I am Kirk

I Am Kirk

Of all the many doctors, psychics and shrinks I've had enthralled by my indifferent and irreconcilable mind, almost all have recommended the same prescription to help me gain what tortured sleep I can. For one such as I, an assassin and one of distinguished if mysterious acclaim, you might think putting one's deeds to paper would be as incriminating as gunning down a target in the middle of a Tesabion alliance enforcement station. But should this manuscript ever be discovered, then hopefully I will already be long dead. Or at least, far from the clutches of prosecution. However if the embarrassing were to occur I will give you, the manuscript, a name to refer to myself as. You can call me Kirk.

You will find that I have written these words in my mothers tongue. She, of a far distant and insignificant planet called Earth. So insignificant in fact that it would take an interpreter as good in his field as I am in mine to decipher. But for me, this is my first language and with it I can easily describe my story in detail without too much fear of incrimination. Besides, these writings are for my own benefit, not yours.
For all intents and purposes I look like an Earth human male. Though as I reach my ninety fourth year, my Father's Tesabion blood staves off the wither of typical Earthly ageing. As I stare into a nearby reflector panel I see ruffled and unkept brown hair atop of my head. It's appearance is rarely tidier, for I have no vanity to speak of. My eyes are green and spaced at a favourable distance apart, perhaps a little narrow and sharp. Cruel, as a former lover once described them. I offer no excuse or apology for the ever present rough stubble on my cheeks that have scraped the soft skin of more than one paid lover. My height at my last check was a shade over two metres and I have a weight of around one hundred kilos. My stomach is hard and flat, surrounded by pale skin, tougher I think than an average humans'. For my various scars that decorate it would have surely ended most men's lives when they were cut into me. Most notably, I have an interesting reminder of a knife wound that runs just under the centre of my nose to the bottom of my chin. I have also lost the tip of my left ear that has left some skin blackened there. But in all I would hardly describe myself as gruesome. After all in my line of work I sometimes have the ominous pleasure of having to seduce my prey before I can destroy them. In fact it's one of these very cases that haunts me tonight.

I'd been in the lodgings of a dank and decidedly seedy hotel in the north-east sector of the old Tullen system for two hours (earth time) waiting for my quarry. I write seedy but that is the sorry state of the whole planet really. The Tullens are a self ruling people, and not very good at it. They have no enforcement to speak of but technically they are considered to be under the 'protection' of the almighty Tesabion Alliance. However, save for the meagre pickings the empire squeezes out of the planet every yearly cycle, Tesabions pay little attention to what goes on here. Tullen's atmosphere, if one could call it that, has no natural light at all. As one of its great moons constantly blocks its nearest sun, bringing on a state of permanent eclipse. Believe me it is only wondrous for a moment and when it does first grab you, you can be sure that some wretched life form is already spending the contents of your purse. In fact the only change in the weather is midway through the year when a series of gigantic storms rise up from the planet's only ocean and batter the bleak shoreline. Costal living is not an option here. Tullen has only one colony and it is situated at least three hundred miles inland from all directions of the sea but even then the mighty storms sometimes breach the living perimeter. It's little wonder that the natives carry that sickly grey complexion.

