by T. R. Harris
Jay scanned the surface again. It was deceptively quiet. He knew that even now there were dozens—if not hundreds—of salvage operations taking place on the surface, as it was on nearly all the dead worlds in The Zone; however, no one advertised their presence. Every planet had their share of raiders and pirates lying in wait for the salvagers to finish their decontamination so they could sweep in and steal away the treasures. That was why all operations on the surface were clandestine. That or the salvagers came with armies of security personnel.
Jay couldn’t afford any of that. To tell the truth, he couldn’t afford any salvage operation at the time. Things had been tough recently.
At one time, he owned a small freighter he used for his tiny operations. But then he’d lost a salvage to a team of raiders. The loss set him back so much that he had to sell the ship to cover the debt. He still had his small speeder and a loyal crew of four, but every operation after that was done on credit, as well as a share of the profits, leaving Jay with very little for himself after expenses.
Six months before, Riyad Tarazi and his friends came to Liave-3 and opened their small outfitting business. The major advantage Riyad had compared to other small-time operations was that he had access to three decent-sized freighters, which he also rented out. The ships were part of a shipyard full of old derelicts they acquired from another Human, an associate of theirs named Copernicus Smith. Three of the ships were operational from the beginning, and Riyad and his partners were constantly working on getting more of the derelicts up and running. But that was an expensive and slow process.
Jay Williford was one of only a handful of Humans on Liave-3, and he and Riyad hit it off immediately, even as Adam Cain and Sherri Valentine had their reservations about the salvager. Riyad helped Jay with his last several salvages, although none of the operations turned out particularly well for either of them. Still, it kept Jay in the game.
And now he had a lead on a secret cache of prototype energy weapons which could be worth a lot of money if they could be salvaged and sold. The selling part would be the most difficult. Jay didn’t have any connections in the black-market arms world which would allow him to safely dump the weapons in a single transaction. He would have to be more judicious, as well as patient. It may even require him to leave the Kidis Frontier and travel to another part of the galaxy someplace where the market wasn’t as saturated with contraband weapons. He also knew of a few shady characters who might be interested in brokering such a deal.
But first things first. Jay had to discover whether or not the dying alien told the truth.
Thanks to the galactic Library, everything there was to know about the planet Hax’on was available on computer, so it was easy for Jay to locate the city of Ko and the Tainesin Manufacturing Works. Ko was the third-largest city on the planet, and TMW was—had been—a major conglomerate. He guided the David Lender into the atmosphere and angled it toward the city. It was dark on this side of Hax’on when he swept in over Ko, again bothered by the eerie sight of towering skyscrapers, mazes of empty streets, and not a single light burning. The ship’s sensors directed him to the manufacturing plant.
The facility was huge, consisting of nine main buildings, as well as a vast field of dozens of warehouses set off on concrete pads. Jay set the ship down in a wide path between the warehouses. He buttoned up his environmental suit and put on the helmet. Although the outside readings showed only minimal radiation in the air, the ground was still hot. He wasn’t taking any chances.
A few minutes later—and with a flashlight in hand—Jay walked along the rows of warehouses, looking for number eleven. The buildings were cookie-cutter affairs, each about a hundred feet long by thirty wide and with double doors at each long end secured by electronic locks. Each was painted a uniform grey, which made them blend into the dark landscape, appearing as tombstones in the deathly quiet of a gargantuan graveyard.
Jay located number eleven and punched in the access code the dead alien gave him. The electronics still functioned, and soon the doors separated at the centerline and retracted into the walls of the warehouse. The light from Jay’s torch probed the interior.
The warehouse was full of standard A-9 shipping containers, each about twelve feet high by ten wide and thirty long. They were set up for muleship transport, able to be towed through space in long cargo trains called strings. A quick count showed six containers were in the warehouse.
Jay approached the first one, scanning the exterior for a locking mechanism. He didn’t find any—which was fortunate since he didn’t have a code for the containers. Jay worked the manual latching system and pulled open the heavy metal door.
Inside were stacks of metal crates, two rows across and four high. Jay moved closer and directed the light between the crates. Five rows went back, making for a total of forty crates in each container, assuming they all held the same cargo.
Jay took out a radiation gauge and ran it over the surface of the crates. They read very low levels of contamination, thanks to the hermetic seals of the containers. They were designed to travel through space and protect the contents against external radiation, as well as the heat and cold of the environment. But leaving the door open for an extended period would undoubtedly allow some of the residual contamination on the exterior of the containers to seep in. Each shipping container had to be swabbed before moving it into a freighter for transport into space. After that, they could be linked together for the journey to … to where? At the moment, Jay wasn’t sure. But if the crates contained what he hoped they did he would find a place.
He moved to the crates and unstrapped the first row. The gravity of Hax’on was Juirean standard—about three-quarters that of Earth—so it wasn’t hard for him to pull the top crate down so he could check inside. Again, after a little finagling of the latches, he opened the lid. And that’s when he gasped.
