by Larry Payne
Clayton settled back in his chair and smiled. “Mister Magnus, I can’t afford the possibility of the authorities snooping around Clayton Enterprises. I’m sure you can understand that.”
Magnus tossed around the prospect that Rena Clayton wasn’t kidnapped at all and had found an easy way out. She had to know her husband wouldn’t go to the authorities.
“One million credits,” said Magnus. He sopped up some gravy on his plate with a piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth.
The Jebhari raised his eyebrows at his companion and looked at Clayton.
“Excuse me?” Clayton sat up in his chair.
“Half now and half when I deliver your wife to you.”
“So, I’m out a million credits either way.”
“There’s one difference. With me, you’re guaranteed to get your wife back. The other way, maybe you do and maybe you don’t. You choose. When you decide, you can reach me here. And now, Mister Clayton, I would like to finish my supper.”
When Magnus resumed eating his meal, Owen Clayton reached into his suit coat, retrieved a photo and placed it in front of the freelancer. “You’ll need to know who you’re looking for.”
Magnus stopped chewing his food when he looked at the headshot placed in front of him. He wondered what a beautiful woman like Rena saw in Owen Clayton and questioned the kidnapping more now than he did before.
“I’ll make the transfer today,” said Clayton, “half a million credits will be in your account by tomorrow morning.”
Magnus spooned the last bite of his meal into his mouth. “I’ll get ready to leave when I see the credits in my account.”
“Not very trusting are you?”
Magnus wiped his mouth with a napkin and dropped it into his empty plate. “Mister Clayton, in my line of work, it doesn’t pay to be too trusting. Trust in the wrong person will put you on the business end of a blaster.”
“Very well, I’ll make the arrangements tonight,” said Clayton. He rose from his chair and held out his hand to Magnus.
The two men shook hands before Owen Clayton turned, shuffled back through the dining room and disappeared through the door.
“So when do we leave?”
Magnus looked across the table at his loyal Jebhari companion, Qwee. They’d fought together during the Galactic War and at the infamous Battle Of Bria Rialto, the turning point in the war, where they both barely survived a direct hit on a gun emplacement. Qwee, wounded himself, dragged his unconscious companion to safety and returned to direct the defense of the battered outpost. For his actions, he was awarded the Galactic Medal Of Valor, the highest award in the Galactic Defense Force and along with adding to the legend of the Jebhari Warriors, he gained a lifelong friend in Quentin Magnus.
“Start packing,” said Magnus.
Chapter 4
The long streaks of light turned into a shimmering star field when Quentin Magnus dropped Vindicator from hyperspace and guided the converted freighter’s approach to the desert planet, Dracus.
Bought from a freight hauler looking to make a fast credit and a quick getaway, Magnus took his new acquisition to a couple of old star fighter mechanic friends of his and had Vindicator refitted with war surplus laser cannons, bow and stern, and twin laser turrets above and below. The addition of bigger pulse and hyperdrive engines made the once hulking freighter a force to be reckoned with.
Magnus gained clearance to land and battled the arid desert winds before finally settling Vindicator into an empty bay of the spaceport’s hangar.
He shut down and secured the engines, unbuckled his seatbelt and followed Qwee through the hatch. They stopped at the arms locker where Magnus belted on his blaster, while Qwee unfolded a tunic, slipped it over his head and tied it around his waist. The Jebhari then slid into the shoulder straps of a scabbard, letting it hang down his back. Finally, he picked a broad sword, the mark of a Jebhari Warrior, and slid it over his right shoulder, dropping it into the scabbard. He closed the locker door and turned toward his companion.
Magnus marveled at the imposing figure standing next to him. “I’m glad you’re on my side,” he said and punched the control panel on the wall behind them, lowering the ramp and opening the hatch.
They strode down the ramp and stepped onto the hanger deck, allowing the ramp to lift and secure the hatch. They made their way along the long row of star ships, weaved through the busy spaceport and exited through the sliding double doors into the hot, arid Dracus air. Heat shimmers distorted the view of the main street of the spaceport’s busy town, New Caledonia.
