by T. R. Harris
Dal moved in closer, until he was only a foot from the shorter alien, forcing Lion/El to press his back against the side of the building and with no place to run. Dal towered over the creature, his stare drilling into the nervous eyes of the other, their bellies touching. “You know why I am here,” Dal growled. “Why did you not tell me you sold Hew’s properties to Adam Cain?”
Dal’s voice was like gravel, causing Lion/El to shrink even smaller under the intense onslaught of the kingpin’s powerful presence. “Adam Cain? Yes, yes, I did; however, it was understood that Sherri Valentine was the driving force behind the transaction, not Adam Cain. I did not think it significant enough to bother you.”
“Not significant!” Dal barked. “The most famous Humans in the galaxy move to Balamar, and you do not feel that is significant?”
“They are here simply to run minor businesses, away from Kanac and of no concern to you—”
“I will decide what is of concern to me!”
“They said they came here to retire,” Lion/El blurted in his defense. “It is the practice of spending leisure time at insignificant activities in their advancing years.”
“I know what retirement means, you scab! And you believed them?”
“It is what they told me.”
“You are as gullible as you are fat. A creature like Adam Cain does not retire; he is always on a mission. And he did not come to L-3 to manage a drinking establishment or other ancillary businesses, as you were told.”
“He has not?”
“No. He is here for other, more sinister purposes.”
“And you believe these sinister purposes involve you?”
Dal slapped the shorter alien across the face, not hard, but enough to focus his attention. “Of course I do, you fool! He is here investigating my activities.”
“Did he tell you that?”
Dal slapped him again. “Of course not; he did not have to! You have met the Humans, so you should know they are not here to wallow away their remaining years in obscurity on Liave-3. And if the rumors are true, these three were most-recently involved in a potentially catastrophic event facing the entire universe. The universe! They are heroes, not merchants. And now you believe they would simply toss everything aside to what … to run a tavern?” Dal shook his head. “No, they are here seeking information. Why else? Liave-3 has become the center of the galaxy, with thousands arriving daily seeking their fortunes in The Dead Zone. We are a hotbed of both legal and illegal activity. And with the unique status of the region, there is no formal government nor law enforcement with authority over us or the dead worlds. What is legal or not legal is a relative question. What better place for Human agents to operate than here? Think, Lion/El! And who is it that controls most of the activities on L-3?”
“That would be you, my friend, Dal.”
“Precisely. And that is why Cain is here, and now operating businesses that put him in direct competition with me. A perfect excuse for him and his team to be here.”
“Competition? They have but three small enterprises, and in Balamar. You control nearly an entire city.”
Dal pursed his purple lips. “At one time, that was true,” he said sourly. “But we both know that is changing. There is an influx of upstarts and other powerful entities coming to Kanac, many representing enormous organizations, and all seeking their share of what I have.”
“Maris-Kliss,” Lion/El whispered.
“Yes, MK, among others. All want their piece of the dead worlds. And now they are intruding upon my interests, squeezing me in every direction. And into this unstable environment, you allow Adam Cain to enter.”
“Perhaps he is here for one of the others and not for you.”
“The others are newcomers to Liave-3, still vying for position and power. I am the establishment, a being with ties throughout Kanac and The Zone. No, he is here for me; I can feel it. He even pretended he had not heard of me. Who on Liave-3 has not heard of Dal Divisen?”
“What then are you to do about him? After all, he is Adam Cain.”
Dal looked out of the alley toward the main street of Balamar. He sighed before turning his full attention back to Lion/El. “The better question is, what are you going to do about him?”
“Me … as in me alone?”
“That is correct. You have a relationship with the Humans; you sold them Hew Sans’ properties without my permission or my foreknowledge. For that, you are most to blame for my current situation. You must make amends, Lion/El; otherwise, the consequences for you will be severe.”
“Anything, my friend, Dal! What is it you wish?”
“Stay close to the Humans. Learn all you can about their activities. And this time, you will report to me on every move they make, every bit of information you discover. I want to know everything they do even before they do it. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly!”
“Good.” Dal placed a hand on the shoulder of the trembling being and squeezed—hard. “And Lion/El, if you fail me again, you will experience first-hand what the inside of a gravity generator is like, as your atoms become fused with those of one of my deadly power modules.”
“There will be no need, my friend. Since the beginning, I have been your loyal associate. You know this to be true. I will not fail you.”
Dal leaned in closer, staring into Lion/El’s yellow eyes. He said nothing more, instead letting the moment sink in on its own. He then released Lion/El and abruptly left the alley, returning to his transport, leaving Lion/El shaking and sweating, an emotional wreck.
After instructing his driver to return to Kanac, Dal leaned back in his seat, fuming with rage—and concern. Unfortunately, this Adam Cain complication was just one of a dozen critical situations he was dealing with at the moment, with more seeming to arrive daily. Since he first arrived on Liave-3 two years before, the planet—as well as his precious city of Kanac—had always been a fluid environment. But in the early days, he controlled the flow of events. Now the tide was shifting. There was a flood of newcomers, each with their own agendas, many of which now overlapped with his own. It took all his cunning and experience to stay one step ahead of those who would attempt to bring him down.
