Empires: A Classic Space Opera Adventure (The Adam Cain Chronicles Book 2)

by T. R. Harris

  “How are they treating you?” Sherri asked. Some normal conversation was necessary.

  “Perfect, the best I can expect. By the way, they found the weapon that killed the Councilmember. It’s Human. I hope they find whoever did this. Quanin was a friend. He said a refugee group was behind this. They must have hired a Human for the killing, but that doesn’t mean we should all be held responsible.” Adam said that last part for the benefit of those listening. “I’m glad there’s nothing that can link us to the killer since we didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Me, too. I’m sure everything will work out fine. In the meantime, I thought you’d like to know I got a call from my cousin, you know, the youngest Corleone.”

  Adam frowned. Cousin? Adam knew nothing of Sherri’s relatives. But he did recognize the name Corleone, as in The Godfather. The youngest of the brothers was Michael, Michael Corleone. The only Michael Adam knew that would have significance in the conversation was Mike Hannon, but he was away with Riyad on the salvage mission.

  “Of course, I remember him,” Adam said, nodding. “Travels a lot in his job, doesn’t he?”

  “Well, it seems he’s been sick lately, so he’s been staying home more often.”

  Adam’s eyes widened. Mike Hannon wasn’t on the salvage with Riyad and the others. He put two and two together. Hannon was still on Liave-3, and he was Delta Force. If anyone could have made the impossible kill shot on Quanin, it would be he.

  “So, he’s been sleeping with the fishes? That can make a person sick.”

  He knew the reference was awkward, but it was the best he could come up with on the spur of the moment; he hadn’t seen The Godfather in decades. He was referring to the famous line that said Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes, meaning he was dead. He’d just asked if Mike killed Quanin.

  Sherri nodded.

  “But now his company is tired of all the missed time and they’re threatening to fire him,” she said. “He’s avoiding toll booths while looking for something new.”

  That reference took him a while to decipher before he remembered that Sonny Corleone was gunned down at a toll booth by the bad guys—the other bad guys. They were all bad guys in The Godfather.

  He pursed his lips before smiling. So, Mike Hannon kills Quanin, and now those who hired him want him dead. And he’s come to Sherri for help.

  “I wish I could offer him something in Balamar, but you know the state of our businesses at the moment. He’s on his own,” Adam said firmly, not understanding why Sherri wanted to help the killer. Was her attraction to him that strong?

  Sherri’s face remained serious. “He told me about this new business plan he has. It could really help with our finances. It’s an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  Adam’s expression turned sour. Really? He saw that one coming from a mile away.

  “I’ve heard that from him before,” Adam said, his tone as sour as his expression. “Besides, I’m booked at the Hilton. Tell your cousin thanks, but no thanks.”

  “He’s willing to lay all his cards on the table, and he has a pretty good hand, a sure winner.”

  Adam was shaken by the sudden transition in metaphors, from The Godfather to gambling, but he got the message. He thought about what to say next. Talking in code like this wasn’t as easy as it first seemed. But Sherri was adamant; Hannon had information that could exonerate them, and he was willing to do that, but for what in return?

  “Okay. I’m willing to go to the mattresses if you insist.” He rubbed his face with his hands and mouthed the word How, hidden from the Guards.

  “Thanks, Adam. He’s my cousin; I appreciate this. Right now, he’s cooped up near the River Kwai. Once this thing with Quanin is cleared up, I’ll get the ball rolling.”

  “I’ll think about it, too. But I’ll be counting on a little Ringo Starr, as well.”

  “What are friends for?” Sherri said, indicating she got the reference.

  The conversation was over, and now there was work to do. Adam and Sherri hugged again, and this time he whispered in her ear, “That was exhausting.”

  She nodded and left.

  In another room aboard the Class-3, Overlord Loncet, along with two Guards, listened several times to the conversation that took place in Adam Cain’s holding cell. The Overlord knew it was a code, but the references were so strange, so out of context with Juirean understanding, that it was impossible to decipher. However, just the fact that they spoke this way indicated that something surreptitious was underway. Or was it? Could it have simply been an innocent conversation regarding a wayward relative?

