by Jay Cannon
“Aye, aye, Captain,” said Adar, stalking away in a huff.
“Pheebee, let’s head to the bridge,” Shisal said.
“I’m right with you, Captain,” the bodyguard responded, falling into step behind Shisal, but her eyes remained locked on Adar as he left the arena.
***
When the Andrea reached its next stop, the Alpha prison planet, Shisal gave orders to prepare a shuttle to transport him and his security detail, including Adar, to the planet’s surface.
After a short flight, Shisal exited the shuttle and was immediately flanked by Pheebee and Adar.
Ahnbar Tulmolt, director of the prison, rushed forward to meet the captain and his party. They spoke in Euclidian, the language of commerce for all alliance members.
“Greetings, Captain Shisal. Please come this way,” Tulmolt said, his wide mouth opening and closing repeatedly in excitement.
The short, pudgy Alpha gestured for Shisal to precede him as they walked toward the director’s office, chatting.
Alphas had soft human-like skin, but their small, bright eyes, perched above pronounced snouts in rounded faces, gave their features an ursine quality that brought to mind the look of a child’s teddy bear. However, despite their benign appearance, the devious nature of the Alphas made them pariahs across the galaxy.
Tulmolt’s appearance did not affect Shisal one way or another. He had come to the prison planet to complete a business transaction, not to make friends.
“Greetings, Director Tulmolt. This is my bodyguard, Pheebee, and security officer, Adar, who will be heading up security for the prison transfer,” said the captain, as he joined the Alpha in strolling toward the prison offices.
“An Ossie. I don’t suspect you’ll lose any prisoners with him around,” the director told Shisal, ogling Adar with wide eyes. “I am surprised you would bring a Delta to our planet though. They’re pretty hostile to us,” he added, throwing an uneasy glance at Pheebee.
“What do you expect? You Alphas took over our planet and enslaved my people.” Pheebee fairly spat the comment as she struggled to hide her virulent distaste for the Alpha.
“If your people had stayed out of our war, you wouldn’t have been enslaved,” Tulmolt countered.
“After you defeated the Euclidian, it would have only been a matter of time before you came after us,” Pheebee retorted, taking a single step toward the director, ready to push her verbal sparring match with Tulmolt into a more satisfying physical confrontation.
But Shisal also moved forward, throwing out a hand to bar Pheebee’s path.
“Let’s not open old wounds,” he suggested mildly. Hoping the hostile energy that spilled into the director’s office with the little group would dissipate, Shisal changed the subject.
“Do you have our 20,000 prisoners ready, director?” he asked, briskly.
“Yes, Captain. They’re coded and ready for transfer. Be aware that you will need to increase their dosage of ‘Serenity,’ or they could become unruly during the voyage. The work here keeps their minds occupied and away from negative thoughts.”
“I’ll take that into account. We’ll use our mining vehicles to transport the prisoners to our ship. Your payment will be brought down in the first vehicle.”
“Excellent. I’ll have my people meet the craft and transfer the gold to our storage area. Releasing so many prisoners is going to leave us a bit shorthanded down here.” Tulmolt pouted in a bid for sympathy.
“Then you should tell your law enforcement officers to start arresting more people.” Shisal smirked. “Do you have any entertainment on the premises? I’d like to give my crew some shore leave while we’re here.”
“We have a few places here to keep our staff happy. But they’re not big enough to accommodate your crew. As you can imagine, we don’t get many visitors here,” Tulmolt explained, his expression regretful.
“No problem. I’ll stagger their leave over several periods until everyone on the ship is satiated,” Shisal replied smoothly.
Clapping a hand on the director’s shoulder, he added, “Let’s grab a drink, Tulmolt, and talk about how we do more business going forward.”
“Be happy to, Shisal. Be happy to,” Tulmolt murmured, rubbing his hands together as a greedy smile wreathed his chubby face.
***
Four prisoners watched as others trooped onto the shuttles, waiting for the right moment to make their break for freedom.
