by T. R. Harris
“Take him!” the Rigorian yelled.
Adam whipped around to the others. They stared back at him… until one took a step. In hindsight, the movement was probably more toward the door than at Adam, but by then it didn’t matter. He’d already reacted. After that, it became a matter of self-defense for the aliens.
Skulls cracked and bones broke, and in the end, the four creatures lay dead on the deck of the pilothouse. The fight only lasted ten seconds, but by then the Rigorian had turned tail—literally—and was heading for the exit hatch. Adam sprinted after him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him back. The large, alligator-like being turned and snapped at his arm with a mouth lined with two-inch-long teeth. Adam recoiled just in time, and then out of anger, slapped the long snout of the beast, causing the Rigorian to yelp in pain.
“Stop it! Stop!” Adam yelled as he would to a disobedient dog.
The beast crouched, presenting Adam with the back of his neck, a sign of submission. This is a first, he thought. I think I like it.
Rigorians were primarily packed animals. That’s why this one felt bravest with the other aliens backing him up. But alone, he was more docile and subservient. It saved his life.
“Get up. Go into the other room. Go.”
The seven-foot-tall lizard obeyed. Adam forced him down on the couch of the common room.
“What the hell were you thinking? That was stupid. No one needed to get hurt. Now, where’s the crew? You better start talking—”
“The Cartel has them.”
“The Cartel? Like in the Gradis Cartel?”
“Yes, we are very strong on Sasin.”
“Why does the Cartel have them?”
“They have been hunted, and for some time as I understand. They escaped into the city initially, but only an hour ago they were apprehended. I was sent here to salvage the ship; that is all.”
“Are they okay?”
“The crew?”
“Yes, the crew, you idiot.”
“Reports have not indicated otherwise.”
“Where were they taken?”
“To the Sector.”
Adam slapped the long snout again. “I don’t know anything about Sasin! What is the Sector?”
“The Gradis Sector.”
Adam lifted his hand again.
“It is west of here, on the outskirts of Yanish-kas,” the Rigorian blurted.
“How many Gradis are there?”
The yellow eyes of the lizard blinked. “I do not know.”
“Hundreds or thousands?”
“Hundreds, I would guess. There are also recruits who have not yet been initiated.”
“How far is it…to the Sector?”
“Far, and through the city.”
Adam had seen the city from the air. He wasn’t looking forward to making a trek through its dangerous slums.
“Is that your hovercopter outside?”
“Yes. I am of senior rank. I rate air transport.”
Adam took the creature by the shirt and pulled him from the couch. “You’re going to fly me to your base. And let me warn you, I know how to fly one of those things, so if you give me any trouble, I’ll kick you out the door.”
Honestly, Adam didn’t know how to fly a hovercopter, but the Rigorian didn’t know that.
Two minutes later, Adam and the alien were airborne in the tiny three-seater.
17
The Gradis Cartel Sector was a designated area west of Yanish-kas sitting between two sets of low-lying hills. Sixteen buildings made up the main complex, surrounded by a sizeable buffer zone of open land with its own small landing field and repair facilities. It was much smaller than any of the ‘color sectors’ but larger than that of their competing criminal organization, the Cassor Confederation.
Within the wide buffer zone was several tents where the recruits were housed during the evaluation process. Volunteers for the Cartel were not hard to find on Sasin; however, the Cartel still needed to weed through them to find the best candidates. Even criminal organizations had their standards. Members had to pledge complete loyalty to the Cartel. They were being inducted into a galaxy-wide army, and honest devotion was required, and not simply a desire to leave Sasin. Only about ten percent of the volunteers made the cut.
The Cartel maintained a fairly decent-sized detention center in the Sector, a necessity because of the dregs of society passing through their system. Illegal activities—at least illegal according to the Gradis—was not tolerated within the criminal organization.
Summer, Tidus and Monty were still groggy from the gas when they arrived at the Sector. They were herded out of a larger hovercopter and into one of the ugly buildings near the center of the complex. Summer strained to keep an eye on the Cartel member carrying her bow and quiver. She was suffering from separation anxiety; she couldn’t remember the last time the weapon was out of her possession. It was so much a part of her that she considered it her baby.
Fortunately, the guard with the bow came with them into the building and up to the third-floor detention center. She watched as he placed the weapon behind a receiving counter in the outer sentry station to the cell block, as well as a small bag with their MKs. Yes, she was a prisoner of the Cartel; however, she didn’t feel defeated. Whether knowing that J’nae was inside her, or that Adam Cain was on his way, she felt her captivity was only a temporary situation, and that soon she would be reunited with her precious child.
They passed through a set of double doors and into a wide room with barred cells lining both sides. A few were occupied by dejected looking inmates who eyed the newcomers with vacant curiosity. These were creatures who had been rejected for membership in the Cartel and then committed some crime against the organization. Their futures looked bleak. The arrival of the new guests to the cellblock was nothing more than a mild distraction.
