by T. R. Harris
“I will not deviate, yet you may if you wish,” Panur said to Riyad. “Take the shuttle. Your journey is six days out.”
Riyad looked at Adam, not quite sure what to do next. “You coming?” he asked.
Adam shook his head. “I think I’ll stay with Panur. You can take Sherri and Copernicus. Just be careful.”
“Can I take one of the mutants?”
“Panur’s going to Incus, so that only leaves J’nae,” Adam pointed out. “Do you really want that?”
Riyad wrinkled his nose. “I see your point. Okay, I’ll take the two love-birds.”
Sherri Valentine was Riyad’s ex-wife from a marriage that had lasted all of four months. Even so, the two were good friends and worked well together. The variable in the equation was Copernicus Smith, Sherri’s latest love interest. Adam hadn’t noticed any resentment on Riyad’s part since the affair became public; in fact it was Adam who was having a harder time coping than Riyad. There was a natural competitiveness between the two Alpha-males, and not only with regards to Sherri, but everything else. Adam would welcome the reprieve for a few days.
“We’ll meet up on Incus,” he said. “Just get in and out quickly and quietly. There’s nothing you can do against the Nuor alone. Leave that to others.”
“That’s my intent.”
“I’ll plot the course in the shuttle’s nav computer,” Panur said. “Yet be forewarned: I do not intend to spend much time on Incus. Either you meet us there or else we’ll leave you behind.”
Riyad nodded at the short, gray alien and smiled. “Yes, Panur, I’ll be careful. And thanks for your concern and vote of confidence.”
“Sarcasm, as only a Human can deliver, blatant and transparent. Now leave, I have more important things to do than deal with your insecurities.”
63
Third Cadre Spec-One Azon (1901) Kallen-Noc studied the alien groveling before him. The creature was nervous and reeked of fear, hardly the image of the invincible player the Humans were rumored to be. This was the twelfth test subject umanthe Cadre had examined. All prior subjects had died, and now there were only four left on Nuor.
The first Humans had simply been stabbed, sliced or broken, to verify their ability to die as normal beings. The Cadre had been cavalier with their earlier tests, expecting to inflict more damage to the subjects before they expired. Yet most died from single wounds, resulting in a faster reduction in the prisoner population than expected.
These initial results conflicted with the abundance of video evidence the Nuor had on the creature known as Adam Cain. In the alien’s immunity challenge with Master-Lead Daric (411) Kallen-Noc, the Human had been stabbed several times, yet showed no signs of injury. He also displayed supernatural ability of movement and evasion, as well as strength unexplained.
The video of the event resulted in a special unit of the Third Cadre being assigned the task of analyzing the Human enigma. As individuals, each Cadre member was an exceptional player of almost unnatural ability. Yet instead of partaking in individual challenges, they worked as a team, tasked with the evaluation of races that defied classification.
As a race, the Nuor practiced the art of Sandica—ritualized combat—for the acquisition of victory points, be they blood points without death, or immunity challenges against alien species which were always to the death. However, the Nuor were not without common sense. Occasionally they came upon races too dangerous to allow challenges, alien beings whose very existence could threaten the Nuorean race. These were classified as Jundac species.
The Cadre evaluated these potential threats, either on a technological or biological level, and helped render the final verdict. The options were stark: live or die, there was no other choice with regard to the Jundac.
Even before making the jump to their neighboring galaxy, the Nuor anticipated encountering such species. There had been a few in their home galaxy, which resulted in hard lessons learned and the initial formation of the Cadre. Now there was a process in place for dealing with such anomalies.
Yet the Humans were different from any potential Jundac race yet encountered. After intensive study, it was confirmed the race as a whole were exceptional players, but not supernaturally so. And their level of skill came in such variety that it was hard to assign challenge-factors, either as a race or individually. The trained players—the ones the Humans called warriors—were extremely challenging, even for the highest-rated Nuor. Yet for those untrained, it was almost embarrassing meeting them in immunity challenges.