Rosda, a chemist and leader of the group, was imprisoned after running an illegal mining operation. She designed a drug cocktail in the form of a pill that circumvented the effects of the pacifying Serenity. While they had no inkling of the ship’s final destination, the foursome knew they did not want to remain in prison nor become captives of the Euclidian.
“These foolish Euclidian only have a few guards watching us,” observed Rosda. “They think we are sheep like the rest of these Alpha weaklings. As soon as they turn away, we make our move without hesitation. Got it?” she instructed the others quietly, but firmly.
Her three companions nodded in agreement, fearful of attempting to escape but craving freedom even more. As the guards shifted their attention to the front of the prisoner line, the four escapees ducked and fled.
Part I
Chicago
Chapter 1
The Cheoili Break into Prison
On the outskirts of Beakar, the capitol city of the Alpha planet of Moorland, on the top floor of a large warehouse, members of the Juban gang – headed by Fosta Juban – tabulated the gang’s haul for the week. Several guards protected access to the tabulation room, but for the most part, accountants filled the space.
Moorland was a planet located in the Norma Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy, the same as Euclidia, but several light years away. It became the most populated planet in the Alpha system after the Euclidian military destroyed the Alphas’ home planet. A Euclidian shuttle stopped at Moorland several times a day bringing visitors from various points across the Euclidian Alliance of planets. Some came seeking adventure. Others came seeking fortune. A trifling few arrived seeking to make a name for themselves as criminals.
Moorland was lush with animal life, vegetation and plenty of fresh water, and it remained unpolluted by industry. Being newly inhabited, the planet’s air was still clean and heavy with the smell of wildflowers and decomposing vegetation. Aware of what can happen to a planet after decades of bad planning and environmental disasters, organizers of Moorland’s newly formed government placed strong ecological restrictions on all merchants and manufacturers doing business on Moorland.
A growing population and bustling commerce, however, brought with it crime and those aspiring to rise to the top of the criminal world. Fosta Juban was one such miscreant, a walking and talking parasite who made his living by taking from others.
Juban’s accountants sat at sturdy, wooden desks covered in money, loot and receipts. In one corner of the room, appraisers placed prices on jewelry, devices and other goods obtained by gang members through nefarious means. The appraisers and accountants wore nice suits and carried calculators instead of guns, relying on heavily armed guards inside and outside of the room for their safety.
Cameras in the ceiling surveilled all activities in the room. Reinforced panes protected the windows. The guards kept an eye out for possible threats coming from the outside as well as possible pilfering from the inside. For the most part, the guards outside the counting room in the warehouse had pretty boring jobs, considering they hadn’t had to act on anything for more than a year.
“Excellent collection of goods we got in today, everyone.” The head accountant praised the others, after tallying the day’s receipts. “Look at these stacks of money, gold, jewelry, and devices. Whoever said crime doesn’t pay was a lousy criminal.”
Everyone obligingly laughed at the supervisor’s lame attempt at humor.
While the occupants of the room indulged in the light moment, an aerial speeder pulled up to a second-sto
ry window of the warehouse. The visitors’ approach in the dark went undetected by the guards. Three figures quickly exited the vehicle, removed the window and climbed inside before making their way to an elevator.
Two guards protected the door to the tabulation room. At the opposite end of the wide, well-lit corridor in front of them, elevator doors opened and out walked three individuals. As they moved forward, their boots clumped heavily on the wooden floor, sending echoes ahead of them down the hallway. This should have signaled trouble to the guards. Instead, the duo didn’t react until one of the strangers, resembling their boss, greeted them, as did his two associates.
“Gentlemen, how goes it?” asked the Fosta Juban imposter, impeccably dressed in typical mob boss attire – a pink, starched Nehru shirt with a finely woven burgundy suit, complete with lapel pin signifying his credentials as a mob boss. The impostor gave the guards a stern stare, silently communicating that he came to do business and not to exchange pleasantries. Still, his greeting had been civil.
