by T. R. Harris
“I find this information to be very disturbing, yet helpful. If there is anything I can do to assist in your coming mission, please just ask.”
“I appreciate that, Lord Wydor, but right now my plans are pretty scattered. All I know for sure is that this isn’t over, not by a long shot.”
“I wish you success, Adam Cain, and one last item before I break the link.”
“Yes, sir?”
“If ever you decide to wage war again on a personal level, please spare the Juireans. I have doubt we could survive another encounter with an alien with an attitude ... such as you.”
130
The readings weren’t right, and no matter what he did, they were still off. Adam cut the power to the generators and let the Pegasus engines go dark. He slipped out of the pilot seat and headed aft out of the pilothouse.
Try as he might, he couldn’t keep himself from looking over at the dark discoloration in the deck behind the observation seat where Master Chief Geoffrey Rutledge had died. Each time brought sorrow to his heart and a determination to his soul.
And as he made his way to the aft landing bay, he found his mind drifting back over the events of the past three months....
It had started while still aboard The Trident, when the time had come to confront Sherri and Riyad, not wanting to leave things hanging as they were.
“I’m sorry, Adam, but I need more. And if it hadn’t been for Riyad’s capture, I would still be on Earth and trying to make a new life—” she waved her hand out before her “—away from all this.”
Adam turned to Riyad, who had been strangely quiet throughout this whole affair. Riyad shrugged. “I have always found Sherri to be a beautiful, dynamic woman. And now as I, too, have had my fill of life in space, I wish to start a family back in the world I am most familiar with.”
“And I want kids, too!” Sherri’s eyes were moist as she desperately sought Adam’s understanding, if not his acceptance.
His eyes were moist as well.
“You’ve been very upfront with all this in the past, Sherri. I do understand.”
“Do you really?” Her question was a plea.
“Yes I do, and I know I couldn’t make you happy. My life is such a goddamn mess.”
Riyad flashed his trademark, blindingly-white smile. “Adam Cain, savior of the universe—and his life is a mess? You’re a hero, Adam Cain. Maybe it’s time you faced that reality.”
“I’m an imposter, Riyad—and you know it. You both know it. I’ve been lucky beyond belief. Anyone reading this story would need a hefty suspension of disbelief just to get through it.”
“It’s science fiction, Adam. You’re not supposed to look at it too closely. Just accept it for the entertainment that it is.”
Adam smiled, this time surrendering his macho countenance and letting the tears flow. He embraced his two best friends in the entire universe for a full minute before finally releasing them.
“I wish you both all the happiness in the world—in the universe. You deserve it.”
Through a torrent of tears Sherri cried out, “So do you Adam Cain, so do you!”
“Come back with us, my friend,” Riyad said.
“You know I can’t—not yet.”
“Your need for vengeance will bury you as well.”
“McCarthy and Kroekus have to pay for what they’ve done.”
“Why?” Sherri asked. “You can go home and live happily ever after. They’ll be on the run forever.”
“Only if people like me are after them. If I stop, then they’ll find peace. That’s something I can’t accept.”
He took Sherri by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. “I’ll come home someday, but after I’m done. Just right now is not the time to call it quits.”
And then they departed, leaving Adam to return to Formil in the Pegasus with Kaylor, Jym and Trimen.
His farewell with the two feisty aliens was nearly as heart-wrenching as it had been leaving Sherri and Riyad, but then they, too, were on their way back to their home planets and the lives they’d left long ago.
As Adam began to organize the equipment in the landing bay for the task ahead, he reminisced on his time on Formil.
Besides having another artificial telepathy device inserted, he had taken the opportunity to get reacquainted with the alluring Arieel Bol. This time, without the cloud of Sherri Valentine hanging over him, Adam had given in to the temptations of the unbelievably voluptuous alien.
That had been a mistake.
Months before, Arieel had warned him what sex with a Formilian would be like, yet the macho Human male had simply said bring it on. The affair with Arieel Bol lasted thirty-four hours; any longer and it would have killed him.
Even in the quiet of the landing bay, Adam smiled embarrassingly at the memories. If he was still on Earth and with his SEAL teammates, he would hesitate relating the stories. No one would believe him if he had.
In the end, the Formilian female had showed the galaxy’s super-being that there was more to the word super than simply strength, quickness and durability. He had left the planet humbled—yet with a silly grin painted on his face.
His sensual memories of Arieel were suddenly replaced by the image of a fat, blobby Kroekus, struggling under his grip, pleading for mercy. Yes, he had helped Nigel McCarthy and the Kracori, yet he did it to preserve the New Expansion, something that Adam had helped build.
The Silean had relocated to Formil after abandoning Juir and was unaware—until it was too late—that Adam was still alive. After first landing on the planet, even before letting Arieel or Convor know he was there, he had tracked down the fat Silean. McCarthy had passed through the area two months before, telling Kroekus of Adam’s presumed fate and then taking possession of a special package Kroekus had prepared for him.
“It’s a ship, like the Pegasus—concentrated-array—actually three of them.”