And now Azon (1901) was quickly running out of test subjects, having failed to find even one who was a worthy opponent—and none even remotely close to the skills and abilities assigned to Adam Cain.
Perhaps that is what made the Human so special—he was one-of-a-kind—an oddity of nature. In fact, Adam Cain could be a mutant.
But now Azon had to deal with the Human before him, the physically undefined creature emitting waves of fear into the small test arena.
“What is your name?” Azon asked.
The Human nearly fainted when the Spec-One spoke, but then he gathered his composure. “I…I’m Phil Emerson.”
“And what is your life-skill?”
“My life-skill…I don’t understand?”
“What is your function within your society?”
“Oh…I’m a salesman, a territory director. I sell shoes.”
“Shoes?”
“Yes.” The Human pointed to Azon’s foot coverings. “Shoes. My company specializes not only in Human footwear, but we can make them for just about any species—any species that has feet, of course.” The Human bared his teeth at the Nuorean player, yet Azon sensed no threat. Humans were one of those races that displayed a wide array of expressions on their faces, often resulting in confusing interpretation. Azon had already noted this in his file.
“Have you combat training?”
“Heavens no!” The alien appeared to be proud of the statement, which Azon had trouble accepting. “I’m just a merchant, looking to make a living. The company I work for was late in reaching into space after the whole aliens-in-the-galaxy revelation about twenty years ago. But in order to compete, we had to open our markets to other worlds. I was on my way to the Canis system when you intercepted my ship. Honestly, I’m not a threat, to you or anyone. There’s no need for you do anything to me. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, whatever value that can have.”
Azon was frustrated. This Human was turning out to be like all the others that had been brought to Nuor for study, useless in the evaluation of the race. To date, Azon had yet to find one with combat training. There had been two out of the prior eleven who did put up a fight at the end, but that was more out of desperation in the face of certain death than anything else. They were dispatched after only the slightest disruption.
This current Human—this Phil Emerson—would be no different. He would die without revealing anything substantial…unless Azon used a different tact….
“Have you heard of a Human labeled Adam Cain?”
The alien’s eyes grew wide. “Adam Cain? Of course, who hasn’t?”
“Out of all the billions of Humans, you have heard of this single individual?”
“Well, he is famous.”
“For what contributions?”
The fat alien hesitated, the fear even more prominent this close to the creature.
“Speak freely. All I seek is information.” Later, Azon would seek flesh.
“Don’t take this wrong, but he’s famous for killing…aliens.”
“So he is a skillful player—a warrior?”
“Yeah, like the best ever. He’s saved the planet Earth and the Human race several times over, almost single-handedly, as well as the galaxy, too…if you believe what’s in the movies and books.”
“Is he a super-being, possessing abilities beyond those of normal Humans?”
“You mean like Superman? Hell no, nothing like that. As far as I know he’s just one badass
sonofabitch.”
Azon recoiled. “That did not translate properly.”
“He’s just normal, as far as I know,” the Human clarified. “He’s just really good at what he does. Of course, they do tend to exaggerate in the movies; however, he did just kick the ass of the Juireans—again. That I know for sure.”
“The Juireans you refer to are the leaders of the largest and oldest stellar empire in the Kac—in the Milky Way?”
“That’s them. About a year ago, Cain blew up most of their military command, along with a shitload of their rulers.”
“This one creature?”
“He does have Riyad Tarazi helping…and Sherri Valentine now and then. That Sherri’s really hot—but not like the alien Arieel Bol. Damn!”
“Please moderate your language to a more easily-decipherable level. All the beings you just mentioned are in my files. Yet referring again to Adam Cain, you believe him to have no unnatural abilities, nothing different from other Humans?”
“Not that I know of, but like I said most of what I’ve learned about him has been from the movies. I’ve never seen him in person.”
