by T. R. Harris
“Too early until we can monitor a full attack on a Klin ship,” Lila pointed out.
“How do you suggest we do that?” Sherri asked.
“Archival data might suffice, if there was sufficient monitoring done at the time of the attack. We need access to records and databases.”
“The Tactorians have extensive records from the attack on their system,” Adam offered. “The bulk of their fleet escaped. We just need to find out where they went.”
“Yet as you said earlier, father, we must first get your starship back in full working order. In addition to food and power modules, you will need weapons, clothing and data access. Hopefully Panur will win enough credits to make that possible.”
“That’s the plan,” Adam announced. “Now, I need some rest. I’m exhausted.”
He wasn’t, really. His mutant brain cells gave him a constant supply of rejuvenating energy. But he had to hide that fact from Panur, who was himself looking tired, something Adam had never witnessed before. But how does one know when an immortal alien mutant genius is tired, if that’s even possible? Adam studied the gray alien for a moment before leaving the common room, heading for the vacant stateroom. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share Arieel’s room, but knowing the oversexed alien, he knew he wouldn’t get much rest if he did. And he needed time to think.
35
Robert McCarthy had commandeered a small office for himself within the main government building the Klin had confiscated on Vesper. The planet had an advanced indigenous species yet no star travel, which allowed the Klin’s arrival to remain a secret. The natives offered no resistance, not when half-a-dozen VN-91s, a million killer robots, three Colony Ships and two hundred thousand Klin began landing on their world. The sane and pragmatic beings simply put out the welcome mat and hoped the invaders had come in peace.
In this case, they had. All the Klin needed was a firm base of operations and a gathering place for their race. Once the invasion of the Milky Way was over, the Klin would choose the best world out of hundreds of prime candidates as their new homeworld. Vesper would not be it. Although Cosnin chose the planet for its near-perfect suitability for the Klin, it was only a temporary base. The planet was too far out along this arm of the galaxy to make an effective galactic capital.
Upon their arrival, the Klin had one of the major cities cleared of natives, and then they moved in. Cosnin selected one of the larger and newest buildings in the city as his headquarters, and then as was customary of most heads of state, took the upper three floors as his residence, office and governmental conference rooms.
Robert’s office was nine floors below the Pleabaen’s, which was fine by him. It kept him near to the center of power, while also providing a modicum of independence and freedom of movement.
He ordered redundant lines of secure communications to be run in and out of the office, telling the technicians it was a requirement for his consultations with the Pleabaen. They bought it, seeing how McCarthy was a frequent visitor to their leader’s chambers.
Within the privacy of his office, Robert was able to coordinate the vast network of spies he’d built over the past fifteen years, which stretched from one end of the galaxy to the other. It helped that he had an almost unlimited source of funding. Over the millennia, the Klin had accumulated an incredible amount of wealth, both in traditional credit chips, as well as hard assets such as precious metals and other valuables coveted on the thousands of worlds of the Expansion. This allowed the Klin to buy anonymity throughout the years, as well as the material needed to build their impressive Colony Ships and set-up planet-based war operations, such as they’d done during the Human-Juirean operation.
The Klin also maintained their own extensive spy network, and had for thousands of years, beginning the moment the Juireans launched their horrific attack on Klinmon. This was how they were able to stay one step ahead of the hunters. It also helped them plan the various operations designed to return them to the leadership position of the galaxy.
But over recent years, much of the Klin spy network had been compromised, and not by Union or Expansion assets. Robert had been slowly taking over the Klin intelligence network, with a more pragmatic design on the information provided. The Klin were often governed by a sense of destiny, and exceedingly slow and methodical in their planning. Robert was more proactive, seeking information that could be put to more immediate use.
That was the reason he learned of the mutant’s attack on the VN-91—for lack a better word—at the same time the Pleabaen did. This gave Robert a few minutes to anticipate the alien’s reaction and prepare a response.
Five minutes later he was summoned to Cosnin’s chambers.
“The mutants have assaulted the ship as it was leaving the Pyrum system,” the Pleabaen called out even before Robert had reached the desk.
“Was there damage?” Robert asked, acting as if this was the first time he’d heard of the attack.
“There was none. They did not fire on the ship.”
“The mutants did not fire, or the VN-91 didn’t fire?”
“The mutants, you ignorant Human!”
The hair stood up in the back of Robert’s neck, but he maintained his composure. The Klin leader had no idea how much he was being used by this ignorant Human.
“So, no real attack occurred? What did they do?”
“The mutants ran past the VN-91 twice, drawing fire from the hull batteries.”
“The result?”
“Nothing! Panur’s ship apparently absorbed the energy, much as our ships do. Yet his is only a fraction the size of a VN-91. Reports have the smaller ship glowing bright white from the energy intake.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t damaged by the lasers?”
“It sped away under controlled flight,” barked the Klin leader. “You may recall—or not—that the mutants feed on pure energy. Their ship does as well.”
