by T. R. Harris
Ruszel shook his head. “This would involve an illegal activity,” he stated, no question in his tone.
“I don’t know if it’s illegal or not,” Riyad countered. “But I do know it will be dangerous.”
“What is it? What do you want us to do” Canos asked, much to Ruszel’s chagrin.
For an answer, Riyad turned to his console and typed in a set of coordinates and set them to display prominently on the screen. Both aliens leaned in closer, studying the numbers with intense concentration.
“That is in the Gainis quadrant….” Canos spoke aloud.
Ruszel nodded. “Yes … and bordering Jylen.”
“The Dysion Void!” Canos stood back, a look of fear on his face.
The Tel’oran pilot looked directly at Riyad, a cold, emotionless expression on his face. “You are looking for the Kracori, are you not, and you believe them to be within the Void?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Who are you in reality, Riyad Tarazi? You come into the Nebula posing as a merchant trader, and yet you carry barely enough merchandise for one world, let alone dozens. And you apparently have not followed protocol in securing passage with the Convoy, joining at the last moment. My suspicions are many, yet foremost is that you are a spy of some sort, possibly of the Expansion.”
“Two hundred thousand ruiens; that should be your only concern at this point,” Riyad said as he slowly rose from his seat to stand directly in front of the much taller Tel’oran. “That’s a lifetime’s worth of income for a typical Tel’oran.”
“It is not illegal for us to go to the Void,” Canos quickly added, still looking at Ruszel.
“But it is illegal for us to leave the convoy with an Outer.”
“Not if we declare an emergency.”
Ruszel continued to stare into Riyad’s eyes for a moment longer before slowly turning his attention to his agitated subordinate. “And what emergency would you propose?” It was a rhetorical question on Ruszel’s part … but not to his young assistant.
“I could be called back to Tel’or for a blood-line emergency. We could inform the Guild that this merchant has already been depleted of his inventory, and so his ship would be available for the return transit. It is unusual, but not extraordinary.”
“And what happens when we deviate from our course and set out for the Void instead of Tel’or?”
“Once away from Lucon-Por we will be undetectable.”
“And when we do not arrive at Tel’or on time?”
“You are being overly cautious, Ruszel,” Canos said, more forcefully than Riyad had ever heard him address his superior before. “We both know there will be no concern for our return. No one will notice.”
“And you’ll be rich beyond your wildest dreams,” Riyad added, just for effect.
Ruszel was quiet for a long moment as he looked down at the pilot’s console of the Ifrit. Riyad noticed.
“If any ship can make the transit, you know it’s this one,” he said. And just to sweeten the pot even more; “And at the conclusion of my mission, I may even throw in the Ifrit as a bonus.”
Ruszel jerked his head so fast in Riyad’s direction that he feared the alien would snap his neck. There was a long, tense moment of silence between the Tel’oran and the Human, before Ruszel finally spoke. “What is the phrase you used earlier … No Shit? You would do that?”
Riyad smiled. “No shit, my friend. Just get me to that set of coordinates and back … and both the credits and the ship are yours.”
There was no need for words after that; the look on the faces of both the aliens said it all.
38
Aboard the Pegasus…
Sherri Valentine entered the lounge area of the Pegasus with a determined gait and a frown on her face. She stopped abruptly at the sofa where Adam was reclining and tossed something onto his stomach.
“You know what that is?” she asked sternly.
Adam returned the frown and picked up the object. “It looks like a ball of lint,” he replied, slightly annoyed at the interruption.
“A ball of lint, that’s exactly what it is!” Sherri confirmed. “And do you know where I got it?”
“I assume from the dryer.”
“From the dryer … that’s right! And how many times have I told you to clean out the lint filter before you dry your clothes? The last thing we need aboard a starship is a fire.”
“It’s an electric dryer, Sherri,” Adam countered. “It would take a lot to start a fire.”
“That doesn’t matter; it could still happen, and I’ve told you – repeatedly – to clean the filter, but you never listen to me.”
Adam was getting angry. First she storms into the lounge interrupting his exercises, and now she’s going on about something as trivial as cleaning out a lint trap. “Excuse me, Sherri, but I may have other things on my mind – like trying to save the galaxy from marauding super-villains.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t take the time to clean out the damn lint-filter!”
“What exactly is your problem?” he asked, now sitting up on the couch. “You’ve been a real bitch for weeks now. I thought we got past all this?”
Sherri glared at him for a few tense moments, her jaw set tight and a vein in her neck adequately engorged. “What do you mean what’s wrong with me – what’s wrong with you? All you seem to do these days is lie around and play with the electronics on the ship. With all your new superpowers—” she emphasized the word superpowers with finger quotes— “all they’ve seem to have done is make you lazy. You’ve gained weight … and we never seem to have a meaningful conversation anymore.”
“I’ll lose the weight once we get back to Earth, and as far as having a conversation, what do you want to talk about? It seems every time we start any kind of discussion it disintegrates into a shouting match, and usually about Arieel Bol and the imaginary affair we’re having, even from nine thousand light-years apart.”
