by T. R. Harris
He brought the Formilian warship down through the atmosphere then circled above the vast grounds of the facility, getting his bearings. He could see clearly the patchwork of warehouses set off by themselves, which in better times, would have been full of product awaiting shipment to various parts of the galaxy. Unfortunately, he didn’t see any starships resting on the ground. A detailed surface scan using the magnification feature also failed to pick up any bodies strewn about. Like good little pirates, the killers picked up after themselves.
After scanning the scene below for a few minutes, another possibility came to Riyad. He set the ship down on the surface so he could investigate his newly formed suspicions.
Wearing a heavy protective suit, Riyad began to walk along the rows of grey buildings. He didn’t have to search them all; only a relative few showed signs of having been opened. However, what piqued his curiosity from the air only made him more so on the ground.
Jay said there was a single container of superweapons at the facility. However, more than a dozen of the warehouses had their doors blasted open, and by something that launched bolts similar to the super rifle he’d fired on Liave-3. Why would they have to do that, when Jay already had the combination to the warehouse with the single storage container?
After inspecting a number of the open buildings—and finding them empty—a very disturbing thought clouded Riyad’s conspiratorial mind.
Perhaps his good friend Jay Williford had lied to him.
Standing there in the dead silence of the vacant warehouses, Riyad pursed his lips, growing angrier by the moment—at himself. Why had he simply accepted the fact that there was only one container of superweapons? Who does that, anyway; go through all the time, development and money to create such a superior weapon and then only manufacture four hundred of them? In hindsight, it was naive of him to think that was all there were. And now, looking at the gaping doorways of the warehouses—and all isolated to a single area of the facility—he had no idea how many weapons there truly were. It had to be in the thousands, tens of thousands. Enough to supply a war.
Why would Jay lie to him? The answer was obvious: so he could keep the bulk of the weapons for himself. But to get away with it would require the ultimate ruse, such as a fake attack by anonymous pirates and the death of everyone involved.
Riyad wasn’t buying it, at least not any longer. Jay swindled him. He’d taken all the weapons for himself and even stolen the Ed Gibson.
However, Riyad knew how much decon foam Jay had with him, and it wasn’t enough to even come close to cleaning a dozen warehouses worth of shipping containers. Unless the warehouses had kept the pods radiation-free; that was a possibility. Or perhaps Jay made other arrangements to haul the hot cargo. But to where?
The only possibility that came to mind was Dasnon. Sure, it wasn’t as populated as Liave-3, but it was deep in The Zone, and another of the oasis planets passed over by Kracion. Jay could stash his cargo there until he could sell the weapons. And he could take his time. After all, who would be looking for him? He’s supposed to be dead and the cargo lost, never to be seen again.
At this point, the details didn’t matter. Riyad was convinced Jay was behind this, and that he’d played Riyad for a sucker. The hustler had been hustled.
Riyad spent another thirty minutes on the planet before returning to his ship. He couldn’t let Jay get away with this, and the highlight of Riyad’s ruminating was that there was a good chance the Ed Gibson was okay, and just sitting somewhere waiting for him to find it. That would go a long way to patching things up with his partners. And above all else, that was Riyad’s main priority. That, and killing Jay Williford—for real this time.
16
The fact that the pirate ship returned to Kanac with its payload of prototype weapons confirmed Jay’s suspicions that the city was the raiders’ base of operation. And since they had intimate knowledge of his salvage operation, it was also a given they knew his identity. To show up in public could be a problem. Pirates didn’t like witnesses.
Keeping the oversize coat covering his head, Jay made it into the spaceport admin building. The rest of the property was fenced to keep stray dinosaurs from entering the grounds. For pedestrian traffic, the building was the only way in or out of the property.
As he entered, he was nervous as a cat. Pirates didn’t wear uniforms identifying their occupation; they could be anyone. And Jay was fairly well-known in Kanac. He’d been working either security or engaging in salvage operations for over a year, and Humans weren’t that common on L-3. He stood out like a sore thumb.
He had to find a place to hide; however, he had no money, and the only true friends he had were several miles away in Balamar, through open jungle too dangerous to cross on foot. Jay would have to make it into Kanac instead and hopefully get lost in the mad crush of the frenetic population.
Jay did have one ace up his sleeve, someone who might provide him shelter or at least front him the money for a ride into Balamar. He was the broker Jay was working with to sell the weapons. He had a couple of offices in the area, one in Kanac and the other in Balamar. With luck, he would be in the boomtown, where most of his activities took place. Getting to his office without being recognized would be the issue.
Kanac had almost magically appeared out of the forest two years before, following a huge fire that started near where the spaceport now sat. When monsoon rains finally extinguished the flames, a large swath of the jungle was clear, and enterprising individuals moved in to erect prefab structures, providing a place for the recent refugees and other transients to stay. The city grew from there, following no civic plan. With the proliferation of cold fusion reactors for power and ample rainfall in the area, buildings were placed just about anywhere without regard to utility hookup or even sewer considerations.
