by T. R. Harris
A creaking sound distracted him from his reverie at the window. A problem with this type of construction was that it wasn’t very sturdy. There was a constant symphony of noises that made it hard to sleep, although he doubted he’d have much trouble tonight. It was nearly a week since he slept in a real bed, and that had been a bunk aboard the Ed Gibson. Even the basic pad in the hotel room was better than that.
However, unlike other sounds, these seemed to be getting closer to Jay’s door. He was suddenly alert, snapping back to the reality that he was in a lot of danger being in Kanac and with a ship-full of killer pirates roaming the streets. Had they found him? Did the creaking portend an attack?
Jay slipped on the shoes Cazaa had given him and was just pulling the alien t-shirt over his head when the door to his room shattered inward. He dove for the floor on the other side of the bed as four grey-skinned aliens burst in, each armed with deadly MK-17 bolt launchers. Flares shot out, striking the bed and setting it on fire.
Jay grabbed for the leg of the small table, where moments before he’d downed the brown mush that served as food in the alien universe. The table wasn’t heavy; few things were heavy for a Human on Liave-3.
Jay pulled the table to him, and then with one hand, hurled it over the burning bed at his attackers. They dodged the incoming with aplomb, yet it was enough of a distraction for Jay to jump up and get moving. He was athletic, twenty-five-years-old, toned and muscular. He was also quick and coordinated, at least by alien standards, even if he wasn’t a trained fighter. He’d been a helmsman in the Navy, which didn’t provide him with a lot of experience in hand-to-hand combat; however, his time in the bars of Kanac gave him a little taste of what it was like to fight the standard alien. With a sadist grin, Jay jumped, thinking to himself, this is going to be fun.
It was anything but.
He body-slammed the first alien hitman, his heavier-than-expected weight toppling the assailant and throwing him into another of the attackers. His advantage lasted a total of three seconds before the other two fell on top of him. With frantic hands, Jay reached for any alien body part he could find. Grasping the fingers of a hand, he twisted with all his strength, evoking an ear-piercing screech of pain from one of the grey creatures. Next he lashed out with a knee, catching another in the rib cage. Something snapped, accompanied by another guttural grown.
But now the other two were hitting him, using their MKs as clubs. He took a decent blow to the forehead that momentarily stunned him. Fortunately, he stumbled back into the second unhurt assassin, knocking him off balance. Jay recovered before the alien with the weapon could strike again.
Aliens weren’t only weaker than the typical Human, they also had slower reactions, and in the heat of battle, as Jay’s eye and hand coordination increased, it was as if his attackers shifted into slow motion while he became The Flash. Each thrown punch was easily blocked or avoided, and the speed of his fists became blurs, often striking tender flesh with not so much as an effort in defense.
The entire attack took less than thirty seconds. By then, all four of his attackers were either dead or severely injured. And that’s when the other four rushed into the room.
These guys were fresh and unhurt. They also came with weapons, sending more brilliant balls of plasma streaking into the room and setting what wasn’t already ablaze on fire.
That was it for Jay. The room was burning, and there was no way out except through the single door, which conveniently was nothing but kindling at this point. He dropped a shoulder and ran forward, crashing into the mass of aliens like a fullback hitting the defensive line. They flew away to either side, allowing him to enter the hallway, where another two aliens were approaching from the main stairway.
He turned in the opposite direction, dodging incoming flash bolts as he made for the end of the corridor. There was no way out, but there was a set of doors to either side. He picked the one on the left and smashed through it as if it was balsa wood—which was a very real possibility on L-3.
Two green aliens huddled on the floor near the opposite wall, cowering in fear from the sounds of the fight taking place down the hall. Bug eyes watched Jay as he sprinted to the window and threw it open. There was no fire escape, but the next building over was only about twenty feet away. He backed up, then quickly gathering his will, ran forward again, jumping through the opening just as more flash bolts raced past him.