“And why would you do that, Kroekus? Why are you helping that bastard?”
“What would you do? I have been the most-powerful being in the galaxy for a very long time. My wealth is beyond compare. And yet the Juireans could take it all from me.”
“That doesn’t explain why you would help McCarthy.”
Kroekus had hesitated, until Adam tightened his grip on the hapless alien’s fat neck. “The Cloud!”
“What cloud, what are you talking about?”
“An alternative ... or a fresh start.”
“You’ve lost me; start from the beginning.”
He had released the huge Silean, and over the next half hour let him explain his plans in an ever-increasing state of disbelief.
“You can’t be serious?”
“But I am. It is what you Humans call the Large Magellanic Cloud, a sister galaxy to our own, one-hundred sixty thousand light-years away.”
“But that would take ages to reach.”
“Not in the CA-starships. Once in open space, a journey could be made in just under a year.”
“And that’s where McCarthy went—to blaze the trail for you?”
“The Cloud is virgin territory for a being like me. I supplied McCarthy with three large ships; even gave him Human crews and over a dozen Human females for his entertainment—all volunteers I must add. And he has cargo holds full of every imaginable precious metal, anything the natives there may covet.
“There have been intrepid voyagers in the past who made the passage, and when a one-way journey took ten years or more. They returned with stories of races who have never heard of Sileans, or Juireans or Humans. There is no Expansion, no Klin plotting, no thousand-year-long conspiracies.”
“Sounds like paradise,” Adam said sarcastically. “And McCarthy is to set up your criminal network in the Cloud before you show up and take over.”
“That is the plan. Just think, Adam Cain, I will be gone forever, as will be Nigel McCarthy. We will never again set foot in this galaxy. Your mission will be complete; never again will we bring you concern.”
Adam had thought long and hard on that last statement ... before contacting Elder Wydor and turning the distraught Silean over to the Juireans.
And then the ex-Navy SEAL had stood on the surface of Formil and looked up into the night sky at the white smudge in the heavens, wider than the moon appeared from Earth.
The Large Magellanic Cloud–the LMC—named for the Spanish explorer Ferdinand Magellan, was one of two smaller satellite galaxies to the Milky Way. Looking up at the LMC from Formil made the journey look less intimidating, less daunting. Yet a year in space, alone and heading for a place that knew nothing of Humans, Juireans, Klin or Kracori....
Adam had only been half kidding when he told Kroekus the Cloud sounded like paradise. Yet that aside, it was where Nigel McCarthy was heading, supplied with ships and even a Human crew. If nothing else, Adam Cain owed the unsuspecting inhabitants of the Cloud some help against the approaching threat to their peaceful existence.
The Humans were coming, and Nigel McCarthy would be their ambassador. That was something Adam Cain simply couldn’t allow.
131
Having just left the boundary of the Milky Way Galaxy and now heading into the unknown expanse of intergalactic space, Adam was determined that Focusing Ring Number Six get back into alignment. For the journey ahead he would need all systems operating nominally, and every little blip or glitch had to be addressed immediately.
He took the gripper tool in his hand and slithered down the access tube until he came to the ninety-degree bend where the cradle for the focusing ring was housed. He opened the gripper mouth, and then extended his arms to their max, feeling around the blind bend for the bracket that held the ring in place. Working on focusing rings while in port was actually a piece of cake. Yet here in space, light-years from the nearest planet, that was not the case.
His first two stabs at the bracket ended in failure, as the poorly-designed gripper unit slipped off the ring-housing, as it was prone to do—repeatedly. With the antiquated tool, the job was hard enough. Yet when the housing bracket wasn’t even visible from where he worked, he wondered if the architects of the Pegasus ever figured a person would need access to the focus rings while in space? How could they not?
Now, as the job stretched out far beyond what was reasonable, his frustration only grew. Finally it boiled over, and Adam Cain, twisted in the portside access tube like some Castorian string dancer, cursed the poor planning that had gone into the Pegasus, proclaiming loudly and with all the sincerity he could muster:
“Whoever designed this ship should be shot!”
The end of
A Galaxy to Conquer
What’s next for Adam Cain in
The Masters of War
The Human Chronicles Saga #9
Like all great warriors, Adam Cain doesn’t just fade away. He continues to kick-ass … in another galaxy far, far away!
His adventures continue within the Large Magellanic Cloud, chasing the elusive villain Nigel McCarthy in a Wild West land where Humans can once more show why they are the supermen of the galaxy—of any galaxy.
There’s a whole new set of aliens who must now be taught the lesson so many others have come to learn: Don’t Mess With The Humans!
The Human Chronicles Saga
Book #9
The Masters of War
EXPANDED EDITION
By
T.R. Harris
Adam Cain is an Alien with an Attitude.
His adventures continue…
Prologue
Kroekus of Silea
Kroekus was half the Silean he once was; four months in a Juirean prison would do that to a person. He’d lost over two hundred pounds, and his gray skin was now mottled and covered with blistering sores. And even though his most-severe injuries had healed, to this day his captors were still dreaming up new and creative ways to torture and torment him even more.