It was after Kracion disappeared, making it safe to reenter The Dead Zone, that the population of Kanac exploded. Within a relatively short number of light-years were a hundred worlds, each of which once supported advanced civilizations, along with all the trappings that went with that distinction. And everything was sitting there, waiting to be reaped.
Now even Kanac couldn’t keep up with the influx of fortune hunters, as well as the peripheral industries that supported them. Six other settlements were experiencing similar booms, although Kanac was still the largest; however, unlike some of the newer cities—which were employing at least some semblance of planning in their development—Kanac was a big, ugly, smelly mess. And add to this the fact that there was no law on Liave-3, and you had the makings of a disaster waiting to happen.
Jay came to the city with his ex-friend David Lender, two of the thousands of beings from across the galaxy with dollar signs in their eyes. Of course, for the bulk of the Milky Way, that meant Juirean credits. Either way, it was the lure of easy money that built Kanac. It would eventually be its downfall.
It was hot in the city—it was always hot—and Jay’s coat/cloak only made it worse. Not only that, but he’d worn the same undergarment and bulky overalls for almost a week. He’d used whatever hidden corner in the sub-gravity barrier corridors to urinate and defecate, but the smell still lingered on him. Fortunately, all aliens had a particular odor; his just happened to be especially overpowering.
He was jostled by the constantly moving crowds along the muddy streets, many of whom expressed their displeasure at being so close to him. As a Human, and therefore smaller than the bulk of other aliens, he was often pushed into the street to keep his offensive smell away. This had the benefit of keeping him anonymous. No one paid him much attention, preferring to put as much distance between them and the walking cesspool as possible.
Jay made it to the broker’s building an hour after leaving the spaceport. There was no security, so he entered and climbed the first flight of stairs. However, when he entered the outer office, the assistant stood up suddenly and aggressively, demanding that the bum leave the premises.
Removing the coat, the assis
tant recognized him. His name was Cazaa; he frowned and nearly puked.
“Mon Jay, I could smell your approach up the stairs. What has happened to you?”
“It’s a long story. Is he in?”
“He is; however, I suspect you will not be welcome.”
“Just let him know I’m here.”
A moment later, Cazaa opened the inner door to the office and backed away.
Lion/El sat behind his desk, dressed in his customary purple coat, one of his four hands clutching an orange-colored drink.
“I wondered what that smell was. Now I am told it is you. I do not know for how long I can tolerate.”
“I need your help, Lion/El.”
“Indeed … to a washing.” The face of the fat, short alien then brightened. “You had embarked on the recovery of the weapons! Have you returned with them? That would be a most pleasing result.”
Cazaa came into the room, carrying a pile of mismatched clothing. He dropped them on the floor next to Jay. “These are surplus. Please change into them so I can burn your existing clothing. I will wait outside.”
Jay didn’t argue. He began to undress, experiencing no embarrassment at stripping in front of the alien. It was like changing in front of your dog. He continued talking as he changed clothes.
“We hit a snag. Raiders attacked us. All of my team was killed except for me. And they took the weapons.”
“Then, the operation has failed?”
“For now.” Jay could see Lion/El had no sympathy for the loss of life. All he cared about was the salvage and his commission.
“How did you return to L-3?”
“I stowed away aboard the main pirate ship. It landed here at Kanac.”
“It did?”
“Yeah, and there’s more. I think I know where the weapons were taken. And not only that, but there may be a lot more treasure there than just the weapons. I think I’ve found where the pirates are storing all their stolen goods. It’s all there for the taking.”
Lion/El’s face turned red, and he shook his head. “I see not why you feel our prospects have improved. This location you speak of must be a raider stronghold.”
Jay finished dressing then carried his soiled clothing into the front office, tossing them onto Cazaa’s desk. He wasn’t sure if the change of clothes helped; he could still smell himself. It was pretty gross.
Back in Lion/El’s office, he resumed his briefing. “It’s somewhere on L-7, not far from here. They’re probably storing things in some of the larger mines. Although the planet has a pretty thin atmosphere, I understand some of them are pressurized and have recycled air. There can’t be many like that.”
“Are you proposing venturing into what is essentially the pirate’s bank and stealing from them? There will be guards.”
“Sure, but a small security force could probably take them out if we come in unseen. Just think of it, Lion/El. Not only the weapons but a lot of other stuff.”
“It is too risky.”
“Too risky … for a forty million credit payoff?”
Lion/El blinked several times. “I … I do not understand. You said the weapons were worth two million. Are you assuming we take everything the pirates have accumulated? That would be insanity and require an army … and a fleet.”
“I’m just talking about the weapons.”
“I do not understand.”
“I underestimated the number. There’s something like twenty thousand of them, not twenty-four hundred. And get this, they have all been taken from Hax’on and moved into the Liave system, less than an hour by spaceship from here. Convenient, wouldn’t you say?”
Lion/El couldn’t decide whether this was good news or not, and the erratic bobbing of his head conveyed that fact. “There are still guards. And, and twenty thousand weapons would require larger and numerous transports.”