Magnus and Qwee strode through the security gates, barely sidestepping the children that came charging around the corner of a building. They approached the first of the town’s many cantinas and stopped abruptly when an old man burst through its double doors and sprawled in the dusty street in front of them.
“And stay out!” bellowed a rotund, aproned brute from the cantina’s door. He looked from the old man to Magnus and Qwee, wiped his hands on his dirty apron and then turned back into the cantina.
The old man picked himself up, brushed off his clothes and stood for a moment, struggling to regain his balance. The two companions smiled and shook their heads when the old man ambled across the street and disappeared into another cantina.
They reached the Moon Glow Hotel without further incident and strolled through the lobby to the registration desk where the desk clerk sat reading a copy of the local newsprint.
“We’d like two rooms,” said Magnus.
“Got a convention in town, only got one room left,” replied the desk clerk from behind the newsprint.
“A convention!” said Magnus, wondering what would attract a convention to Dracus.
“Smuggler’s Guild.”
Qwee reached across the desk and ripped the newsprint from the desk clerk’s grasp.
“We’ll take it,” he said and threw the crumpled newsprint to the floor behind the desk. The clerk turned the register around for them to sign, his wide eyes never leaving the Jebhari.
“Well, do we get a key?” asked Magnus, quickly tiring of the clerk’s fascination with his big companion.
“Oh, yes sir.” The clerk pulled his eyes away from Qwee, turned to retrieve the only keycard left on the board and slid it across the desk in front of Magnus. “Up the stairs, halfway down the hall on your left, room two seventeen.”
Magnus picked up the keycard and led Qwee up the staircase to the second floor. He slipped the card into the lock and opened the door to the sparsely furnished room. A big double bed with an elaborate headboard and footboard stood in front of the window on the outer wall. An overstuffed armchair sat in a corner next to a small table and lamp. A small dresser sat on an inner wall.
“Sure, don’t seem like much for what we paid, does it?” asked Magnus.
“Don’t forget a convention is in town,” replied Qwee.
The Jebhari shook out of the straps of his scabbard and laid the sword on the bed. He opened the small door next to the dresser and switched on the light. He scooted into the narrow bathroom, turned on the shower, let it run for a minute and shut it off.
“At least the shower works, that should be worth something,” said Qwee.
“Good,” said Magnus, “let’s get cleaned up and get something to eat.”
#
The day was fading when Magnus and Qwee stepped through the entrance to The Smuggler’s Roost. They stopped on either side of the door to allow their eyes to adjust to the dim light of the cantina. Old grudges died hard and Magnus knew that all the years of hiring out his blaster had created a grudge or two and he didn’t intend to take his last breath on the dusty floor of some spaceport cantina.
The Smuggler’s Roost was doing a brisk business and after a couple of minutes, the two companions weaved their way through the crowded tables. A loud cheer erupted from a circle of patrons in a corner of the cantina as they reached the bar.
“Quentin Magnus, haven’t seen you around
here in a while,” said the smiling bartender.
“Business has been a little slow lately, but I see business hasn’t slowed down for you,” said Magnus.
“Helps to have a convention in town. What can I get for you two?”
“Something cool and wet,” said Magnus.
The bartender stepped to the far end of the bar and returned with two mugs filled with a glittery, foamy, bronze colored ale and slid them in front of the two freelancers. Having gotten several denominations of credit markers from the hotel transfer office, Magnus slid two of them across the bar.
“This one’s on the house,” said the bartender, holding up his hand to refuse the credits.
Qwee held up his mug to the light and watched the glittery bubbles rise to the top. “What is it?”
“Ale merchant strolled in here about a week ago with a whole cargo hold full of it. Said it’s the rage on the border planets.”
The two freelancers lifted their mugs, bumped them together, drank them empty and returned them to the bar. Qwee wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“Makes your mouth sort of tingly,” he said, smacking his lips.