In the dark dampness of his concrete cell, Kroekus often wondered why they kept him alive. They had plenty of evidence of his collusion with the Kracori to defeat the Juireans in the battle of the Dysion Void. In fact, it had been he who had manipulated all four major races in the galaxy to clash in one final, epic battle for supremacy, and for that he was directly responsible for the death of billions.
As it turned out, it was the Kracori who came out on the short end of the battle, with their homeworld of Elision ravaged by nuclear fire. It was a wasteland now, never to be inhabited again, and even though Kroekus was sure some of the species survived off planet, for all intents and purposes, the Kracori were now extinct.
Yes, the meticulously laid plans of Kroekus and his allies had been thwarted, and by none other than Adam Cain, that obnoxious, yet unbelievably lucky and tenacious Human. In the heat of battle he’d pulled off a miracle by bringing together the Juireans and the Humans as allies rather than adversaries. Next he’d sent the Juireans after the Klin as they made their escape. How many of them survived—if any—was anyone’s guess.
And now Kroekus was rotting away in a Juirean prison while Cain was in a prison of his own making, hunting down Nigel McCarthy in a region of space the Humans called the Large Magellanic Cloud, a small sister galaxy to the Conus-Lis Galaxy—as the Sileans called the Milky Way.
Kroekus had served as the unofficial head of the Expansion for the seven years the Humans had run the galaxy, before assuming the role of Administrator when they left. For five years thereafter he had been the Supreme Being in the galaxy. Yet even before that, Kroekus had been the richest being to have ever lived. And now here he was broken, sickly and subjected to constant mental and physical torture at the whims of his Juirean jailers.
He knew the Juireans could kill him at any time, and on countless occasions over the past several months he had begged them to do just that. Maybe that was why they refused.
He also knew he was no longer on Juir; that was obvious from the reduced gravity of this planet. This was an interesting fact that often gave him a false sense of hope, a feeling that faded a little more each day he remained in the prison.
The Juireans had gone on to reclaim their native world, even though it was now only a shadow of its once glorious self; having an asteroid dropped onto the surface would do that to a planet. Although the experience was traumatic and heart-wrenching, millions of Juireans returned to their home and set about rebuilding all they could. This proud, yet pragmatic race also took over the reins of the Expansion once again, much to the relief of that chaotic and nearly-defunct organization. The thousands of worlds that had devolved into disarray and isolation after the fall of Juir now welcomed the resumption of a familiar structure and order to things. The Juireans were once more in control of the vast galactic empire they had helped create over four thousand years before.
After the battle of the Dysion Void, the Humans had returned to the Far Arm where they were now in the process of building their own small empire, free of any outside interference.
And the Klin? They were gone—again—at least what was left of them after the debacle at the Void. Kroekus believed a nest of them still survived somewhere, yet with the patience they had exhibited over the past four thousand years, he was certain it would be millennia before they would be heard from again.
These were the musings of the shattered and disgraced former ruler of the galaxy, as he lay in the dimness of his cell, at the mercy of the Juireans to determine his fate.
Even in light of his present situation, there were ways he could end his suffering. A headlong rush into one of the concrete walls, with his neck at just the right angle, would certainly put an end to his anguish. Or even an attack on his guards might force them to use lethal force to subdue him.
Yet he hesitated.
With his prison located on a world other than Juir, there was still a glimmer of hope, a chance. But after four months in captivity, Kroekus of Silea was nearing the end of his strength and willpower. If something didn’t happen soon, then he would have to take matters into his own h
ands.
It was that special day of the week, when the Juireans fed him a meat of some kind.
Kroekus couldn’t believe his good fortune, and yet still he sat for several minutes staring at it just in case the guards were toying with him. Finally he accepted the fact that the guards had inadvertently failed to clear all the bones from the carcass, and now he was in possession of a thin, two inch long piece of leg bone, splintered at the end into a fine point.
The Silean had no problem locating his carotid artery—all mammals possess such an important conduit of blood to the brain. A precise piercing of his neck would begin his final journey to salvation. They would not learn of his demise until long after the fact, and by then it would be too late. Kroekus laughed out loud at the thought.
He would beat them, denying his captors the pleasure of his constant torture. He would be dead, and there would be nothing the Juireans could do about it. In a small way, Kroekus would come out the winner once again. In his desperation, even a tiny victory such as this was enough to make him cry with joy.
He would wait until the guards removed the tray, knowing they would not return for another full day—unless a torture session was scheduled. Yet seeing that the Juireans had beat on him for a full two hours the day before, he was sure they would take today to rest. After all, inflicting pain and suffering on their captive was exhausting work.
When they returned to his cell the following day they would find his lifeless body, drained of its vital, life-sustaining fluid. His suffering would be over, and the Juirean guards would be punished for their lack of diligence. That thought made Kroekus giddy with joy; he even fantasized that they would themselves be put to death for their incompetence. He made a mental note to take that thought with him into whatever afterlife there may be. Another two hours should do it, and then he would have his answer—the answer as to whether or not an afterlife really did exist.