“Which you could get for us,” Jay said, pacing the room, refusing to sit. He’d been cooped up in a tiny airlock for the past five days. And now he was too excited to relax. “Just think, no one’s going to get upset if we raid the pirate’s secret hideaway.”
“None but the pirates.”
“That’s true, but once it’s done, there’s not much they can do to get their treasure back. They’ve been stealing from the salvagers of Liave-3 for years. No one’s going to feel sorry for them.”
“But … the logistics. And the risk.”
“No pain, no gain, as they say on my planet.”
“Humans are known to be insane. This only proves it.”
Jay had dealt with the broker before, and he knew that eventually, the idea of making millions of credits would win him over. He would let the idea simmer with Lion/El, at least until he had a chance to hook up with Riyad and the others. At the moment, Jay needed a bath and some food, as well as a safe place to stay.
“Just think about what I’ve told you,” Jay said. “In the meantime, can you get me a room and something to eat? And since the pirates came to Kanac, I don’t want to be seen in public. They think I’m dead.”
Lion/El hesitated.
“C’mon, buddy. Don’t you want to make a shitload of credits?”
“Pardon? I … I do not know if I do, not if the translation I just heard is correct.”
“It means a whole lot of credits, more than you’ve ever imagined.”
Lion/El sighed deeply. “I will place you in a secure location, temporarily. I imagine you will be contacting your fellow Humans, enlisting their assistance, especially Riyad Tarazi. He will not be happy to learn of the failure of his current sponsorship. Will he wish to help a second time?”
“It will be his loss if he doesn’t, leaving more for the two of us. After I get cleaned up and fed, we’ll take a drive over to Balamar. You’re pretty good friends with Sherri and Adam. It would go a long way in getting their help if you were with me.”
“I am not that good of friends,” Lion/El admitted. “However, I will consider your offer. But for now, please leave my office. Cazaa will show you where to go. Do not return until you smell better.”
17
After Jay left, Lion/El spent the next several minutes in silent contemplation. He was anguished, the choices before him greater than any in his life.
On the one hand, the Human had a point. Lion/El had the potential to make millions of credits by assisting him. But did he really? He knew things which the Human did not, factors that negated much of what he had said.
Yes, the raiders used the planet Masnin to stage their bounty prior to sale. Few beings in The Dead Zone knew this. Unfortunately, Lion/El was one of them. And it was because of that fact that everything else Jay Williford said—about the guns, about the hidden treasure, about raiding the raiders—did not matter.
Lion/El was born on Liave-3 many years ago in the coastal settlement of Balamar, and long before the planet became the center of the universe. His birth parents came here looking for a new start, a place where they would be accepted by the other immigrants who had settled this unknown land. He’d grown up with pet dinosaurs, and with friends who had long since departed, either dead or driven away by the ugliness that L-3 had become.
Lion/El survived because he had a different mindset. He knew everyone and everything that happened in Balamar and the neighboring communities, becoming one of the premier facilitators; a being who could get things done. The problem was there wasn’t a lot that needed doing in quiet Balamar in those early days.
Several years ago—before the time of Kracion—a renegade Human starship repair technician named Copernicus Smith established a small shipyard and repair facility just south of Balamar, along the picturesque coast. For a few years, he helped bring relative prosperity to Balamar, spending credits to clean it up and make it a more attractive place to live. But then that ended abruptly when a Juirean warship landed at the shipyard without warning. After that, Copernicus was never seen again, and Balamar regressed back to its former state.
Then the Mad Aris Kracion arriv
ed in the Kidis Frontier.
The tiny planetary population lived in fear for many months, too poor to afford passage off the planet and with no resources others found worth defending.
In the end, Kracion decided Liave-3 wasn’t worth the bombs and passed them by. At first, those on the planet were relieved, but then reality set in. This entire region of the Kidis Frontier was now a wasteland, and the planet fell off the transit lines, depriving the population of fresh supplies and even the little commerce that had once helped sustain the fledgling communities. Food processors ran out of stock, fusion reactors of pellets, and even the few short-range starships based on the planet saw their power modules drain away to nothing. The people of L-3 returned to a more primitive existence, hunting for food and cooking over open fires.
Then suddenly, it all changed.
It began with the arrival of a dozen refugee ships from the surrounding systems; however, this only made the situation worse. The refugees fled from their homes with barely the clothes on their backs—except for the incredible wealth they carried in the form of Juirean credits, precious metals, and other trinkets of immeasurable value. Financial lords and powerful politicians were the first to arrive, having looted their institutions on the way off their homeworlds. The problem came when they found nothing on Liave-3 worth buying.
For the time being, most of the refugees stayed aboard their ships, since no accommodations were available for them elsewhere. Then a few enterprising individuals pooled their fuel mods and sent ships to other parts of the Frontier to buy more. Soon they returned, and the first wave of refugees left the planet with their recharged starships, moving farther into the Expansion in search of worlds where their wealth meant something.
That was about the time one of the refugee ships crashed just inland from Balamar, with the subsequent fire clearing a small section of the jungle, creating the first traces of what would become the Kanac Spaceport.