“I know the two of you have been talking, telepathically or through the CW. And the fact that you can do it without moving your frickin lips really pisses me off!”
“I’ve offered to have you get the implant too, but you keep refusing. You know I can’t do this job alone. You’re just being selfish for not agreeing to the procedure.”
“What, so I, too, can be wired into your exclusive little network with Miss I’m-Too-Sexy-For-The-Galaxy? No thanks. I value my privacy too much.”
“It’s not like that, Sherri. She can’t read my mind and I can’t read hers. I keep telling you that and you keep refusing to listen. We can communicate through the devices, but only when we choose.”
“Like just now?”
“No, I was practicing controlling the ship remotely – until you came barging in. There’s still a lot I have to learn about the device; that’s something else you refuse to understand. This thing inside me can do a lot more than simply turn switches on and off. To be effective, I need to know all it can do.”
Sherri turned away in a huff and plopped down in her favorite chair in the lounge, an over-padded recliner Adam and his group had found two years ago at the abandoned Human military base on Juir. It was well-worn and extremely comfortable, and Sherri sank into the cushions while hanging a leg over one of the chair’s wide arms. She was silent for a full minute before speaking again.
“I don’t know, Adam,” she began slowly, her voice more controlled than before. “It’s the commitment I fear … I think that’s what it is. If I had the same device implanted, giving me control over all the electronics within a half mile or so, then I’d have to commit to using and to joining you – and Arieel – in your crusade against evil throughout the galaxy. Do you know how hokie that sounds? It’s like something out of a comic book.”
“It’s true, however,” Adam said. “McCarthy may be dead, but his people know how to build the cheap knock-off devices like he had. What if thousands of those things suddenly appear throughout the galaxy? No computer would b
e secure – no locks, no banks … nothing. The only way to counter that is to have people like us tracking them down and stopping them.”
“But you have no evidence anything like that has happened.”
“Not yet, but McCarthy’s only been dead for about four months. We don’t know where his base is, or what the rest of his engineers and mercenaries are planning. He said he had an army of a hundred Humans, yet he only used twenty in attacking Pyrum-3. Somewhere there are another eighty Humans – all deadly mercenaries – along with a group of scientists with the knowledge to build artificial telepathy devices. If that doesn’t make you nervous then I don’t know what will?”
“It’s not that, Adam.” She hesitated again before continuing, “I just thought that with this trip back to Earth we might decide to stay … for good this time. I see now that’s not going to happen, at least not for you.”
Adam was afraid of this. Before leaving for Earth, the two of them had discussed his newfound responsibilities at length. He thought she understood and had come to terms with it. Apparently she was simply suppressing her true feelings or hoping he’d change his mind.
“You know, I do have an on-off switch for the device. Do you want me to turn it off, permanently?”
“Of course I do!” she cried out. “But that would be stupid and selfish on my part. If what you say does come true, then eventually people with the McCarthy-devices will reach Earth.”
“At that time I’ll just turn it back on – and start kicking some ass!” He flashed a big smile her way.
Sherri knew he wasn’t being serious, but she attempted a weak return smile all the same. “My hero,” she said dryly.
He stood and walked over to the recliner; he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll work it out, Sherri,” he said. “In the meantime, we’re supposed to be on vacation!”
“That will start in another two weeks. I don’t consider being cramped up in this metal tube as being on vacation.”
“Me neither,” Adam said as he stroked her flowing blonde locks. “But in a way it’s like being on vacation. After all, I haven’t killed an alien in months. I think I’m beginning to have withdrawals.”
“Give it time, Adam,” Sherri said, looking up at him with sad eyes. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to feed your addiction soon enough.”
“One can only hope.”
39
30 Days Earlier on the planet Duelux…
Daylight was just beginning to flood the vast parade field, carrying with it welcoming warmth and the promise of a glorious autumn day in the city of Morsbog. For several days prior, a thin overcast had filled the sky, keeping temperatures on the chilly side. Dormic Furkril had watched the weather with nervous anticipation as the day of the protest neared. If it was too cold then the crowds would be smaller and the news crews less-interested. With so much already set in motion, the last thing he needed was for the fickle nature of the weather to ruin it all.
Yet whether there were gods or not – Furkril didn’t care one way or the other – it did appear as though fortune would be smiling on him and his co-conspirators this day. It was shaping up to be warm and clear, and already several hundred of his fellow Jusepi had gathered on the field, preparing for the day’s event.
It was being billed as The Children’s Protest, where thousands of Jusepi couples would bring their offspring to march upon the provincial headquarters of the Human occupiers. The underlying meaning of the demonstration would be significant, since Jusepi only produce offspring every five years or so. Children were of paramount importance to the Jusepi, and maybe their calls for independence would be heard by the aliens. There were signs to be carried and songs to be sung, all in support for a return to a time before the tiny creatures from space landed upon the surface of Duelux, the home planet of the Jusepi Tribes. It would be the largest such protest in the five years since the Humans arrived, and Furkril flicked his ears rapidly in approval as he saw the first caravans of news vehicles begin to surround the parade field and unfurl their transmission gear.