Summer and Tidus were placed in separate cells on one side of the room, while Monty was placed on the other side. Summer wondered if that was intentional; to keep the two Humans apart from one another? It didn’t matter. The guards left the room, leaving them alone with just the other guests of The Hotel Gradis.
Tidus and Monty didn’t share Summer’s confidence in the temporary nature of their captivity. They were dejected. Monty sat on the thin cot in his cell, pulling up his shirt to inspect his oozing wound.
“How is it?” Summer asked from her cell.
“It’s fine; as well as can be expected. At least nothing has cracked open too wide.”
“Hang in there, dad, everything will—”
She was interrupted when the double doors opened, and a small entourage of aliens entered, led by TeraDon Fief. He stepped directly to Summer’s cell. A strange irony struck her; that with all the wild fighting taking place back at Anoc’s house, it was a strange—yet fortunate—set of circumstances that made the Gradis their saviors, their means of getting out of the fray.
J’nae’s presence had receded somewhat, to a point Summer felt the two personalities were on equal footing, like having a confidant she could talk to without others overhearing. The alien inside her now watched and analyzed the situation; even though Summer sensed she would be ready if needed. Summer was upset that she found the thought reassuring. She didn’t want to become dependent on the phantom presence as a way out of every mess she got herself into. She wanted to do some of the hero stuff herself.
Summer took a moment to scan the handsome form of her alien captor. She scoffed at her reaction. She’d already gone googles over the Formilians back at the Colony Ship, but then Sherri Valentine explained that was par for the course since their powerful sexual pheromones had the same effect on a lot of races. Sherri then went on to explain how the ancient Aris engineered the Formilians that way; all part of their plan to create the Apex Being. But TeraDon was not Formilian. He was, however, ruggedly built, tall and broad-shouldered, with piercing blue, almond-shaped eyes. She conceded; he was handsome, in an alien sort of way.
But he was also
her enemy, and from the sensations she got from J’nae, Summer knew the alien presence considered him one as well. From her brief experience with J’nae, that did not bode well for TeraDon’s prospects among the living….
“So what now?” she asked the alien.
“Unfortunately, your stay with us will be brief,” TeraDon stated. “The Cartel has been hired by a powerful client to secure you and the others. He will be here soon to take possession. What happens after that, I cannot say.”
“You know you’re making a mistake,” said Summer’s voice. She realized instantly it was J’nae speaking through her. “We are not the ones you seek.”
TeraDon nodded. “The client is aware that something is amiss. That is why he is anxious to meet you in particular. He was expecting something different, and now he must know the reason for the discrepancy.”
“You should be warned that we have powerful friends.”
“As well does the client. It will be interesting to see which party prevails.”
“That was cryptic. Who is your client?”
TeraDon grinned. “I will leave that as a mystery for now, simply because you are curious. Patience. Soon all will be revealed.”
He smiled at his other captives, appearing pleased with himself. Then he left, a spring in his step.
Monty came to the front of his cell. “Can your little friend get us out of this?” he whispered across the space between him and Summer.
“She’s biding her time, waiting for an opportunity.”
“That doesn’t sound too encouraging.”
Summer shrugged. There wasn’t much she could do unless J’nae could bend iron bars or hack locking mechanisms with her mind.
“You heard that some bigwig is on his way,” Monty said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
She could see the wheels turning in Monty’s head, wondering who would get to Sasin first: Adam Cain or the mysterious client? Adam should be arriving at any time, for what good it would do. They weren’t at the Forty, and they had no way to contact him. Add to that, they were prisoners of the Cartel, a fact Adam would have no way of knowing. It was obvious to her—and hopefully J’nae, as well—that it was up to them to determine their fate and not the great Adam Cain.
During the fifteen-minute hovercopter flight, the great Adam Cain had time to consider his options once he got to the Sector. Thanks to a more-talkative Rigorian, he knew where the team was held, although he had no idea what resistance he would encounter. For all his imposing presence, the lizard-creature was a technician and not a soldier for the Cartel. He’d never been to the detention center, so he was no help with the layout or security protocols.
Adam came armed with a single MK-84 plus a basic ’17 he’d taken from the Rigorian. It was hardly the firepower he would need to break in and out of a heavily-guarded fortress. However, he did have his automatic telepathy device, which none of the Cartel knew anything about. That would help him against many of the weapons and security locks he would find along the way. It would also help should he get caught.
But no matter which scenario he worked out in his mind, it would still be an uphill battle within unfamiliar territory. He would be flying blind. And he always risked getting shot and/or killed.
After a moment, he sighed, resigned to the only option opened to him. He leaned forward to speak over the shoulder of his Rigorian pilot.
“How would you like to be the hero of the day?”
“I do not understand?”
“You know I’m pretty well-known throughout the galaxy, and especially within the Cartel. We have a history together. So, how would you like to be the one who captures the infamous Adam Cain? How would that look on your resume?”
“Resume?”
“On your record with the Cartel. And before you answer, think for a minute how you have four dead colleagues back at the ship, and now you’re flying one of the Cartel’s mortal enemies into their secure base. You can either come out of this a hero or looking like an incompetent traitor. The choice is yours.”