Azon was amazed by the myriad of expressions the face of Phil Emerson was capable of displaying. It was quite remarkable and would naturally lead to misinterpretations by the uninformed. Yet as confusing as his expressions may be, Azon sensed the Human was not trying to deceive.
“Is it your belief, Phil Emerson, that Adam Cain can be killed?”
The Human now displayed a look of shock. “Killed? Of course, he’s just like the rest of us. He’s not immortal after all—not like his daughter’s rumored to be.”
Azon took up a databox and began to scan his files. Yes, he had read of this anomaly, of this creature labeled Lila Bol, the product of an interspecies mating between Adam Cain and the Formilian Arieel Bol.
“Do you believe these stories?” he asked his Human prisoner.
“You know, I’ve been coming out into space for the past few years, and I’ve seen some really weird shit, but when you think about, there’s nothing that can’t be explained. But the stories of Lila—and of Panur—well, who knows? Maybe not until I see them first-hand.”
“Who is Panur?”
“He’s a mutant from another dimension, the guy who helped the Sol-Kor build all their most-deadly weapons. He’s supposed to be immortal, too, just like Lila. Some say he’s over five thousand years old.”
Azon frantically scanned the data files for any mention of a creature labeled Panur. There was none. Now the Third Cadre officer had something new. How it impacted the Humans and Adam Cain’s apparent supernatural abilities, Azon did not know, but he sensed it was related somehow. Yet it also seemed his conversation with the Human had suddenly lapsed into the realm of fantasy, more myth than fact. That was understandable; most species believed such nonsense to one degree or another. Yet now he had a line of questioning to put before the remaining Human prisoners.
Phil Emerson had calmed down much since the start of the interrogation, with his scent of fear greatly diminished, but Azon was growing impatient. His team would embark for the Kac in two days, and once there, find many more Human test subjects. He felt this one had provided all the knowledge he could. Now it was time to return to the physical aspects of the species, which presented the Spec-One with an opportunity to settle first-hand a question that had been troubling him.
Azon stepped up to the Human. “I wish you to strike me.”
Fear returned to the alien. “Strike you…you mean like hit you?”
“Yes, in the face, but from the side.”
“Why?”
“I wish to experience your species’ natural strength.”
The Human stepped away. “I don’t think so. You’re just trying to find an excuse to hurt me.”
“I do not need an excuse to hurt you,” Azon replied. “Yet I do need one not to.”
“And hitting you will keep you from hurting me?” Skepticism was thick in the Human’s tone. Azon noted this. The creature was thoughtful and calculating, even when given the opportunity to strike his capturer.
“I could hurt you,” the Human Emerson continued. “Humans are known for being stronger than most aliens, and your gravity here is lighter than on Earth. Please don’t make me do this.”
“I absolve you from all consequence regarding my request. This interrogation is being recorded, so my declaration is official. Now strike me…and do not hold back. Nuoreans are the supreme players—warriors—in our galaxy. You cannot hurt me permanently.”
The Human considered his situation—and opportunity—for a moment before nodding. “You’re sure about this?”
“Yes. Proceed. I am ready.”
Phil Emerson studied Azon carefully. Then he shifted his footing, pulled back his right arm, and delivered a powerful balled fist to the side of the Nuorean’s head….
Azon lay unconscious for three days before waking. After another day of recovery, he was released in time to make the next jump to the Kac. He joined the other members of his team from the earlier transition, still wearing the full-head guard as the shattered bones in his face continued to heal.
The Spec-One had been admonished by his superiors for taking such a foolish risk. The Humans were a potential Jundac race and not to be taken lightly. If the hit had been half an inch higher he would have died from the single blow—something almost unheard of against a Nuorean. Yet his experiment did prompt the Grand Masters to intervene with regards to the remaining four Humans on Nuor. They were dispatched in private immunity challenges with the Grand Masters themselves. These matches were carefully monitored and used primarily to provide the leaders of the Nuorean race with first-hand knowledge of this potential Jundac species. Yet they took care. One of the Humans managed to injure a Grand Master—not severely, but enough to warrant the alien’s immediate termination by the watchful Third Cadre.