The crowds would indeed be large and the coverage throughout the Jusepi Gathering extensive, with the clear weather allowing for the most-stunning visual representations of the events to come. The day would serve its purpose, Furkril kept telling himself, even though the necessity for such drastic steps still made him sick in his gullet. In the long-term his race would be better for the events that would take place today, here in the parade field, as well as at half-a-dozen other locations throughout the Gathering.
He scanned the sky above, knowing full well there was nothing to see – at least not yet. Even so, he knew that several miles away the crews were already boarding their ships and preparing for launch. From his perch on the roof of the Symbiosis Trade Building, Furkril could see across the field to the opposite side and the series of nine buildings that had been donated to the Humans to serve as their regional headquarters. The complex was almost two miles away, so he would be safe where he stood. The parade field was huge and open, devoid of trees, lakes or other encumbrances. The ships would have no trouble finding their targets.
The Senior Tribe Representative lifted a warm cup of milage-dung to his lips and gathered in its steaming sweetness. This dung was from a vintage batch reserved only for the legacy members of his Tribe and laced with just a hint of Krymean blood.
The essence of the Krymea was a delicacy for the Jusepi ruling class. They were one of the three intelligent alien races the Jusepi had discovered during their brief foray into interstellar travel and colonization – before the Humans came with their superior spacecraft and technology. The other two races served as a very efficient slave labor force for the Jusepi; the Krymea, on the other hand, only served one useful purpose.
As Furkril took another sip of his beverage, he silently thanked the Krymea for their ultimate contribution to the well-being of the Jusepi rulers. Perhaps a Krymean steak is in order for nightmeal – as a celebration of the day’s events, Furkril thought. From this day forward, the Jusepi Tribes would never be the same, and that would indeed be cause for a feast.
Four sirumons later – the near equivalence of four hours – the parade field before Furkril was literally jammed with occupants, even more than he and his co-conspirators had ever imagined. There were easily a hundred-thousand Jusepi present, with clearly two thirds of them being offspring, the vast majority of which were under twenty-seasons in age. Dozens of news crews now documented the event, broadcasting to every corner of the Gathering and beyond. The transmissions were linked to Continuous-Wormhole communication stations, theoretically making today’s events observable across the entire galaxy – if anyone outside the Gathering was interested. If they weren’t at this time, they soon would be.
The organizers within the protest eventually began to herd the mass of Jusepi children and their parents in the general direction of the Human buildings. Although he could see the structures from where he stood, he couldn’t make out individuals within the distant complex, yet in his hand he held a datapad with a streaming view of the front gate of the compound. A dozen or so Human guards had moved into position, each armed with angry-looking projectile weapons, which seemed to be the preferred armament of the aliens. The Humans looked nervous.
Furkril checked the time marker on the datapad, and as the moment arrived, he looked up into the southern sky just in time to see the first distance dots representing the approaching spacecraft. In a flash they were above the parade field … which suddenly erupted into dozens of gigantic explosions, the end result of the bombardment sent down from the ships streaking past.
A deafening cacophony of screams and cries of pain filled the parade field, as thousands of Jusepi were torn to shreds by the explosions. Clouds of black smoke, mixed with dark brown soil and bloody body parts, were thrown into the air, only to rain down upon the panicked masses as they crushed against one another in a futile attempt to escape the carnage.
But the attacking ships were
n’t done. The dozen or so silver disks flew high into the sky, nearly disappearing from view, until they looped back over and came in from the south once again for another strafing run. Thousands more Jusepi were slaughtered.
Then right on time, three oblong Jusepi warships – ancient throwaways acquired from the fringes of the Expansion – appeared from the north, coming to the aid of Furkril’s people. The attacking disks soared high into the air and disappeared – all except one straggler. The Jusepi defenders sent out three lashing bolts of blue energy at their target, striking the disk-shaped spacecraft directly on its underbelly; the craft wobbled, and then began a slow descent toward the surface.
It struck near the center of the parade field, crushing dozens of more fleeing Jusepi as it did, and even before it had come to a complete rest, hundreds of angry Jusepi were already climbing the smoking hull and attempting to rip open the hatchway to the inside. Furkril nodded his approval as the hatch opened on its own, and the vengeful horde poured inside.
Moments later, they began to pull out the already dead bodies of several Humans … just as the new crews closed in for a better look.
This would be indisputable proof as to the identity of the attackers, broadcast live throughout the Gathering … and all the way to Earth.
Furkril looked down at his datapad. The second phase of the plan was just about to begin….
The Human military maintained three bases within the Jusepi Gathering, two on Duelux and a third on a hostile, heavy-gravity world requiring an underground complex to shelter it from the elements. The alien fleet numbered one-hundred-twelve ships, mostly small class A’s with crews of twenty-five. When the Humans first arrived in the region, they had maintained a high level of readiness and security within their bases, yet over the years – and with no overt resistance from the Jusepi – things had relaxed considerably.