You may wonder why a man of my talents might be sent to such a hell hole of a system, but of course I had not come all this way to kill one of the useless locals, but a fellow off worlder who's presence, like mine, would barely disturb the putrid air.
The first knock at the thin metal sheeted door, I hardly let register as I perched upon the wide open window ledge. I continued to scowl at the noisy one person transporter capsules that darted between the bevy of other high rising buildings. My lodging here was about three miles up from the moist land surface and so I had quite a generous view of the artificial orange sun that bathed the city in an auburn glow, residing over the thousand other illuminations both from he capsules and the buildings themselves. Together they created a colourful allure, perhaps aided by the effects of the have empty bottle of mist stimulant dangling from my fist.
A second knock at the door gave me presence of mind to check the weapon of my client's choice one last time. A wickedly serrated dagger that would rip out whatever organ I attached it to. Having concealed it discreetly in the right sleeve of my dark overcoat, I'd covered the mess on the hotel room floor by the third knock. Before me, quivering at my glare was a plump comparative dwarf of a creature. Frightened, yet knowing blue eyes were set back in their sockets and appeared unanxious to connect with my own as they scanned the empty room behind me. Orlon, as I knew him to be, hid his emerald skin behind a bright purple robe, that made him rather to conspicuous for my liking. He waited for my nod before waddling in, barefoot and judging by his leathery looking feet he never had use for sandals.
"You have my answers? He croaked in broken Tesabion. His was not yet a occupied system but the alliance's influence meant that this was the most common language at this strand of the galaxy.
"I do. I replied, already bored of his soppy and fretted glances. Orlon nearly jumped out of his green skin when the door was hammered on again. His eyes pleaded for me to take charge of the situation.
"Why don't you let your wife's killer in? I asked him, with a slight taunting in my voice. The creature before me was positively quaking when he reached out to open the flimsy entrance. I had to turn away in disgust at the sign of such weakness, only regarding the scene again when I heard the mocking laughter of the new arrival in my room.
I instantly snarled at him. Guns weren't part of our deal. The confident looking Minder Raneir was of the same breed as my Father and a rather prominent member of the Tesabion business world.
"Good morning. He said cheerily at the dwarf, who cowered away.
"You!? He spluttered, backing up towards me. As soon as he got in range I snatched his paw like hands in a pair of sturdy cuffs, tightening them till Orlon released a high pitched cry.
"Kirk, what are you doing? Kill him! Orlon demanded hysterically.
I could have giggled at his request.
Minder was tall and slender, smartly attired in a one piece black suit, decorated with a distinctive grey breastplate that told of a man with some stature and wealth. I guessed he had to be in his second hundred year, although strangely he was looking much younger than when we first met. Obviously the thrill of the kill made this man more alive. I wondered if it would be the same for me, if by some bad luck I got to be as old as him.
"Sorry Orlon. I said, my tone belaying any real regret. "You've fallen for the oldest trick in my book. Turning back to Minder, I gestured for him to relinquish his weapon. "I specified no guns, Minder. I make the kill. Not you.
The man actually looked surprised by my sternness.
"I'm paying you a lot of -
"Save it! I snapped back. "The gun now, or maybe I'll take Orlon up on his original offer.
There came a long moments silence as Minder tried to match his will with mine. With an arrogant sneer he finally yielded and dropped the weapon before turning back to the dashed glimmer of hope on Orlon's face.
"I suppose you know why, old friend?
Orlon didn't reply. Even in his horrified state it would be an obvious conclusion of money and power over the business interests the two shared. As a virtual employee of Minder's, I knew the man's motives myself only to well. The two owned a cosmetics company, of course the produce was lost on me, but I could understand control. I'd been informed upon obtaining Orlon's personal file that the original founders and owner of the company had declared, in his last will, that they both share the responsibility of the firm. That was until the dead founder's offspring were old enough to take the reigns. Doubtless Minder was already plotting their doom also.
Minder's complacency convinced me that Orlon's wife had not been his first victim as he seemed to have long laid to rest the ghosts of shame that occasionally still visited me.
"But why my wife? Orlon screamed.
"A mere error on my part. And on yours. You should never let a female pilot such a powerful vessel.
I shook my head in disproval. Short of blowing a vessel to smithereens, a forced crash made to look like an accident was pathetically amateurish. Messy to. It had taken the unfortunate female three weeks to die.
The hapless looking Orlon bowed his head in morbid acceptance.
"Then I suppose I have my answers. He said.
Like a kill switch I ended the creatures humiliation. Launching the dagger directly into Minder's heart. Had I not already seen the astonished look on countless other victims, I might have enjoyed the man's final seconds as I moved in to retrieve the blade, yanking out the still pumping organ with it.
A disturbing shadow of greed instantly gripped Orlon's eyes as he dropped the fake cuffs. It was little wonder really. His species were of the few remaining cannibals that I knew of. I pretended not to notice as he carefully wrapped the heart away in a fine black cloth, expertly removing the dagger and then licking the blade clean.
"I'd pay you extra for the weapon that avenged my family. His choice of words were typical of a being trying to add justice and nobility to a murder. I often wondered if it helped one to sleep.
"My fee. I reminded him matter of factly. His bloodlust interrupted, Orlon returned to the nervous demeanour he had exuded up to the point of Minder's death.
"I owe you more than money Kirk.
"But your money is all I'm interested in. I quickly returned.
"I suppose it would not interest you to sample our new cosmetic range for males?
His attempted jest convinced me to narrow my eyes at him. Orlon quickly pulled a credit note for our agreed amount and I was already on my way out of the flimsy metal door. Unbeknownst to me at the time, but on my way to set in motion the death of a princess.