What Is Omega Station?

Omega Station, aka the Rock. A barren, airless asteroid on the outermost edge of the galaxy, home of the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor. Dotted with commercial, military and residential domes, the outer surface is the place to live for those who can afford it or are lucky enough to work there.
But the vast majority of the Rock's residents don't live in the surface domes; instead, they have tunneled downwards, moving ever further towards its fiery heart. The upper levels are safe, comfortable, secure—or as secure as anyone can be on
Omega Station. The lower levels, now; they are home to the detritus of a double dozen races and species, all living in uneasy juxtaposition, fighting, loving, eating—and being eaten.
The Rock's location in space, the last real port before exiting the galaxy, has made it a valuable commodity to many governments and private corporations, as has the addictive drug straz, which grows only in its recycling vats. Control has been taken and given in a hundred bloody battles over the years, but those who live in the lower levels—and further down, in the Depths—are often barely aware of whoever claims to be in charge.
No one, really, rules the Rock, whatever they may claim, however many weapons and warriors they throw against it.
For the Rock is eternal…and it has many secrets...and many stories...

Friday, March 21, 2014

Part 3 of UNDERWORLD by K.G. McAbee

And Rudof Dyll was certainly like no one he'd ever met, in any star system—or out of one, as the rock beneath their feet most certainly was.

The Starview was the most expensive restaurant and lounge on the Rock, no doubt the most expensive Eversyn had ever been in, as his humble upbringing on Garitus Minor Three had seldom provided more than access to the occasional tavern. Even after leaving GarThree as an excited recruit, and his continual rise through the Connie ranks with its concomitant visits to a multitude of planetary systems, he'd not often had the time—or the credits—to visit such places.

But his host certainly had the credits. Sometimes it seemed like half of this damned putrid Rock belonged to Rudof Dyll…or at least, to the Dyll family. And the Dylls didn't mind shelling out some of their vast amounts of credits—more than he could imagine, Eversyn suspected—to keep Rudof in luxurious, extravagant, elegant, ostentatious, sumptuous …imprisonment here on Omega Station.

Captain Eversyn straightened in his lushly cushioned chair, glad that he'd been wearing a clean uniform. He'd have felt even more wildly out of place if he'd had to attend in his usual rumpled drab grey coverup.

He was almost sure he'd lost control of the situation, and it was important that he regain it. After all, he was in charge of Omega Station, since he was the local commander of the Consolidated Guard. And this man lounging before him was completely under his command.

Then why was Eversyn so nervous?

He twisted uncomfortably in his seat. "Uh, this is certainly a very pleasant place, Master—"

"Oh, please, no ceremony. Do call me Rudof. Everyone does." Dyll smiled, his thin lips stretching but not opening. With their suspiciously sumptuous red color, the smile gave the appearance of a dagger slash across his pale, narrow face.

Rudof Dyll was dressed in tight yellow breeches tucked into soft, low boots, a frilled, full sleeved shirt of a darker yellow, almost gold, and a vest heavy with embroidery and sparkling with jewels. The yellow-gold tones set off his hair, a deep coppery red, which was scraped back from his long face and imprisoned in a gold clasp, also sprinkled with jewels. His eyes, set behind long, long lashes with tiny jewels on the tips, were a bright green. Rings on his fingers; rings in his ears; one in his right nostril. 

Eversyn, without realizing it, sniffed in disapproval. "Very well, then…Rudof. This is a pleasant place to, uh, relax. But I'm at a bit of a loss. Why did you ask me to dine with you? We Connies are seldom asked to social events—especially when we've just searched the place, looking for a known fugitive."

Rudof Dyll's companion said, "Throob," in a deep, reverberating growl that shook the glasses on the table.

"Indeed, I couldn't have put it better myself, dear old thing." Rudof nodded at the Vamir, who sat on his left side and Eversyn's right at the table for four. "In case you don't understand Vamiri, Captain, Algensio just pointed out that I asked you to dine with us for no other reason than the pleasure of your company."

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