Treasure of the Galactic Lights (Jason King: Agent to the Stars--Episode 2)

by T. R. Harris

  “Earth to Jason. Earth to Jason,” Lefty was saying. “Where’d you wander off to? On one of your ‘I’m-so-great-I-can’t-believe-it’ fantasies again? I see nothing ever changes.”

  I laughed, more out of embarrassment than humor. Lefty could read me like a book, and it was scary that after all these years, I was still so transparent.

  “Where you bunking?” I asked, changing the subject. “You’ve gotta stay with me. Not to brag or anything, but I’ve got one hell of a nice place.”

  Lefty cocked his head to his right; leaning against the wall was a drab-green duffle bag I hadn’t noticed before. “I figured you’d offer. The rest of the team is stuffed into a couple rooms at the bug’s hotel. I’ve had my fill of foot odor and farts to last a life time. A room of my own would be preferred.”

  “Excellent!”

  “Hey, buddy, remember I gotta job to do. I can’t sit back and let my team do all the work…not like you can. We’ll get our time in, but don’t be mad if I bow out now and then.”

  “Still play pool?”

  The smirk on Lefty’s face told me all I needed to know. “Better than you, if I recall.”

  “I’ve got a table at my house, so I’ve had a lot more time to practice. I hope they pay you well at that security company.”

  “Not like you real estate con-artists, but I’ll be happy to take all the ill-gotten gains you’re willing to place on the table.”

  “You’ve been warned,” I said, grinning. “Now, give me a minute to process this sixty thousand dollar check I just got and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Sixty-thousand…for one deal?”

  It was the reaction I was hoping to see from my old Army buddy. “What can I say? It was only a two million dollar house.”

  “Well screw you, lieutenant, sir! That’s all I have to say about that…except dinner’s on you tonight!”

  Chapter 3

  It’s simply the nature of large, intergalactic empires—made up of thousands of different species of intelligent life—that someone was always getting pissed off at someone else. Although the Union kept a lid on most all-out wars, there were still plenty of skirmishes taking place across the galaxy to keep the news media ripe with stories to report on.

  That’s why I knew of the small, regional war that had broken out recently within the Third-Quadrant. It seemed that several rival worlds each wanted to be the area’s primary representative to the Union, and were willing to arm-wrestle for the honor. The Quad—as the region was being called by the media—was a huge section of the galaxy, essentially a fourth of it, as the name would apply. Prior to petitioning for membership, there had been a dozen small empires spread across the region, with each being more-or-less of equal strength. A precarious balance existed, yet with the introduction of the Union into the mix that balance could be tipped in any number of directions. Therefore, alliances quickly formed, until two major factions now fought for supremacy of the Quad.

  According to the news reports, the Union was opting to stay out of the conflict. Choosing sides this early in the game could prove disastrous, and without a dog in the race, they were content to wait and see who crossed the finish line first.

  Lefty’s client was a creature named Enic Jor and he was president of the planet Annoc-Conn. The Conn controlled one of the rival alliances in the Quad, with their primary competition being the Suf-Dofinlops’brenns. Personally, I sided with the Conn, not because I knew anything about their politics, but simply because I could pronounce their name. Call me shallow, but since I’ve been out here in the galaxy, that was how I decided on most things. If I couldn’t pronounce it, I was usually let it go.

  Now all the interested parties—not only from the Quad but from across the Union—were gathering on Sylox for the first real conference to determine the fate of the region. Winners and losers would be chosen, and it was a pretty good bet no one was going to leave the planet completely satisfied. This was just the beginning, and whether Enic Jor came out a winner or a loser, he was still a target for any number of would-be assassins, many of whom considered him just another alien and hardly worth a second thought before placing a plasma bolt between his wobbly bug-eyes.

  The media was full of images of the Conn, and in this case the bug description fit them perfectly. They had football-size oblong heads, with two opposing eyes placed on three-inch-long stalks. Their bodies consisted of two segments, a smaller upper torso, and a larger lower one, with six legs for locomotion. They had two long, thin arms with standard looking hands—four fingers and an opposable thumb. I’d been told long ago that hands were often the determining factor whether or not a species rose to the top of the food chain, with five or six nimble digits being the guidepost. Apparently, it was hard to build sophisticated machinery using talons or claws.

