounding his violation of the first rule of haggling. “I never thought I’d see one in my lifetime!”

The unknown alien snatched it deftly from the other’s large palm.

“You’ll have hundreds of them,” he promised Siruss. “Just as soon as you give us what we came for.”

Igon regarded him with mock sorrow. “Ah, now… that’s where I have a slight problem, my friend. You see, I’ve been thinking. I’m a big fan of cutting out the middleman.” He indicated the pearl Tsûuri held.

“If you’re going to knock out copies of this baby for me… why shouldn’t I do it for myself?”

He smiled. It was ugly, cruel, and intelligent, and Valerian abruptly hated him with an intensity that surprised him.

Too late, the slender aliens realized their mistake.

Both leaped to their feet, drawing weapons, but Igon’s six mercenaries had beaten them to it. While everybody leveled their gun at everybody else, Valerian slipped behind the Kodhar’Khan crime lord.

“Easy, my little lambs!” soothed Igon.

A female voice snapped, “We absolutely need this converter!” Now she, too, had broken the first rule of haggling. “You told us you could help! You know we are fighting for a noble cause!”

“I know,” Igon said solemnly. “I’m fighting for a noble cause, too.” He grinned. “Mine. Here’s the deal.”

Igon casually pulled a gun and pointed it at the female.

Time to end this. Valerian lifted his visor so he could see himself again, and began to type in the code at the end of his Sleeve.

“I get the converter and this pearl,” Siruss was saying. “You get to stay alive. How about it? A good deal, right?” He guffawed at his own feeble humor, then sobered. His voice was utterly without warmth as he said, “You have ten seconds to accept.”

He began a countdown as the muzzle of his gun split in two, with each muzzle curving away, as if with a life of its own, to point at each of the aliens.

“Five, four…”

Valerian quickly punched the last figures of the code into the keypad.

“Three… ”

Valerian flipped down the visor—

“Two…”

—and saw his arm manifest in the virtual world as he jabbed his gun into the smuggler’s neck.

Igon abruptly ceased the countdown, but his gun did not waver. Nor did those of the mysterious aliens. Those of Siruss’s guards, however, immediately turned to take aim at Valerian. Or at his Sleeve-encased arm, at least.

“Federal Agent Valerian,” he introduced himself. “Sorry to interrupt this great deal, but I’m also here for a noble cause called the law!”

The unknown aliens flipped back their hoods—and it was all Valerian could do not to gasp.

Pale, luminous skin. Eyes as blue, bluer than the sky. Delicate features, now drawn in anger and fear, their foreheads black with it. The beautiful faces did not carry such expressions comfortably.

Pearls, came a thought, drifting and easy as a summer zephyr. They are called… Pearls.

“Wrong place, my friend,” drawled Igon confidently. “There is no law around here.”

“There is law wherever I am,” Valerian stated with surety. Even as he spoke, though, his gaze drifted back to the aliens. “Haven’t I seen you guys somewhere before?”

The alien named Tsûuri—the Pearl, Valerian thought— looked very ill at ease.

“Hey,” grunted Igon, “I’m not running a tea room here. What do you want from me, Mr. Law?”

“Igon Siruss,” Valerian stated, “you stand accused of stealing a Mül converter belonging to the Human Federation. But before I drag your sorry ass in, I’ve got to recover stolen property.”

The moment stretched out in silence. No one moved.

Valerian continued to press the muzzle of his gun to Igon’s neck. The Pearls kept their weapons trained on the guards, looking increasingly panicked.

“Valerian,” came a familiar and welcome female voice in his ear, “I’ll be on your right, three o’clock, three feet away.”

He smiled, slightly. “Got it.”

“Huh?” Igon said. “What do you mean?”

“You,” Valerian retorted, pressing the muzzle even more firmly into the thick neck, “don’t move.”

A moment later, as if by magic, a large carrying case appeared at Valerian’s right—at three o’clock, three feet away.

Laureline.

“Now,” said Valerian to Igon, “take it nice and easy and put the critter’s carrier into this box.” Even before he spoke, Valerian saw growing horror on Igon’s face as it dawned on him that he was about to A) lose the converter, B) get arrested, and C) could do nothing to prevent either misfortune.

“That converter is ours,” blurted Tsûuri suddenly. Fear and determination mingled on his face. “We are prepared to buy it back. Name your price!”

“I’ll double it!” yelped Igon.

Despite the illogical, bizarre, but very real dream connection Valerian had with the Pearls and the critter, he shrugged slightly. Whatever was going on here was no concern of his; he had his orders.

“Sorry, guys, I’m not into sharing. Move it!”

Slowly, reluctantly, looking almost as if he wanted to cry, the smuggler placed the converter into Laureline’s case.

Gibson’s voice spoke into Valerian’s ear. “Guys, move on, now.”