“I am confused. Are you surrendering to me?”
“That’s the plan. But for this to work, you can’t let your bosses know it was my idea. If you did, you’d look like an accomplice rather than the courageous Cartel member who captured the deadly Adam Cain.”
“Why would you do this? I am currently your prisoner. Besides, I will not be held responsible for what happened at the spaceport. You attacked us.”
“But they will hold you responsible, when I tell them how you ran away at the first sign of trouble, leaving the others to die.” Adam pointed ahead. “That’s your base, isn’t it? You better hurry; I’m going to need an answer.”
“Of course, I would prefer to be a hero.”
“Excellent! I was hoping you would say that.” Adam removed his MK-84 and the ’17 and handed them up to the Rigorian. “Before you get any smart ideas, I’ve disabled these weapons, but no one else will know except you and me. Just march me up to your superiors; that’s all you have to do. Now, who is your boss, the person in charge?”
“Saz Daen leads the Sector, yet the senior official running the operation that captured your associates is Second-Level Kali TeraDon Fief.”
“Be sure to let him know who I am and why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?”
Adam shook his head. “Really; you have to ask? I’m here to rescue my friends. Dammit, can you be any dumber?”
The Rigorian bristled. “My name is not Dammit. It is Aligart. And I am not dumb. I merely sought clarification.”
“Yeah, whatever, just get ready. Oh, and buddy, enjoy the fame while you can. It won’t last. Believe me; I know.”
18
The former Gradis Cartel headquarters building on Navior, which Adam’s daughter Lila destroyed, had been made of a series of huge polyurethane balls strapped together by cables, creating a bubble-looking pyramid. The buildings on Sasin had also been constructed from sprayed foam, making it possible for the Cartel to construct their tiny city on Sasin in record time and without the need of outside material or labor. But these structures weren’t made in the shape of balls, but instead what looked like sheets of rough plastic spread across the ground before being tilted into position. They now formed a complex series of boxes and lean-tos, with no style or overall plan, just something to protect the occupants from the weather. Adam found it to be one of the ugliest designs he’d seen in the galaxy, but congruent with other parts of Yanish-kas.
“Where’s the detention center?” he asked Aligart, his reluctant accomplice.
“Third structure on the left from the center.”
“Land as close as you can to the building.”
“That is against protocol. It will prompt an alert.”
“That’s fine. You’ll be forgiven once they see who you brought. Just say for security reasons you felt it best to get me as close to the prison as possible.”
Aligart nodded his huge head. “In that case, we shall need a quick approach, else we will be challenged in the air.”
“I’m sure you have the necessary piloting skills. Okay, get ready. Here we go.”
The tiny propeller-driven hovercopter shot over the small barrier that was the boundary of the Cartel Sector and raced for the cluster of buildings about three kilometers away. The comm unit in the craft came to life instantly.
After listening to the protest, the Rigorian opened the link. “This is Junior-Stansi Aligart, returning from the merchant spaceport with a high-priority prisoner. Requesting a security detail be waiting at the east entrance to Building Nine.”
The voice on the speaker wasn’t satisfied with the answer and continued to protest the copter’s approach. Sasin—and Yanish-kas in particular—was a dangerous place, even for the Cartel. Desperate people were dangerous, especially if they’d just been rejected by the Cartel and left with no other prospects other than a lifetime of misery on Sasin. At that point, suicidal revenge seemed a fitting solution. Theref
ore, any craft approaching the complex without authorization was considered a threat.
However, at the speed of the hovercopter, Aligart reached the complex before he could be stopped. In a cloud of whirling dust, he brought the craft in for a jarring landing in a field of blackish-brown dirt about fifty meters from the entrance to Building Nine. Swarms of armed aliens came running from all directions.
Aligart stepped out of the round cockpit and raised his arms, a weapon in each hand. He wore the uniform and insignia of the Cartel, but that proved nothing. Uniforms could be forged. The fifteen soldiers guarding the hovercopter held their weapons steady, focusing their attention on Aligart and not the figure in the backseat. Adam slipped out through the open door, his arms also held to his side, showing nothing was in his hands.
The troops moved forward.
“What is the meaning, Aligart?” one of the aliens growled, recognizing the Rigorian. Adam found association with the Cartel to be unnerving since the organization was made up of hundreds—if not thousands—of different races. There were no dominant species to identify as the leaders. It was the same in this conglomeration of ugly and exotic fantasy creatures.
“Inform First-Stansi Jaoni that I have apprehended the Human Adam Cain.”
Aligart’s friend—a block-headed beast with a wicked set of horns protruding from the sides of his skull and wrapping halfway around his face—shot his attention to Adam. Although his name was recognized, his face wasn’t.
“This is Adam Cain? How… how did you capture him?”
“He came to the ship on which I was working, and there I subdued him. Unfortunately, my team was killed in the process.”
“Yet you survived! My admiration.”