Robert sat down in a chair opposite the Pleabaen without first getting permission.
“And what of Adam Cain and the trans-dimensional starship?”
Robert could see the tension grow on Cosnin’s face. “They escaped the surface, unharmed, apparently.”
“I told you so,” the Human began. “Cain has an uncanny ability of surviving even the most unlikely of situations. And if the mutants use the same energy absorption technology as we do, then they can surely find a way to circumvent our systems.”
“And what do you mean by that statement?” asked Cosnin in a fit. “That you were right to have confronted me for sending the VN-91 to Pyrum-3? I accept your premise…as I did at the time, as well. But if what you say is true—and the mutants will find a way to defeat our ships—then it becomes imperative that we accelerate our offensive and strike at the Core Worlds as soon as possible. It will take time for the efforts of the mutants to impact our forces. We must subdue the galaxy now, before it is too late.”
Robert had spent the few brief moments after receiving the news of the attack attempting to anticipate Cosnin’s reaction. He had been correct in his assumption, if vague on his own response. The last thing he could do was let Cosnin upset his timetable.
“Yes, sending a fleet of VN-91s to the Core Worlds would certainly get their attention, but we would need to allocate all existing combat modules to the offensive,” Robert cautioned. “This will leave the manufacturing worlds unguarded. We could lose control of the factories, which will take time and effort to regain. And Adam Cain and the mutants would still be roaming the galaxy, causing incalculable problems for us. At this point, the Core Worlds are not our problem. Indulge me, my Pleabaen. I have a better idea….”
36
Adam had seen a lot of planets in his day, but Siron was in a class by itself.
It was an Earth-size world with a decent atmosphere and a little lighter gravity. It was located very close to a chaotic asteroid belt that had once been a full-fledged planet until it collided with another and was smashed to bits.
Looking at
Siron, Adam could imagine what the Nuorean system must be like about now. Although only about a third of the planet was pulled through the midpoint generator when Adam and his team returned from Andromeda, the remaining two-thirds would have been highly unstable. It would have shattered to form a ring of rock similar to that near Siron. There was a chance the remains of Nuor would one day reform into another planet, but one much smaller than the original.
Siron had been colonized five hundred years ago by a variety of roughneck species looking for minerals, metals and other valuables in demand throughout the galaxy. The asteroid belt was fairly close, and the planet itself was pitted by dozens of huge impact craters, which made reaching into the lower levels of the crust easy and highly profitable. From what Adam could tell from the Library—the galactic internet, available through his translation bug—that there was no advanced indigenous species on Siron, probably because it couldn’t evolve due to the constant asteroid impacts. Lower forms of life did exist, but nothing above a three-foot-long rat-like thing that was the top of the food chain…until the aliens came.
In spite of the harsh environment, there were several hundred settlements on the planet, including four with populations over a hundred thousand. Adam chose the largest of these and set a course for its single landing field. After a brief, yet intense, negotiation, an exasperated Adam Cain finally got the port authority to accept a pad fee of seventy-five Juirean credits for a two-day stay. Every credit was precious, and the fact that such a rundown and backwater location as Siron would even charge a pad fee was ridiculous.
Adam checked the mod life: seven percent remaining. That was cutting it close. He gave a sigh of resignation when he realized the Defiant would never leave Siron without a fresh supply of power modules. That left a lot riding on Panur’s expertise at the card table.
The Library was of no use finding specific services and locations on Siron, and specifically within the town of Boraxx. There just wasn’t a lot of information on the planet. The team needed not only power modules, but food, clothing, weapons and battery packs. And regarding weapons, it was good bet all they’d find would be flash weapons. That would be fine, since—if they could get some new power mods—the energy packs could be recharged. That was assuming they would be drained in combat. Adam was enough of a realist to know that on nearly every landfall he’d made over the past twenty years, some sort fight had broken out. This could have been the result of his hostile attitude towards aliens. Or it could be from the fact the galaxy was a dangerous and savage place where only the strongest survived. More than likely, it was a combination of both. But Siron was no luxury spa; the people calling this place home had to be tough. And tough bred competition among the strong, if for no other reason than for bragging rights.
Adam knew it would be a miracle if they got off the planet without killing someone—or something.
Kaylor and Jym would stay with ship, along with Lila and Arieel. Adam’s mutant daughter had once ruled the galaxy, so there was a pretty good chance she would be recognized, even this far off the established trade routes. Adam and Panur would go looking for a gambling room, while Sherri, Riyad and Copernicus scoped out the energy module depot and other service centers for what they needed. They would communicate through their ATDs, and once Panur had enough money to get the shopping started, they would ferry the supplies to the Defiant.
Adam had booked the landing pad at the spaceport for two days. Hopefully they would be gone within a few hours.
A vacant-eyed worker on the spaceport video comm provided a rather confusing set of directions to the different places the team was looking for. Eventually, they got the message that the commercial district was to the south, while the drinking, whoring and gambling section was to the north and adjacent to the spaceport. That’s where one would normally find it, catering to a transient population out for a quick thrill, score or buzz.