“Converter in the box,” said Valerian to the listening Gibson.

“Copy,” said Laureline’s disembodied voice beside Valerian.

Valerian kept his weapon trained on the smuggler. A moment later, Gibson’s voice spoke in his ear. “Good job, Sergeant. Undetected. Back to base.”

“Affirmative,” Laureline’s voice replied promptly. “Valerian? We’re good. Get out of there.”

“I’m on my way,” Valerian responded. He hesitated, then grabbed the pearl from the table. It, too, was evidence. Igon watched, helpless, fuming.

“I’ll find you, Federal Agent Valerian,” he sputtered, almost choking on his rage. “Wherever you are in the universe, I’ll find you! And I will kill you!”

Valerian grinned. “Good luck with that!”

He was done with this. The whole thing with the Pearls was too weird for him to handle right now, his arm was itching inside the encasing Sleeve, and Laureline still owed him an answer to his question.

Keeping the Sleeve-hidden gun trained on Igon, Valerian slowly moved around the table back toward the door, punching the code into the rear keypad of the Sleeve as Cooper had instructed.

The Sleeve should have disappeared.

It did not.

Valerian glanced at the guards at the door, who were staring in utter confusion as a disembodied arm holding a gun floated toward them.

“Tell your guards to step aside,” Valerian ordered. Igon, still seething, did not obey immediately. “Now. Or not. I think removing your head would do wonders for your looks.”

Igon growled in anger, sounding almost exactly like the angry Pit-Ghor straining at its leash. “Let him pass,” he snarled, finally.

The Kodhar’Khan guards obeyed reluctantly, taking a few steps backwards. So did one of the Pit-Ghors, though it snarled.

The Pit-Ghor named Fluffy, however, wasn’t as well trained.

Just as Valerian had stepped through the curtain, out into the street and had almost finished a second attempt at keying in the code, the animal gave a great bellow of frustration and lunged after him so violently the leash snapped.

Its massive jaws closed on the enticing floating metal box that covered Valerian’s arm.

“Ahhhh!” Valerian shouted. “Bad dog! Bad dog!”

The Sleeve was not just a piece of cutting-edge technology, it was also made of very strong metal, so Valerian’s arm was not in danger of being severed in a single bite. But the beast had put the rest of him in jeopardy. He tried to turn the cumbersome Sleeve against the animal, squeezing the gun’s trigger.

The sound of gunfire was like a spark of flame to an old-fashioned powder keg. Suddenly everyone was firing. Bullets whizzed past Valerian, and he threw himself into an odd, contorting dance so they wouldn’t be able to guess where his invisible body was.

The sound of combat was coming from inside, too, and out of the corner of his eye, as he continued to attempt to detach a ravening Pit-Ghor from his arm, Valerian saw that the two Pearls had taken advantage of the chaos to flee.

The female glanced over her shoulder as they ran down the street, and even in the midst of the madness Valerian was struck by her ethereal beauty and wondered again just what the hell was going on.

“Valerian’s in trouble!” Laureline’s voice, in his ear. Valerian dropped to the ground, flailing wildly, trying to dislodge the monster-dog.

“Your mission takes priority,” Gibson replied. “Keep going. Cooper? Cover him!”

Finally, with a well-placed kick to the Pit-Ghor’s belly, Valerian managed to wrest free. Dodging the hail of bullets, he raced around the back of Igon’s shop to join Cooper.

Cooper had already “armored up,” wearing two Sleeves and carrying a machine gun in each hand.

“The keypad’s broken!” shouted Valerian. “I can’t get my arm back.”

No sooner had he gotten the words out than Igon’s goons came pelting around the corner after him, guns blazing.

“Get back to Gibson!” Cooper shouted. “I’ll cover you!”

Valerian obeyed, sprinting off as fast as he could while Cooper opened fire and the guards returned it.

He wanted to believe that Cooper—he who would win a bar fight against anyone, any size, any time— would survive the attack. He had two machine guns and military experience.

But the Kodhar’Khans had guns, too, and they had more of them.

Cooper, if he fell, would do so in the line of duty.

Valerian had experienced a plethora of bizarre things in his twenty-seven years. But this situation was right up there in the top few. He was in one world, and his arm was in another, and the result was comical and potentially deadly chaos.

His body, firmly grounded in the “real” world, was invisible and untouchable thanks to Cooper’s spray earlier. He wasn’t about to bump into anybody or anything in Big Market other than tourists—or, he amended, real bodyguards and those they guarded. But his Sleeved arm, trapped in the virtual part of the current reality, was completely uncooperative. Try as he might, that damned exposed arm kept smacking unreal heads, catching on non-existent merchandise, and in general putting the rest of the real body at high risk.

Normally Valerian was on good terms with his appendages, but not today.

Definitely not today.