Human muscles gave him an extra boost, and he flew through the humid air like Superman. Yes, Jay Williford was finally having his Superman moment.
The problem: he wasn’t Superman, and rather than land with grace and skill on the roof of the adjacent building, he tumbled head-first onto the mold-and-puddle-soaked tar that covered the top of the structure. The heat of the day had turned the black sealant into a sticky mess, which pulled at his thin clothing as he rolled head over heels, coated now in the gooey fluid.
At least he was alive—if he could avoid the flash bolts fired from the window of his former hotel. Fortunately, aliens were miserable shots, relying primarily on targeting computers in their weapons rather than natural ability. The problem with targeting computers was they were notoriously bad against rapidly moving targets. And Jay was moving … rapidly. He ducked behind a water cistern to catch his breath. His attackers wouldn’t—couldn’t—make the leap to the rooftop, and after he was out of sight, they left the window, having to run down four stories to reach the ground floor before moving into the new building. By then, Jay would be long gone.
Jay jumped up and ran, long-jumping to another rooftop and then another, putting distance between himself and the killers. At one point, he found an external drainage pipe and used it to slide down to ground level. He was covered in black tar, his shirt barely hanging on his shoulders, and he was bleeding from several places. That’s when he realized he’d been grazed by one of the flash bolts. That was okay; they were firing level-2s. The wound was angry and stung like hell, but it was far from fatal.
He reached one of the main roads for this part of Kanac. The wooden sidewalks were crowded, as they always were, while a few electric-powered transports slogged their way along the muddy thoroughfare. To his surprise, very few people paid him any attention. That was Kanac for you. Its inhabitants came in all shapes, sizes and manner of dress. Perhaps his species coated their clothing and skin in black tar. Who were they to judge? Additionally, the sight of someone being chased down the street by a gang of killers wasn’t that uncommon. Those on the street simply stepped out of the line of fire and continued with their day.
But Jay wasn’t anxious for a rematch with the killers. He had to get away from Kanac, and as fast as he could.
There weren’t a lot of cars on the road, and those that were would be buttoned up as tight as Fort Knox to avoid just what Jay had in mind. With no law on the planet, hijackings were common, so most of the vehicles were essentially armored cars, or they carried security personnel with them inside. Jay had done a stint as vehicular security. It was decent money, but boring as hell.
He focused on a smaller transport heading his direction on the muddy street. It was too small to have a security passenger, but it would undoubtedly be locked. Jay looked around the sidewalk, finding a pile of stones used to weigh down a store sign. He took a large one and stepped out into the street.
The driver sped up, sensing something was up. He wasn’t wrong. Jay raced to catch up, hurling the stone at the back window. It spiderwebbed but didn’t break all the way. Then using his Human speed—and on a slight downslope—Jay caught up with the car and jumped on the back. The vehicle fishtailed, its driver attempting to dislodge his unwanted rider. Jay crashed a forearm into the already cracked window. It gave way, crumbling into the small back seat.
Jay dove head-first through the opening and felt a hot burning pain across his back from the bolt fired by the panicked driver. It hurt like hell but wasn’t enough to slow him down. Jay reached forward and grabbed the gun hand. The driver fired wildly, withou
t regard to the targeting computer, while steering with the other hand. The transport careened into the edge of the sidewalk, tearing up several wooden planks and upending half a dozen pedestrians. The vehicle was going slow enough that most were able to get up and run away. But some didn’t.
Jay was now on his knees in the backseat, twisting the wrist of the driver until the MK fell from his grip.
“Get out!” Jay yelled. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to.”
The driver didn’t argue at that point. He opened the left side door and rolled out onto the muddy street.
The car began to slow without the driver applying forward pressure on the central joystick. Jay crawled over the single front seat and straddled the controls. Grabbing the stick, he shoved it forward while twisting it slightly to the left, steering the car off the sidewalk and back into the street. He picked up speed, even though his progress was hampered by the ruts and guck in the street. That was fine; it would be better on the less-traveled road leading to Balamar.