  Loncet knew full well who he had captive aboard his ship. It was Adam Cain, the most famous and deadly Human in the galaxy, as proven time and again, and mostly to the detriment of the Juireans. The Overlord watched the live video feed from the room, seeing the pink-skinned alien now reclined on the bed with an arm across his forehead, staring at the ceiling. Cain had escaped from every attempt to imprison him. Would he try again, or would he be content to let the politics of the situation play out? The alien was adamant about his innocence, of which Loncet knew much about. And then there were the Humans on Annadin. Surely, word had gotten to them about the situation on Liave-3. Would they stay away, or would they make some foolish attempt to either rescue Adam Cain or to prove their innocence? Loncet had patrols out looking for them.

  For the time being, the Overlord would keep a vigil on Cain, while watching the female more closely. Information had been passed between the two, secret information. It was Loncet’s job to learn what information that was and to act accordingly.

  Adam lay on the bed, summarizing the information he’d gotten from Sherri during their awkward, silly conversation. The deception probably worked, but it certainly wouldn’t make his highlight reel of clever strategies.

  First of all, Mike Hannon was the assassin, having stayed behind on L-3 to commit the act. He must have done a good job of convincing the others that the reason was legitimate for them not to mention it to either he or Sherri. Secondly, he was now being tracked by those who hired him, with the desire for him to sleep with the fishes. But he also had information that could clear up this whole affair, and he was willing to share it for safe passage off the planet. Adam got that part of the message from Sherri’s reference to him cooped up. Coop was the nickname of their friend—and Sherri’s former boyfriend—Copernicus Smith. It was his shipyard in southern Balamar that the Big Three Partnership took over upon their arrival on L-3. They had a small starship there ready for flight. He must be counting on that to get him away from the planet. The Juireans would close down the spaceports on Liave-3 and restrict personal flights off the planet until the assassin was caught. But the tiny speeder, lifting from the shipyard, would be gone before anyone noticed.

  The last reference was to the river Kwai. Adam was enough of an old movie buff to know that referred to the movie The Bridge Over the River Kwai. There was no River Kwai on L-3, but there is one in central Kanac. Putting the pieces of the puzzle together was easy. If Hannon was at the 22nd Bridge, and he had to get to Copernicus’s shipyard, then he would need help getting there. Adam was to be that help, a guide, as well as muscle backup. And that was why Adam asked Sherri for A Little Help from My Friends, Ringo Starr’s most famous song with the Beatles. That could refer to either Riyad and the SEALs, or to Dal Divisen, the head honcho in Kanac.

  And now everything was crystal clear, everything except how he was going to get off the Juirean starship and into Kanac. Then there was the question of the thirty-mile trek through city, jungle and beach community to reach the shipyard, and all while hunted by the most powerful entity in the galaxy.

  Adam took a deep breath. He didn’t know how this would play out, but one thing he did know, things were about to get a lot more exciting.

  16

  After leaving the Juirean warship, Sherri drove into Kanac and to the residence/main business run by Dal Divisen. It was a huge building, three times the size
of Capt. Cain’s and served the same purpose, to feed people and get them drunk. It was one of fifty or so businesses Dal ran, not only in Kanac but across all of Liave-3. And, also like Adam, he lived in the upper penthouse of the building, albeit without the use of a small internal generator to simulate the gravity of Earth.

  It was past midnight on this part of L-3, but Sherri was sure she would find Dal awake. Most of his business occurred in the evening and into the night.

  Sherri entered the noisy and offensive smell of the bar and elbowed her way through crowds of rowdy aliens, nearly all much taller than she. She didn’t want to cause a scene by using her inherent Human strength, but at times she had to. Eventually, she made it to the main bar where a server she knew to be a close associate of Dal’s greeted her.