“Great haul this week, boss,” ventured the friendlier of the two guards, nervously.
“Open up for me,” the fake Juban ordered, dismissing the two with a quick glance. This signaled an end to the small talk.
“Sure thing, boss,” said the first guard, turning to unlock the door.
A whiff of a flowery scent reached the nostrils of the other guard, begging him to take a closer look at the three visitors. A quick scan of their eyes and skin texture gave them away as interlopers. But before the guard could retrieve his weapon, two of the imposters covered his mouth to muffle his cries and stabbed him repeatedly. The other guard, meanwhile, disengaged the lock and opened the door. The third intruder pulled the remaining guard back from the doorway and stabbed him to death before he could raise the alarm.
All three imposters, who migrated from the Cheoili System, possessed the chameleon-like ability to change their looks and coloration. This enabled them to fool the guards into thinking their boss made an impromptu visit. The disguise isn’t foolproof though. The Cheoili’s eyes and odor could give them away. The Alpha guards made a fatal mistake by failing to notice in time.
The three assailants entered the counting room and moved quickly to flank the internal guards before they could suspect deception. The trio drew their weapons and started blasting away. They killed everyone in the room, shot up the place, and dropped a note that left little doubt that the carnage and theft were acts of war by a rival gang. The note read:
What’s yours is now mine!
Tinsal
Filling their bags with Juban’s loot, the robbers scurried back to the open window where their speeder waited. But the shooting attracted more of Juban’s men into the hallway outside the counting room. The Cheoili shot them, too, before speeding away to Rudi Tinsal’s place. At Tinsal’s they re-enacted the same scenario, except this time they impersonated Tinsal and his associates to gain entrance to his hideout. After killing everyone there and absconding with Tinsal’s goods, they left another note. This one read:
What’s yours is now mine!
Juban
With the speeder loaded with valuables taken from Juban and Tinsal, Daloi, Dholi, and Tatan, the three Cheoili siblings, headed to their hideout to lay low and weather the tempest created by their actions.
The three kept a modest-looking cabin in the woods several miles from the city. Beneath the cabin, they maintained an enormous basement with a reinforced bunker designed to protect them from an attack. This underground refuge also provided an escape route through tunnels linked to a personal spacecraft. The vehicle would enable them to get off the planet as a last resort, if necessary.
“Was that amazing or what?” said Dholi, flopping onto the couch in the cabin’s main room. “Look at all those bags of treasure. I am going to live the life I’ve always wanted.” She grinned at the prospect, rubbing her hands together in satisfaction.
“We should tell Moyer the job is done so he knows it’s okay to break up the party,” said Tatan, their brother. “Not a bad idea to have our gang throw a party in a public place to give us an alibi. I checked our delayed video blog showing us enjoying the party. It went out as scheduled, which puts us in the clear. I’ll move the loot into our space vessel, just in case something goes wrong.”
“Tatan, you worry too much,” said Dholi. “Can’t we just enjoy looking at it for a few days?”
“You can go down to the ship any time you like and look at it. Taste it, run your feet through it, and whatever else turns you on,” Tatan quipped, grabbing a bag. “Once the heat blows over, I’ll distribute the loot, not a moment sooner. Until then, we need to be prepared to abandon this place in an instant. We have been poor too long to risk losing it all by being careless.”
“Dholi, Tatan has a point. I don’t want to be thrust into a situation that takes me away from you two again,” Daloi said, giving her sister a hug. “Turn the vid-screen on so we can see the local news stream. Do a split-screen and filter Juban’s and Tinsal’s neighborhoods. I’d like to avoid any surprises. While you do that, I’ll check in with Moyer,” said Daloi, her no-nonsense tone curbing the high spirits of her siblings.
***
“Juban, Tinsal here. I got your message. Now listen to mine, loud and clear.” Juban heard three gunshots go off in his earpiece. “Did you hear that okay, Juban?” Tinsal asked, calling from a club that Juban’s people frequented. Tinsal had captured three of his rival’s henchmen and executed them while Juban listened.