Once settled in, Jay reflected on a dangerous truth. The armed and organized killers arrived at the hotel an hour after he left Lion/El’s office and knew exactly where to go. It didn’t take an Einstein to figure out that the broker ratted him out. But that didn’t make sense. Why would Lion/El throw away the chance to make millions of credits? And not only that, but the broker knew exactly who to call to get a hit squad up and moving.
Jay chuckled. Of course, he would. He’s Lion/El. That’s why Jay sought him out in the first place; the alien knew everyone and everything. Then it dawned on him. The fat bastard was probably tied in with the raiders. And why wouldn’t he? He dealt with the seediest of the seedy. He was probably even the one who tipped off the raiders to his salvage in the first place. How could Jay have been so stupid?
His only safe refuge was now twenty miles away in Balamar. But how much cover would Adam Cain and his friends provide? Riyad would be apoplectic after learning Jay lost the Ed Gibson, along with thousands of credits in supplies. And with nothing to show for it. Then he flinched. The Ed Gibson actually belonged to the partnership and not just to Riyad. That meant Adam and Sherri might be a little pissed, as well. Maybe more than a little. And now that he’d been found out, his back-up plan to recover the weapons was a bust. They would see him coming from a light-year away, even if he could muster the resources to attempt a raid of his own.
Jay steered the stolen car onto the main road between Kanac and Balamar. It would pass by the spaceport, where undoubtedly the main pirate ship still sat, its crew now aware he survived the attack on Hax’on.
He had about ten minutes before reaching the spaceport, just enough time to decide if it was smarter to continue to Balamar … or better to steal a small speeder and get the hell off the planet.
He decided on Balamar. Like cars in Kanac, starships were well-guarded or had advanced security systems. And he had no weapons … except for his surprising natural Human abilities.
Unfortunately, even Superman would run out of luck at some point. He wasn’t sure if he’d survive another fight-to-the-death so soon after the last one.
It took fifteen minutes after the fact for Dal Divisen to learn of the failed hit at the Human’s hotel. Three of his people were dead, and four were seriously injured. And all from one unarmed alien. He sat at his desk, putting events into perspective. His initial trepidation regarding Adam Cain and the Humans was only reinforced by this recent tragedy. This Jay Williford was supposedly an untrained salvager, whereas Cain is a skilled warrior. If Williford could do what he did to one of Dal’s best crews, what could Cain and the others do if confronted head-on?
That was when the picture became even more muddled.
His comm link chimed; it was Lion/El.
“They failed,” Dal said as soon as the image of the fat alien appeared.
“Who failed?”
“The team I sent to the Human’s room.”
Lion/El was stunned. “Was he … was he forewarned?”
“Not that I am aware. He simply exhibited the latent Human abilities we have all heard of for so long. Experiencing it first-hand is quite disturbing.”
“Then you will find the information I bring you now to be even more so.”
“Explain.”
“I have just been informed that another assault occurred at the Human’s buildings in Balamar, this time concentrated on the salvage business.”
“What do you speak of? Who attacked whom?”
“A sizeable force of what has now been identified as Gradis Cartel personnel attacked the Humans.”
“The Gradis! Why?”
“I do not—”
“I know,” Dal said, the truth hitting him a moment later. “It is because of the weapons. The Cartel must be working with those who own them. They have traced the theft back to Liave-3 and the Humans.”
“Yet, the Humans do not have the weapons.”
“The Cartel does not know that, not yet. We must endeavor that they never find out the truth. Did the Humans repeal the attack?”
“That is the most disturbing part; they did not. Although over half of the Cartel force was killed, Adam Cain and Sherri Valentine are now missing, presumedly taken by the Cartel.”
“The Cartel defeated the Humans?”