Placed in individual plastic cradles were rows of grey energy weapons, looking similar to Xan-fi rifles, yet definitely of a modified design. He lifted one from its cradle and studied the configuration.
The weapon was lightweight, with a uniform grip that could be easily switched out for more custom stocks. The bolt chamber was corrugated and twice as long as a standard Xan-fi, with a control pack underneath dotted with a myriad of strange electronic controls whose function Jay could only guess. He fingered the power pack control and was rewarded with an instant amber light. The weapon had a charge, even after sitting in a shipping container for who knows how long. Two small screens lit up on the upper surface of the weapon, presenting status reports in an alien language. But as it was with most devices in the galaxy, the reports were accompanied by a soft verbal reading which Jay’s translator could decipher.
“Status: Active. Power: Full. Capacity: 90 bolts. Charge: 70-plus.”
Jay inhaled sharply. Did he hear that right? He knew the standard setup for the typical Xan-fi flash rifle was only twenty bolts, with a level-one charge of thirty-five. This weapon could fire ninety bolts and at twice the power of a standard level-one.
“Holy crap!” he said aloud. “Who needs that much firepower?”
He shrugged off the question. It didn’t matter. If a weapon had this capacity, someone would find a use for it. It also meant this rifle would be deadly against any known species in the galaxy—including Humans.
Again, he repeated, “Holy crap!”
He did a quick count of the weapons in the crate: ten. So, four hundred weapons in each container and six containers. Twenty-four hundred super energy rifles.
Jay was already working the math in his head. A standard Xan-fi rifle went for four hundred Juirean credits. This weapon—even on the black market—could get double that. That placed the value of the warehouse and its six containers at just under two million Juirean credits.
“Holy crap!” His mind was locked in a verbal loop.
Jay took the weapon outside. Although all the electronics appeared to be working, he still wanted to fire this baby, if only to
experience a 70+ energy bolt. He sighted a loading crane off in the distance about five hundred yards away. He took careful aim and fingered the trigger.
In the dark of night, the energy bolt appeared as a single beam of light streaking out from the barrel, rather than the intense ball of concentrated plasma that it was. But unlike a typical flash weapon, this beam was azure blue and of a much-tighter dimension. The concentrated light was intimidating in its color and compact size, but what made Jay stagger back in shock was when the blue beam contacted the distant loading crane, sending out a firework-like cascade of streaming white-hot metal from the contact point.
Five hundred yards! And with no apparent loss of power.
“What the hell is the range of this thing?” he wondered aloud. Xan-fis are good only out to about a hundred yards, at the most. After that, their power dissipates, and efficiency drops off exponentially.
“Screw eight hundred JCs,” Jay said to the empty night. “These suckers are worth thousands each!”
Suddenly feeling exposed in the quiet of the dead world, Jay looked around nervously. Although the blue flash beam was more subdued than a normal flash rifle bolt, the tiny explosion on the crane could be seen for miles away. He rushed back into the warehouse and sealed both the crate and the container. He kept the one rifle out as a souvenir.
Thirty minutes later, the warehouse was buttoned up again, and Jay was powering up his speeder. He could understand now why the owners were so adamant about keeping the existence of their superweapons a secret, even to the point of executing anyone who knew about them. These things were game-changers. Also, the killing at Cain’s happened only a few days before. To Jay, that meant the owners were getting ready to collect their property. He had to act fast to have any chance of getting them for himself.
He lifted off and blasted for outer space where he would pull out all the stops and return to Liave-3 in only three days. It was now a race against time. And a race to a potential multi-million-JC-fortune for the winner.
The ship sat in modified dark status; not completely devoid of energy signature but enough to keep it invisible from the tiny speeder on the surface. High powered telescopic cameras recorded the location of the salvager, as well as the startling beam of energy that struck a loading crane in the storage yard.
Lospen Calos studied the data readout. The distance the beam traveled was over four hundred randels, easily tripling the range of even the most-powerful flash rifle. The raider stretched out a thin grin. He had no idea how many weapons the Human had found inside the warehouse, but it would be enough to justify the raid. He watched with interest as the alien ran back to his ship and lifted off. He would waste no time gathering the proper equipment for the decontamination and shipment of the weapons. Lospen knew the salvager’s destination; he would be back within ten days at the most.
Lospen would remain in orbit, guarding the site. It had been lean times recently for his small fleet of three raider ships. If this gamble paid off, it would satiate the rumblings of the crews. He would let the alien do the hard part, then Lospen and the others would drop in and take away the salvage. It was what pirates did, and for doing so, all would be richly rewarded.
Unfortunately, the alien salvager and his crew wouldn’t fare as well.
