Dip Reinegger and the Star Flute of Imra
Dip Reinegger and the Star Flute of Imra
The humid, neon-soaked air of the Port Sidonia terminal always smelled the same: ozone, cheap synthetic caffeine, and the lingering scent of ionized stardust. Usually, I’m the one walking through those sliding airlocks with a grin and a heavy coin purse. Not today. Today, the only thing I brought back from the Imra Sector was a story I’d rather not tell.
It started at the Obsidian Spires. My contact at the Spoils of Andromeda had been clear: the Star Flute of Imra wasn't just a relic; it was a frequency-shifter capable of harmonizing solar winds. In the right hands, it’s a navigator’s dream. In the wrong hands, it’s a weapon that can vibrate a ship’s hull into scrap metal.
The Ambush at the Spire
I had the Flute. I could feel the cold, white-ivory surface pulsing against my gloves. But the moment I turned to head for the extraction point, the shadows didn't just move; they coalesced.
A man stepped out from behind a jagged basalt pillar. He didn't look like the usual scrunched-up spice-runner or a hired mercenary. He stood tall, his bald head reflecting the dim violet light of the nebula above. He wore a high-collared, black steampunk vest over a charcoal shirt, topped with a heavy coat that trailed into sharp, split tails. A grey and black Van Dyke beard was trimmed to a lethal point, and a leather eyepatch sat firmly over his left eye.
"Reinegger," he said. His voice was a low, resonant rumble that felt like it was vibrating in my teeth. "You have a reputation for finding things that don't belong to you. I have a reputation for taking them."
The Defeat
I reached for my blaster, but he was faster than a man in that much velvet had any right to be. He didn't shoot. He used a brass-bound cane to sweep my legs out from under me. Before I could find my footing, the Flute was in his hand. He inspected it with his one good eye, a look of cold, calculated satisfaction crossing his face.
"A pity," he remarked, looking down at me as I hit the deck. "You have the spirit of a hero, Dip, but you lack the gravity of a conqueror. This belongs to a grander design than your little shop."
He didn't kill me. He didn't even stay to gloat. He turned, his coat tails snapping like a raven's wings, and boarded a matte-black frigate that slipped into the clouds without a sound.