As the team stepped into the open air of Siron, they noticed a fine mist falling around them. But it wasn’t rain, but a gritty form of dust. It wasn’t blinding or dangerous, just constant—and annoying. Looking into the brown-tinted sky, they saw numerous streaks of light flashing by. Occasionally, one of these balls of fire would flare bright, casting moving shadows across the landscape. Although he didn’t witness any at the time, Adam knew some of these flaming chunks of rock and metal would reach the surface, and then all hell would breakout for several miles in every direction. That’s when he realized the gritty dust fall was the remnants of countless small impacts, only now settling out of the atmosphere.
There wasn’t enough money for the team to take transports, so they hoofed it into town. Panur wore his tailored silk suit, a Fedora and black mustache. He looked like a miniature version of a Mississippi riverboat gambler—which was completely out of place on a mining world like Siron. But the mutant seemed to revel in his appearance, strutting down the dirt road like a gray-skinned peacock.
The pair stuck their heads through several doorways before finding a place that seemed to cater to a higher clientele. They needed money—a lot of it—so the high-limit games were better suited for their purposes.
Eyes fell upon them as they entered. Besides Panur’s strange getup, Adam was a Human. Nearly everyone in the galaxy had heard of Humans by now, yet the vast majority had never seen one in person. Those at the tables soon returned their attention to their games; others took a little longer to satisfy their curiosity.
Panur focused on a table with five creatures seated around it. They were of five different species, and Adam was surprised when he didn’t recognize any of them. But what got Panur’s attention was not the players, but the huge stacks of credits in front of them. This will do nicely, Adam thought. Here was all the money they would need just resting on the slate table. All Panur had to do was win it.
The buildings on Siron were made of thick steel plates leaned against each other to form a-frame structures. Then the ends were sealed up with strategically placed doors and windows. They were designed to withstand the constant barrage of smaller meteorites falling from the sky. Anything made of weaker material would be pulverized within a day.
Adam and Panur leaned against a decorative support beam and watched the game being played. Adam had never seen it before, but it was pretty basic. Three cards were dealt, with numbers one to three printed on one side. Each player would then challenge another and roll a card. The one with the highest card won the initial bet and moved onto the other winners. After the first round, a player could refuse to reveal his card and preserve his bet for that round. He could then choose to stay in the game or fold, with no loss of money. But if he stayed, he had to reveal his cards in the next round, win, lose or draw. And draws simply meant the players received another down card and play continued, with the pots getting progressively larger.
It took Adam about three minutes to understand the intricacies and rules of the game. But still Panur hesitated to join the game.
Adam leaned over and whispered, “Not enough strategy or math involved?”
“That’s not it,” Panur replied. “This is a game of reading your opponent. Each knows the cards they hold and must select one they believe will be higher than their challenger’s. I am reading their faces, yet I must wait until each player has had a winning hand to know his reaction.”
“That could take all day,” Adam protested. “Some people are just shitty at cards and lose all the time.”
“The evenness of each player’s credit stack would say these are all accomplished players, evenly matched. They are simply trading credits from one to another.”
Panur suddenly pushed away from the beam. “I am ready to play.”
The mutant stepped up to the table.
“Pardon me, but I would like to join your game.”
The players eyed him up and down until one asked, “What are you? We see a lot of strange beings come through here, but I have never seen anything like you.”
“I am a Metachorian. There are few of
us around, and those of us that are will be seldom seen.”
“That makes no sense. I can see you.”
“Then you should remember this moment. It may not come again within your lifetime.”
The confused alien looked around the table at his companions. They were equally confused.
“If you have the credits, you can play. No one will stop you,” replied the first gambler, one dressed in a flamboyant series of colorful overlapping capes.
“I have one issue,” Panur announced. “I see the average pot-bet is between one hundred and two hundred credits. I have but five hundred.”
The five gamblers at the table expressed a variety of laughs, depending on their species. “Then you shall not last long,’ said one of the others. “Seems hardly worth our effort to let you in.” The rest of them nodded their agreement.
“It is still five hundred credits. Within a few minutes, it could all belong to you—individually or collectively.”
More laughter.
“Then if you are so willing to donate your stack, we will be glad to take it. Sit.”
Panur looked small as he sat on an empty chair at the table. All the other players were much taller, even taller than Adam.
Panur smiled. “I said nothing about donating my credits,” the mutant corrected. “You will have to take them from me.”
“That is the plan,” said an alien with a face made of several flaps of loose flesh below two very wide apart and elongated eyes. Words formed from somewhere within the flaps and came out surprisingly clear.
“Let us begin,” Panur said, retaining his smile. “This is the first I have played this game, yet the process appears simple enough.”
The other five players looked at each with an almost pack-like bloodlust. Competition between them could wait. First they had to devour their weak and naive prey.