5
The morning air hung thick and humid in the thinning jungle near the old and seemingly deserted shipyard. Most of the discolored coquina wall around the facility had crumbled over the years, with a prominent section missing entirely from where a Juirean Class-3 starship landed on it several years back. Above and through the barrier, Jay could see an assortment of rusting behemoths sitting idle in the yard, awaiting their one-in-a-million chance of ever reaching space again. The yard’s three serviceable freighters were at the spaceport twenty miles away. Jay doubted any of their sisters would be joining them there anytime soon. Most were too far gone.
Earlier, Jay convinced his friend Riyad to meet him in a field adjacent to the shipyard an hour after sunrise so he could pitch him a new project—and without Riyad’s partners present to squelch the deal. Riyad hesitated at first but then capitulated. As a former space pirate, the surreptitious nature of the meeting piqued Riyad’s interest.
Jay had returned to Liave-3 the evening before, and he was anxious to get the ball rolling for the salvage of the prototype weapons. He’d made a few calls, seeking a broker for the weapons, if he could salvage them. For that, he needed Riyad and his resources. Riyad arrived a few minutes after Jay, in a small personal transport which bounced over the rutted ground heading to where the salvager stood. Jay had taken a paid transport to the field and had the driver leave him. He would catch a ride back to Balamar with Riyad.
The bearded Human stepped from the vehicle and approached, a neutral look on his face and bags under his eyes. It was early for him since he often pulled double duty working the outfitting business during the day and the bar at night. It was obvious he didn’t get much quality sleep the night before.
Jay watched as Riyad looked over at the broken-down wall surrounding the shipyard. There were flashes of memory behind his friend’s eyes, along with a fair amount of pain.
“You spent some time there?” Jay asked as Riyad came within earshot. He had heard a little of the story, but not too much detail.
“Some,” Riyad answered. “From there, Adam and I ended up being guests at the Klin Hilton until commandoes came to rescue us. I have to tell you, the time I spent as a prisoner aboard the Klin Colony Ship was the only time in my life I wished I’d died.”
“It wasn’t pleasant, I take it?”
Riyad shook his head. Then he looked around the field, realizing Jay was alone and with only a long object wrapped in a grey blanket resting at his feet.
“So, what’s up? Why all the secrecy?”
Jay smiled. “I think I have something that’s right up your alley, and a chance for us both to make a decent-size score.”
“But …”
“But Adam and Sherri probably won’t be on board, not until the cash comes in.”
“Sounds diabolically-illegal,” Riyad said, flashing a brilliant white smile that glowed against his dark skin and beard.
Jay shrugged. “What’s illegal around here anyway, right?” he quipped. “Let’s just say the market for what I’ve found is a little harder to find, although the payoff will be astronomical.”
Riyad looked down at the bundle on the ground. “Is that it?”
Jay nodded before bending down and unwrapping the advanced energy rifle. He breathed a sigh of relief when Riyad let out a whistle.
“Sal-beh,” Riyad whispered.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, it means awesome in Arabic. Sometimes I lapse into my native tongue when I’m excited.”
Jay lifted the black metal weapon and handed it to Riyad. He took it in his hands as carefully and reverently as if he was handling a newborn baby.
“Plasma, I take it?” he said.
Jay nodded. “Yep. But get this; it has a ninety-bolt capacity … and at seventy-plus power rating.”
Riyad looked at Jay, a frown on his dark forehead. “Bullshit. No hand weapon is that powerful.”
“This one is. And not only that, but the accuracy range is over five hundred yards with zero deviation. I tried it myself. Honestly, I don’t know how far this thing can shoot.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
Although the line was archaic and grossly overused, Riyad laughed. “With this thing, you could.”
“Actually, I got it on Hax’on.”
“Hax’on? No shit? How many are there?”
Jay couldn’t hide his excitement any longer. “There’s a whole shipping container full of them. Four hundred, if I counted right.”
The statement got enough of a response out of Riyad that Jay didn’t regret telling him the whole truth, that there were really six containers of the weapons, no
t just one. At the black-market rate for such a weapon, Riyad had already done the math in his head and concluded that one container was enough to interest him. Again, Jay sighed. That left the contents of five containers for him and his crew, and without having to share the profits with Riyad and his partners.
Riyad was Jay’s friend. He just wasn’t that good of a friend.
“Fire it up,” Jay said. “The pack has held its charge for the past three years, which is another incredible feature about the rifle. Give it a go.”
Riyad fingered the power button and was presented with a fully activated weapon a split second later. He scanned the status screens, confirming what Jay had told him about the capacity and power. He whistled again. After aiming for the nearby jungle tree line, he opened up.
“What the … blue bolts? That is so cool!”
Riyad continued to fire, not only testing the capacity of the rifle, but also its range and accuracy. After thirty minutes, he still hadn’t drained the power pack. But the nearby jungle was a mess, with small herds of frightened dinosaurs and tiny mammals scurrying for safety.