  “Sherri Valentine, I am surprised to find you here. I have heard of the events in Balamar. I am sorry for your misfortunes.” The alien’s name was Canc, and the expression on his angular, blue-skinned face belied his words of sympathy. Dal’s crew and Sherri’s crew didn’t get along. That was no secret.

  “I need to see him,” she yelled through the cacophony of the bar.

  Canc considered her for a moment, reading the stern determination in her troubled face. “A moment.”

  After speaking with someone on an internal intercom, he turned back to the tiny, blonde-haired Human. “You can go up.”

  There was less of a crowd at the rear of the bar, but there were more guards present. They let her pass, and she climbed a long open stairway up three flights to Dal’s private domain. She’d only been here twice before, and neither were social calls. This wasn’t either.

  Dal was seated on an extra-wide cloth sofa that could almost pass as a bed. He was dressed in one of his many flamboyantly colored overcoats, garments he wore throughout the year and of which he had an inexhaustible supply.

  “I’ve been expecting you. I knew there would come a time when you would ask for my assistance.” He waved a hand at a flask of golden-brown liquid, offering her a drink. She declined. “However, I know not what I can offer. Events are out of my hands. All I can hope for is that through your sacrifice, the Juireans see fit to leave L-3 to the New Natives.” Dal and his ilk had begun to call themselves the New Natives, thinking that would give them subliminal claim to the planet should either of the empires decide to take over.

  “You know we had nothing to do with Quanin’s murder,” Sherri said as she slipped into an equally spacious chair across from the couch/bed.

  “Of course. The assassination was perpetrated by the Afinn Refugee Alliance. Perhaps you’ve heard of them.”

  “They’re the ones protesting the MK warehouse at the spaceport. They also have people outside the resort they’re building in Balamar. Aren’t they pretty small?”

  “Their public persona is small; however, their true strength lies in the capital they have behind them. All of the main refugee groups that made it out of the Dead Zone took with them unimagined wealth. They are now putting that wealth to use in an attempt to manipulate politics and military power to do their bidding. Unfortunately, in this particular scenario, they have made Humans the villains.”

  “If you know who did this, why don’t you say something?”

  Dal laughed, his rotund belly jiggling as he did. “I just said, the Afinn has great wealth. They have the means to cause me much trouble. Besides, I have no direct proof of their involvement, just a feeling. A very strong and confident feeling.”

  “I know how to get the facts out, and in a way that will expose the Afinn Alliance as the killers of the next Elder of the Juireans. It will be hard for them to pick on you when they’re running from the Expansion.”

  “What facts?”

  “I know who the killer is. He’s contacted me and is willing to reveal everything he knows.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “The Alliance is trying to kill him.”

  “As well they must to maintain their secret. If I were running the operation, that would have been my plan all along.”

  “Whatever,” Sherri said, exasperated by the alien’s bluntness. “There’s a chance Adam will guide him out of Kanac and to Balamar. But he’s going to need help along the way.”

  Dal was shaking his head. “Adam? Is he not being held captive aboard the Juirean vessel at the spaceport?”

  “He is at the moment, but that situation may change.”

  “At which time you initiate the direct wrath of the Juireans. No, I cannot offer direct assistance. Not against both the Juireans and the Alliance. I’m sorry.”

  Sherri stood up. It was worth a try. If Dal said yes, then Adam could stay where he was, and with the resources Dal had, he could have guaranteed Mike’s safe passage to the shipyard.

  “However,” Dal said before Sherri could leave. “I can give you an address.”

  “An address? What’s there?”

  “Assistance, of sorts. Remember this: Thirty-One Street, building 48.” Aliens seldom named their streets or their businesses, especially in Kanac, which Dal helped found. Balamar was the exception. It was founded decades before and by a different group of aliens. Copernicus even had a hand in creating the town’s Key West-like persona.

  “Thirty-one and building 48. Got it. Thanks.”

  “If your source does have information that will exonerate the New Natives of L-3, then it is in our best interests to make that information public. The future of our little world is at a precarious crossroads. We must all work together to preserve it.”