And now Adam Cain was on L-3.
This did not bode well. Already the Expansion and the Union were in a tense political struggle for control of The Dead Zone. It was even possible events could spiral out of control, resulting in a shooting war between the two galactic empires. And where would that leave Dal and all he’d built on Liave-3? The famous Adam Cain must be working for the Union. Why would he not? He is a Human, and the Orion-Cygnus Union is a Human-run organization. And if so, then he is but a harbinger of more sinister operations to come, and all aimed directly at him.
Fortunately, Dal Divisen was experienced enough to recognize when he was a target. And knowing now what weapon others would use against him, it was his job to negate this threat before his enemy could strike. He’d done it before. He would do it again.
Adam Cain and the other Humans had to be eliminated.
3
The roof of Capt. Cain’s Bar & Grill was covered in turquoise-colored metal and sloped at a radical angle to drain the frequent downpours that occurred at these latitudes. However, at the pinnacle of the roof was a flat section with a structure resembling a crow’s nest and topped with a similarly colored tin roof of its own. This area served as the private sanctuary of Adam and his friends, a place where they could retreat in the evening and observe the activities taking place, both on the street in front of the bar, as well as along the expanse of curving beach behind. The steady sea breeze was unobstructed at this height and provided them with a welcome respite from the heat of the day. A lone electric lantern hung under the tiny roof, casting them in soft, yellow light as the trio of Humans sat in comfortable wicker chairs around the solitary wooden table.
Thanks to the handiwork of their alien friends—Jym and Kaylor—the Humans were able to relax comfortably in their ro
oftop sanctuary in what approximated Earth gravity. The two had borrowed an internal gravity generator from one of Coop’s old derelict starships and installed it just below the building’s attic, which now served as Adam’s apartment. It was important for Adam and the others to maintain their Human strength in the lower gravity of Liave-3, otherwise their muscles would atrophy and they’d become just like every other being in the galaxy, weak and brittle-boned.
Adam was on his fourth rum and coke—or something similar to a rum and coke—with the alcohol lubricating his tongue enough that he was in the middle of a long diatribe regarding their current situation. Sherri had had her share of intoxicates as well, while Riyad abstained, as his religion required. They listened to Adam’s rant, not so much out of interest, but instead waiting for their turn to voice thoughts about … well, about anything. There was no agenda attached to the evening’s never-ending bitch-session.
“What is it with everyone?” Adam was saying. “They always read things into situations that just aren’t there.” He had related—ad nauseum—his earlier conversation with the alien Dal Divisen, and now he was venting. “We didn’t come here looking for trouble, but trouble always seems to find us. What are we, the three most unlucky Humans in the galaxy, or what?”
Riyad opened his mouth to speak, seeing an opportunity to answer the rhetorical question. But then Adam continued unabated.
“Fucking aliens! And who the hell does that Divisen asshole think he is? He called me a liar more than once. I’ve killed people for less than that.”
Riyad wasn’t so sure of that, but it sounded macho enough for the moment.
“And look down there,” Adam said, pointing along the radical slope of the roof to a clear view of Lan Road, the main street running through the center of Balamar. It was nearing midnight, yet the street was still filled with drunken and rowdy aliens of all makes and models. “It’s gotten so much worst since we came here, and most of the others in town are blaming it on us. It’s not our fault! They’re all from Kanac, where that double-asshole Divisen runs things.”
Riyad noticed a pair of burly aliens on the street below herding a half-dozen small four-legged dinosaurs along the thoroughfare, using periodic flash bolts fired into the air to keep them in line. Dinosaurs were the dominant indigenous animal life on L-3, which probably explained why there were no Primes at the top of the food chain. The planet was too primitive for Humanoid life to have evolved. At first, Riyad and his friends thought it would be fun living on a world inhabited by dinosaurs, but that wasn’t the case. Although most were harmless and about the size of cats and dogs, the occasional monster would wander into town and chew up a storefront before being scared off. However, this was rare since most of the larger animals shied away from the settlements. But the smaller ones were more ubiquitous and much more of a nuance. They liked to chew on power cables and forage through trash bins, reminding Riyad of rats back on Earth. But don’t be misled. There were also rat-like things on Liave-3, as well. However, they were five times as big as the terrestrial variety, disease-infected, and with nasty personalities. In many ways, they were worse than the dinosaurs.
Just then, another flash bolt lit up the street below. This one didn’t come from the rowdies harassing the herd of dinosaurs, but rather from a confrontation almost directly in front of Cain’s. An alien now lay dead as another approached, still holding his MK-17 flash pistol. He staggered up to his unmoving victim and yelled, before placing another bolt into the body at point-blank range.
There was no panic in the drunken alien’s demeanor; there was no law on Liave, merely a set of guidelines of which no one paid attention. There would be no police coming to arrest the killer or even a coroner to remove the body; the dinosaurs and rats served that purpose. In fact, the beasts were attracted to the area by the frequent killings, with each night providing a fresh supply of food for their hungry stomachs.