“Seen Dumark around?” asked Magnus, a second before another loud cheer erupted from the circle.
The bartender smiled and jerked his thumb toward the noisy corner. “She’s stealing credits from the unsuspecting.”
Magnus and Qwee strode over to the circle and peeked over the heads of the men crowded in front of them. At one side of a table in the center of the circle, dressed in black from her glossed, calf high boots to the spangled vest she wore over a black, silk, sleeveless shirt, sat Kalar Dumark. Her close cropped black, tattooed biceps and holstered blaster completed her look.
A big, bearded man stepped from the circle and handed a number of paper credits to a man standing at the center of the table who slapped them on top of the credits already in his other hand.
“Let’s make it a little more interesting, Missy,” said the big man, as he sat down across from Kalar and put his elbow in the center of the table.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Kalar.
“If I win, I get you for the night.”
Kalar answered by putting her elbow in the center of the table next to his. A loud cheer erupted again from the circle.
Qwee looked at Magnus. “Is she serious?”
Magnus smiled as the man at the center of the table, who appeared to be the referee, put a couple of wood blocks under Kalar’s elbow and she clasped hands with the big man.
“You know the rules,” said the referee, laying his hands over the top of the joined fist. He looked at each of them and quickly pulled his hands away.
The big man gained the initial advantage, but Kalar slowly edged him back to center and smiled at him. Sweat formed on the big man’s face as she pressed an advantage. He grimaced when he started to falter and let out a roar just before Kalar took his arm to the table.
A rousing cheer erupted and credits changed hands around the circle as Kalar rose from the table. The referee laid the pile of paper credits into her open hand and she leaned down to the defeated big man. “Maybe next time.”
Magnus looked over at Qwee, raised his eyebrows and smiled again. The Jebhari could only shake his head.
“There’s a law against stealing, you know,” shouted Magnus. Counting her credits, Kalar looked up when she heard the familiar voice and smiled when Magnus and Qwee pushed their way to the edge of the circle.
“Quentin Magnus, I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to see you again. We hadn’t worked in so long, I was running out of credits and had to do something.”
Magnus and Qwee had served with Kalar during the Galactic War and was the first one they contacted when they decided to go into the freelancing business.
“I see you’ve added something new,” said Magnus, pointing to her tattooed biceps. A knife through a flaming skull decorated her left arm and two serpents curled around a sword decorated her right.
“Too much of that new ale one night,” she chuckled.
“You ready to go back to work?”
“Been ready. Whatcha got?”
Magnus retrieved the photo from his pocket and handed it to Kalar. “Big payday. Find the whereabouts of Rena Clayton.”
Kalar looked at the likeness. “Owen Clayton’s wife?” She got a nod from Magnus. “Heard some talk about her getting snatched. Not too picky about your clients, are you?” She handed the photo back to Magnus
He shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, he had the credits and we had the time. Besides, I wanted to save you from having to spend time with one of these beasts when you lost a match.”
“Not likely,” replied Kalar.
Magnus returned the picture to his pocket. “Let’s find a table and you can tell me what you’ve heard.”
As Qwee started to follow his comrades, a Saurian stepped in front of him. “Well, well, a real live Jebhari warrior. Let me buy you a drink, my friend.” The reptilian humanoid put a clawed hand on the Qwee’s shoulder.
“I’m not thirsty and I’m not your friend,” said Qwee, pushing the hand from his shoulder. He turned to follow Magnus and Kalar.
“Too good to drink with a Saurian?”
Qwee turned when he heard a loud roar and caught the Saurian’s massive shoulder in his midsection, the momentum propelling them both across the cantina, crashing into the wall and onto the floor.
The reptilian rolled off of Qwee as the Jebhari struggled for air. The Saurian doubled him up with a kick to his ribs and then stepped back and sent another kick toward his head.
Qwee caught the clawed foot and threw the Saurian off balance, then swung his leg sweeping the reptilian off his feet, sending him crashing to the floor.