After the challenges, the GM’s sent orders that the Humans should be segregated from the other races in the Kac, with challenges awarded only to the highest-skilled players and under controlled conditions. An evenly-matched contest would be allowed to continue to the conclusion, even if it meant the death of a Nuorean master. However, if the Human was judged to be clearly superior, then the challenger could continue to engage the alien to acquire experience, yet if faced with jeopardy, the Cadre would intervene. Skilled players were not to be wasted in clearly losing challenges; it took too long for them to reach such a level of expertise.
64
Sherri Valentine was in the landing bay of the Najmah Fayd, still apprehensive about Riyad’s plan to intentionally go out looking for fleets of Nuorean warships in nothing but an unarmed shuttle craft. Their last such attempt had nearly left her and Coop stranded for eternity in the Andromeda Galaxy. She wasn’t anxious for a replay.
“C’mon, let’s load the shuttle,” she said to Coop and Riyad. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from past experience, there’s no such thing as a quick in and out, at least nothing that’s even remotely satisfying. So let’s just get this over with”
The two men looked at each other.
“Is she talking about you again?” Riyad said.
“I thought she meant you?” Coop responded.
“Men,” Sherri proclaimed. “Y’all think you’re the greatest lovers in the world, but I bet none of you could hold a candle to Trimen—and he’s three times your age.”
“I appreciate the compliment,” said a voice from behind the group.
Sherri turned, red-faced. Trimen was there, along with Adam. She lifted the first box she saw and carried it into the shuttle as quickly as she could.
Adam understood what Sherri meant about the Formilian. Trimen O’lac—the High Corusant, the highest ranking male in Formilian society—was an equivalent of over a hundred Human years old, yet he had the physique of a twenty-something romance novel cover model, tanned, buffed and square-jawed. He also had a habit of wearing shirts without sleeves, displayi
ng his toned, muscular arms to the breathless enjoyment of the only true female aboard. The former queen of the Sol-Kor—the mutant J’nae—was classified female, but only on paper. With her ability to modify her cells, she could be anything she wanted to be.
“How are the preps coming?” Adam asked after Sherri had left.
Riyad smiled. “Doing fine, my friend, we should be ready in ten minutes. Sure you don’t want to tag along?”
“The three of you can handle this. Now, if you were going out to actually bash some alien heads, I might reconsider. But this is just a boring reconnaissance mission.”
Riyad nodded toward the entrance hatch to the shuttle. “It may not be that boring, considering the present company.”
Adam smiled. “Even so, be careful. Panur has pinpointed the source of the gravity wave. It’s in the computer. But if the Nuoreans are bringing in fleets, you should be able to pick up their signatures long before you come in range. If that happens, get the hell out of there. I’ll contact fleet command and let them take it from there. I’m pretty anxious to see if the suppressor beam strategy works.”
“Same here. If it doesn’t, we have one hell of an uphill battle.”
“Remember,” Adam said, turning serious. “In and out, and then beat a path for Incus. We can’t wait for long.”
Riyad studied Adam’s creased forehead. “I’m sure she’s fine,” he said to his friend, reading his concern. “If anyone can take care of herself it’s an immortal mutant genius.”
“One would think so,” Adam replied. “However, how easy it was for the Aris to take her, I’m worried.”
“I can see you are.” Riyad reached out his hand and they shook. “See you in a few days.”
Adam nodded.
A few minutes later, he left the landing bay and watched as the shuttle dropped out the back of the Najmah Fayd and streaked off into space. Call it a sixth sense or what, but Adam wasn’t feeling very confident about Riyad’s mission, possibly because he wasn’t going. After all, Adam Cain was kind of a serious control freak.