“Yes, I heard it,” said Juban, his tone irritated, even as dread stole over him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That I just whacked three of your guys, and I’m just getting started. This won’t be over until your corpse is being devoured by my dogs,” Tinsal cried angrily.
“What the hell is this about? I thought we had a truce,” Juban growled.
Juban and Tinsal had a long history. The two grew up in the same neighborhood in the Flats, a poor suburb of Beakar. As youngsters, they played team sports together in school, until Tinsal’s family moved to a wealthier neighborhood when his father earned a big promotion at work. Juban and Tinsal lost touch with each other until they both joined gangs in different parts of Beakar.
As their territories grew, the two gangs skirmished from time to time, leaving people dead on both sides. It wasn’t until they ran into each other at a local bar in neutral territory that Juban and Tinsal realized they fought each other. They shared a few drinks that night and decided to collaborate, dividing up the city to squeeze territory from rival gangs.
The latest attacks came as a complete surprise and sparked a burning desire for revenge in both of them.
“We did until you attacked my place and stole my money,” Tinsal accused him.
“That never happened,” denied Juban, bristling at the accusation that he had double-crossed his old friend.
“I have your note right here, asshole,” said Tinsal, crumpling the paper near his mouthpiece so Juban could hear it rustling.
“Does it look like this one?” asked Juban, displaying the note left for him on the screen of his communicator.
“What the hell?!” Tinsal gawked at the note Juban held in disbelief. “I didn’t write that. Why the hell would I leave you a note? That’s not even my handwriting.”
“Exactly! We’ve been set up,” said Juban, relieved that Tinsal now realized he would never break their truce.
“Who would be dumb enough to do that?” Tinsal scratched his head, partly from embarrassment and partly from amazement that anyone would be foolish enough to attack the two largest gangs in the city.
“One of the smaller gangs looking to take over more territory,” Juban suggested, and then asked, “Did you check your recordings?”
“Why would I bother when there’s a note that makes things clear as day?” reasoned Tinsal, irritably.
“Look, you check yours, and I’ll check mine. Let’s reconnect in an hour,” Juban said. Hi
s voice then dropped, roughening like it scraped over gravel. “Oh, and I will expect payment for my men that you just executed, after we get these assholes.”
“I apologize for the misunderstanding. You’ll be properly compensated, and you better believe the perpetrator will pay dearly for this,” Tinsal replied quickly. He ended the call, his anger smoldering at being duped into betraying his childhood friend. I’m going to make whoever did this suffer, he vowed silently.
***
“Moyer, Daloi here. We’re finished on our end. What are you hearing?” Moyer, one of Daloi’s lieutenants, helped her set up the alibi. Daloi had confidence in her plan, but liked to verify every step of the way.
“First off, you are totally in the clear,” Moyer reported. “Tinsal has already launched an attack against Juban. We suspect Juban will launch a counterattack, and things will escalate from there. My police contact just told me that law enforcement is investigating all the shootings as gang-on-gang violence.”
“Good. You can end the party whenever you like. Just make sure everyone is accounted for. I don’t want any of us implicated in the shootings.”
“I’ll take care of everything on my end, boss,” Moyer said. “What’s next on the agenda?”
“Keep everyone out of trouble,” stressed Daloi. “No monkey business. I don’t want to draw any undue attention to ourselves over the next few days. We’ll be back once the heat dies down.”
“Not to worry. See you soon,” said Moyer, excited to be bringing down the two rival gangs that had refused to let him join. He could see his star rising in the underworld.
***
“Juban, what did you find out?”
“Someone impersonating me got the jump on my guys,” said Juban. “The odd thing about it, the imposters had funny eyes.”
“Same here. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“The Cheoili twins.”
“Yep, the twins. They’ve always been too greedy for their own good. They should have stayed on their own damn planet.”