“It was not that great a victory, Dal. My sources say there were only the two Humans against over twenty Cartel. The odds were heavily against them.”
Dal cocked his head. “I suppose you are correct. But you say the Humans were taken, not killed?”
“Their bodies were not found.”
“Where is the third Human, the one known as Riyad Tarazi?”
“Unknown. He was not taken, nor is he a casualty.”
Dal snickered. “He is the one who originally sponsored the salvage on Hax’on. He is the one the Cartel is after. And now they have the others to use as leverage.”
“But the Humans do not know who has the weapons.”
“The young one does.”
“The one your people failed to eliminate.”
Dal glared at Lion/El through the screen. “I do not need to be reminded of that.”
“What do we do next?” Lion/El asked.
“Leave that to me. There are weak points in our cover that I am attempting to remedy. But the young Human is a problem. Have your spies watch the buildings in Balamar. Williford will undoubtedly seek shelter there. He cannot know of the attack that just took place. He was too busy killing my people at the time. Order him shot on sight.”
“I will convey the instructions. What are you to do?”
“As I said, there are other weak points needing tending. One such problem should be here any moment. Keep me informed as to the events in Balamar.”
20
Adam Cain was impressed. The shackles the Cartel leader clad them in were heavy-duty, and of better quality than most of the others Adam and Sherri had experienced over the past twenty years. It seems the reputation of the Humans was getting around, to their detriment. Standards didn’t work on them, requiring special precautions.
Adam had run-ins with the Gradis Cartel before, including a time when his immortal, mutant daughter, Lila, nearly eradicated them for good with an attack on their headquarters. But an organization as diverse and decentralized as the Cartel was hard to kill. Within a very short time they’d recovered. And although a very small percentage of their members had first-hand experience with Humans, the stories circulated, to the point where the leader of this particular cell—this Pannel creature—wasn’t taking any chances with his dangerous hostages.
“And we don’t even have our ATDs,” Sherri said cryptically as the pair rode into Kanac, blindfolded and stuck in the back of a cramped transport.
Although Sherri couldn’t see it, Adam shrugged. She was right. For years, Adam and various members of his team had implanted in their bodies brain interface devices created by the Formilians. These Artificial Telepathy Devices—as Adam called
them—allowed for telepathic communications, as well as the manipulation of electronic devices containing the ubiquitous Formilian control units. They could also gather static electricity from the air to form intense hot balls of energy which Adam and the others used on more than one occasion to escape their enemy. The devices were still in their bodies; they’d just had the internal circuits fried—on purpose—by the Formilians at the end of the Kracion episode. Now Adam and Sherri were just a couple of normal Humans, adrift in an alien universe.
Adam snickered, trying to remember back to the beginning of his space opera adventure. He was just a naive, lost kid back then, with no special devices and/or super-human powers. Fortunately, what he did have was enough natural abilities to impact the affairs of an entire galaxy, as strange as that sounded. He questioned if it would be enough this time around. Aliens were wiser these days when it came to Humans, as evidenced by the unbreakable shackles. They weren’t about to underestimate the earthlings like in the old days.
During the ride, Adam tried to sum up their current situation in his mind. The assholes holding them hostage were looking for a supply of weapons which they believed Adam and his friends stole from them. That assumption was possible when one threw in Jay Williford and Riyad’s secret salvage mission. They probably did steal the weapons, at least up to the point where raiders attacked Jay’s operation on Hax’on.
Now it made sense.
“Hey, Pannel,” Adam spoke into the car. The Cartel boss was in the front seat. “I think I know who has your weapons.”
“I thought you knew nothing of them?” came a muffled voice in the darkness of the blindfold. The alien was suffering from the hit Adam laid on him. This made Adam smile.
“There was a salvage operation on Hax’on that we fronted the equipment for. But we received a distress call the other day, saying the site was under attack by raiders. Everyone was killed. That’s where Riyad has gone to see if he can find out what happened.”