Qwee was first to his feet and caught his rising opponent flush in the face with a sledgehammer right fist, knocking him back to the floor. He opened his fist and shook his hand, then helped the stunned reptilian to his feet and propelled him back across the room, headlong into the bar.
The groggy Saurian rolled over and struggled to his feet. Regaining his balance, he charged Qwee again.
“Enough of this foolishness,” whispered the big Jebhari and stopped the charging Saurian in mid-stride with a viselike grip to his throat.
In an exhibition of sheer power and brute force, Qwee raised his opponent above his head and sent him crashing through a table to the floor.
“I am NOT your friend,” bellowed Qwee, looking down at the motionless Saurian lying amid the debris of the destroyed table.
All eyes followed the Jebhari as he turned, trying to locate Magnus and Kalar. He weaved his way through the maze of tables while two Saurians rushed toward their fallen comrade.
“Can’t take you anywhere, can I?” asked Magnus when Qwee sat in the chair across the table from him.
“Actually, that was quite impressive,” chimed in Kalar.
“I’m glad to see you two were amused by that show of hostility,” said Qwee.
“I was about to ask Kalar about Rena Clayton when your little disagreement broke out,” said Magnus.
“By all means, proceed,” said Qwee, rubbing the knuckles on his right hand.
Magnus turned his attention to Kalar. “Now what can you tell me about Rena Clayton?”
“Well, word has it that Rena was in the clutches of Raxlon Brietta and Black Fist.”
“Was?”
Kalar nodded. “You ever heard of Mondo Kai?”
Qwee stopped rubbing his knuckles and stared intently at Kalar. The big man’s heightened interest was not lost on Magnus.
“The bounty hunter?” Magnus got a nod of Kalar’s head in reply.
“That’s him. Seems Brietta had a big powwow with Kai and offered him second-in-command of Black Fist. But, Kai being Kai, doesn’t play second fiddle to anybody and whacked Brietta instead and now is top dog.”
“Does he still have Rena?”
Kalar nodded again. “As far as I
know, she’s still in the Black Fist camp on Targus and it ain’t gonna be easy gettin’ her out.”
“Where are Armond and the old man?” asked Magnus.
Kalar shrugged her shoulders. “They’ll show up.”
Chapter 5
Qwee adjusted the straps of the scabbard on his back as the three companions maneuvered around the cantina’s tables. When they stepped through the door, a hailstorm of blaster fire lit up the night.
Qwee ducked back into the cantina when Magnus and Kalar dove in opposite directions, drawing their blasters before they hit the ground and came rolling up returning fire as they raced for cover.
The firefight ended as quickly as it began. Cautiously, Magnus and Kalar emerged from the corners of the cantina and Qwee stepped through the door. They jogged across the street to the spot where the blaster fire originated. Two Saurians lay spread eagle in the alley.
“Isn’t that your playmate, Qwee?” asked Magnus, pointing with his blaster to the ambusher with two smoking blaster holes in his chest.
“And that must be his partner,” said Kalar, nodding at the corpse on the opposite side of the alley. “But weren’t there two of them that helped him out of the cantina?”
“Yeah, there were,” replied Magnus, taking two cautious steps down the alley. “That means one got away. No telling which way he went.”
#
Armond Juncker stepped from a nearby cantina and looked up the street toward The Smuggler’s Roost at the sounds of a firefight. A Saurian, carrying a blaster, darted from between two buildings across the street and ran past him.
Juncker gave chase, quickly closing the gap behind the lumbering Saurian. He dove and wrapped his arms around the reptilian’s massive legs, sending them both rolling in the street.
As they started to rise, Juncker effectively ended the Saurian’s flight to freedom with a well aimed fist to his chin.
Armond looked back toward The Smuggler’s Roost as he dusted off his clothes. He picked up the blaster from the street and tucked it in the waist of his pants. He grabbed the unconscious Saurian by his collar and dragged him up the street toward the gathering crowd.