“Ain’t that some shit!” Adam said. “And right in front of the bar! You know we’re going to be blamed for that, too.”
“We need to do something about this,” Sherri announced, forcing herself into the conversation while Adam took a rare breath.
“Like what?” he asked. “No one’s willing—”
“You need to take the initiative,” Sherri continued. “It’s hurting business and giving Balamar a bad name. You—” she pointed at Adam—“you have to get some of the other merchants together and start policing the area.”
“That will just suck us into this mess,” Adam countered. “We always do that, and what has it gotten us: alternately banned from Earth and then welcomed back, heroes one moment and goats the next. I wish the friggin’ galaxy would make up its mind. It’s worse than dealing with a wom—”
“Just do what I say,” Sherri demanded. “No one’s happy with what’s going on here. But you’re right; we didn’t come here for this, and it’s only getting worse. We have to do something to stop it.”
Riyad snorted. “Besides running the outfitting business, the bar and the hotel, you’re saying we should now take an active interest in local politics?”
“It’s not politics. It’s survival. I’ve sunk everything I have into our little venture. We have to make it here … or nowhere.”
“But there’s no law on L-3, not even a hint of it,” Riyad continued. “We knew that going in. And all that group of aliens over in Gantoc ever do is record things, as if writing it down makes it official.”
“That’s where the ownership for our buildings is recorded,” Sherri pointed out. “If not for that, anyone could just come in here and take our property.”
“I’d like to see them try!” Adam blurted, just as he pulled the glass from his lips after another swig of alcohol, spraying both Sherri and Riyad in some of the dark liquid. They looked at each other and shrugged.
“And what if they did?” Riyad asked. “What can anyone do to stop people like Divisen from taking over?”
“I’d like to see him try!” Adam repeated.
“Give him time,” Riyad said, ignoring his friend. “He essentially came out and said it. We either do what he says, or they’ll be hell to pay. He’s trying to be another Kroekus if you ask me.”
“He’s just marking his territory,” Sherri stated. “We’re such a small-time operation that I can’t see him starting a war with us.”
“I’d like to see him try!”
Riyad and Sherri looked at each other again and sighed.
“Perhaps the time has come to put our friend to bed,” Riyad said. “It’s been a long day.”
“I’d like to see you try!”
In the end, Adam didn’t put up much of a fight. His friends guided him down the narrow stairway to the converted attic below that served as his apartment. Afterward, Riyad returned to his room at the back of the outfitting business, while Sherri retreated to the top floor of her hotel. She had the nicest accommodations, even as Adam had the largest. Riyad wasn’t that particular. He’d slept in worst places than his tiny storage room. At least here, he could be alone and contemplate his situation.
He wasn’t sure if his lot in life had improved much since coming to Liave-3. It just seemed like more of the same; asshole aliens and wannabe gangsters, all causing trouble. In a way, a lawless place like Liave-3 should have been right up his alley, considering his past. But that was a different Riyad Tarazi, a more brash and pragmatic Riyad. He was now in his mid-fifties and had lost a step or two along the way. He also had things to lose and friends he cared about.
Still, he dreamed of reliving some of that old adventure, some of that past glory.
Riyad fell onto his bed, sober but bone-weary. He had only sipped on a fruity non-alcoholic beverage all night—a lingering consequence of his Muslim faith.
Am I getting so old that now all I seek is the most peaceful path? There are riches beyond belief waiting in The Zone, yet here am I, a simple merchant letting the action pass me by. This is not like me. Or is it?
He close
d his eyes and let depression lull him to sleep. The new day would bring more … more of what? He was afraid the answer was more of the same.
4
Jay Williford pulled back the throttle on his tiny speeder and prepared to make the transition from space to atmosphere. His spaceship was called the David Lender, after a former friend of his who had set him on his current path—and then abruptly deserted him when things were at their lowest. The ship’s name served to keep the anger alive in case he ever ran into the asshole again. It gave him something to look forward to.
The craft had two sets of stubby wings; a larger pair below with a smaller stabilizing set above the fuselage. The ship resembled an old fighter aircraft from Earth; that was the reason he bought it. It was small enough, and with the right aerodynamics, that he got a real sensation of flying, even in space, which was the reason he was out here in the first place. But that’s another story.
However, the tiny spaceship did have its drawbacks.
Jay was dressed in an environmental suit, strapped into the pilot seat, and had been like this for the four days it took to get to the planet Hax’on. During that time, he utilized the suit’s waste-removal system to full advantage. Although he had a small sleeping bunk and stand-up toilet in the back, it was easier to stay in the suit and deal with the smell once he landed. The ship was too small to have internal gravity, so it didn’t matter where he slept. It was just easier to stay dressed and doze in the pilot seat than it was to fight with the spacesuit when the time came to land.
Jay had been on a dozen of the dead worlds but never Hax’on; however, each of the planets presented the same strange dichotomy. Here was a large, Earth-like world with a surface dotted by literally a million cities and towns, yet there was no traffic in the space above the planet or electronic chatter in the airwaves—in fact, no electronic noise at all. The planet was a hole on Jay’s scanners, the very definition of a dead world.