  Sherri nodded and then hurried from the building and back to her transport. She’d taken a chance coming here directly from the spaceport. Undoubtedly, she was being followed. Now she’d placed Dal under suspicion. That couldn’t be helped.

  She took her communicator and dialed the number for Mike Hannon. He had to know what progress she’d made.

  17

  Spaceships seldom run on the same schedules as the planets they land on, and the Juirean Class-3 was no exception. Even so, Adam began asking for food, even though it was late at night in this part of L-3. The Juireans didn’t think anything about it.

  Now the door to his room opened, and a slender alien steward brought in a tray of standard processed muck. No one bothered to take a sample of his blood to see if his chemistry was compatible with the ingredients before preparing the meal. Although most of the crew aboard the ship was made up of aliens of various species, the Juireans in charge didn’t think to offer their prisoner the courtesy. He was counting on their obstinance.

  The young alien set the tray on a small table and then left. Through the open doorway, Adam saw the other two sentries outside the room before the door closed. They were Juireans, bigger, and more serious looking than the steward. Adam shrugged. Oh, well.

  He began to eat, stuffing the warm, near-tasteless mush into his mouth with his fingers. Silverware had not provided, and the small serving of water was in a paper cup. He continued eating for a couple of minutes until the tray was almost empty.

  Now it was showtime.

  While still leaning over the tray, Adam suddenly reached up and grabbed his throat with his right hand, while pushing away from the table with his left. He tumbled backward from his chair, his eyes bulging, and with some of the brown meal frothing from his mouth. He tried to cough but couldn’t. He writhed on the floor, grasping blindly in the air for help.

  “Poison! I’ve been poisoned!” he finally managed to scream.

  There was a chance those in the hallway couldn’t hear him through the metal door, but others who were monitoring the cameras and microphones surely would. He continued with the act for several minutes, thrashing about on the floor, kicking furniture, and upsetting the solitary table in the room.

  When no one came, he eventually collapsed and lay still on the deck.

  The door unlocked, and the Guards from the corridor rushed in, accompanied by a pair of smaller aliens with medical cases. The techs fell to his side and began che
cking his vitals while referring to datapads looking for the tolerances unique to Humans. Adam’s race had been around the galaxy long enough for medical and biological information to be included in most standard databases. That was both good and bad. Bad in this case.

  Even so, Adam feigned unconsciousness. Although his readings may be in the green, EMTs often had to deal with unknown circumstances. This pair was no exception. Adam was unconscious, and they couldn’t figure out why.

  “We must take him to the medical center,” one called out to a hovering Guard. The tech then fingered a communicator on his uniform, requesting a transport of some kind. Thirty seconds later, another pair of non-Juirean aliens arrived with a motorized gurney. It remained in the corridor as the two Juirean Guards lifted Adam’s lifeless body from the deck and carried him to the cart.

  Once in the hallway and out of view of the room’s security cameras, Adam quickly and expertly removed both the Guard’s holstered MK-17 flash weapons, one with each hand. And he wasn’t trying to be subtle, either. He triggered the weapons the moment he had them, placing level-two bolts into the bellies of the Juireans at point-blank range, with the proximity hiding the light and sound of the shots.

  He was off the cart a moment later, with both weapons aimed at the four alien medical techs. None appeared particularly brave; instead, they huddled against the metal wall of the hallway until one panicked and sprinted away. Adam shot him in the back with barely a movement of his hand. The other weapon remained locked on the other three. Adam waved the weapon, guiding the survivors along the corridor.

  It was instinctive by now that Adam would study every step and turn he made when entering a potential prison. One never knew when one would have to retrace one’s steps. He moved along, with the terrified medical techs leading the way as he pushed the gurney ahead of him and behind the aliens. He might need it for cover.

  Adam had been aboard enough Juirean warships in his life to know that security wasn’t a major concern. There was no need to monitor the movements of the crew, only the creatures they imprisoned aboard, which didn’t happen very often. That was why he felt confident no one was following his movements, although at some point those monitoring his room would want to know his status in the medical center.