  The Conn were pretty smart, as well, having developed a form of star travel at about the same time as the Amelians. Yet unlike the founders of the Union, the Conn chose to remain within their relatively small neighborhood of the galaxy rather than branch out in an ever-widening sphere of influence. In fact, it had been other races within the Quad that first initiated the move toward Union membership, with the Conn going along for the ride. Being the predominant industrial power in the region, as well as having the strongest military, they were drafted into a leadership position ostensibly against their will.

  Enic Jor had his own native security detail, yet once learning what was available through Union resources, his people decided that having a squad of Human warriors around couldn’t hurt. Already the creatures from Earth had developed quite a reputation across the galaxy as being some badass hombres, even if we were considered a joke from a technological standpoint.

  In fact, the bulk of Humanity didn’t care much about developing technology anymore; it was just too easy to find work in the galaxy as builders, mercenaries, security guards…and most of all, entrepreneurs. This impacted just about every industry, and although we seldom built the product or provided the end service—except, of course, for our construction projects—we were exceptional middlemen and organizers. In fact, the galaxy had never seen anything like Humans before, so they were ill-prepared for what came next. I use the word gullible to describe the alien response to many of our more unorthodox business practices—unorthodox for them, anyway.

  Throughout the years I’d had my share of alien clients. When the Enclaves of Sylox had first been proposed, a stip had been written into the bylaws stating that at least ten percent of the homes had to be sold to aliens. To this day, I still cringe at how naive they are when it comes to negotiating. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. As a matter of fact, whenever I pick up a new alien client, I usually go right out and place an order for a new car…or a starship.

  And now the Quad was coming online, a place chock-full of gullible aliens.

  Cha-Ching!

  I operate the largest independent real estate, mortgage and property management company on Sylox—Galactic Realty and Relocation Services—and although we deal almost exclusively with Humans, I’ve been kicking around the idea of setting up an aliens-only branch operation. My Human clientele was limited, since the Consulate on Sylox only employed around twenty thousand of my blood-kin at any given time. That was still more than enough to keep my current business humming, but I was growing restless. There’s a lot more to the galaxy than just Humans, so getting to know Lefty’s client on a more personal basis might be a good idea. After all, it couldn’t hurt to know the president of a planet, let alone the potential leader of a quarter of the galaxy.

  After dropping by my place and giving Lefty a jaw-dropping tour of my mansion-on-the-hill, I took us one of my favorite restaurants in the city, a place called Belgon’s Consumptionary. It was close to the Consulate Compound, and a while back I’d helped the owner modify his menu to a more Human-centric cuisine. His business increased four-fold after that as people from the Embassy flocked to his place. As a result, I always had a special table reserved,
and I never had to pay for a meal.

  I didn’t tell Lefty this—at least not about the free meals. I wanted him to think I was spending a small fortune on him, when in fact the bill would be shredded as soon as I left the premises. It always worked like this, especially when I was on a date with one of the hotties from the Embassy. Letting them believe I was spending the equivalent of four hundred dollars to wine and dine them often had a more beneficial effect on the date’s outcome than if they knew the meal was on the house.

  “I’d like to meet your client,” I said to Lefty as we looked over the menu.

  “Why?”

  “I’m looking to open an office in the Quad and it wouldn’t hurt to know someone influential.”

  Lefty laughed. “Dude, he may not live out the week.”

  “I thought that’s what you’re supposed to guarantee?”

  “Hey, we’re getting paid whether he lives or dies. We’ll do our best, but as you know, there are no guarantees in this line of work. If a person is dead set on killing someone else, it can be done, and in a variety of ways.”

  “You didn’t tell your client that, did you?” I asked, smiling.

  Lefty snorted. “I’m not that stupid. We negotiated for time and travel, but not results.”

  “Still, can you arrange it?”

  “I hardly know him, but I’ll see what I can do.” Lefty studied me with his dark eyes. “You’re always hustling, aren’t you, Jason? I don’t think I’ve ever seen this side of you before.”

  “Yeah, I even surprise myself sometimes. After the damn aliens put an end to war back on Earth—knocking both of us out of a job—I didn’t know what I was going to do. Quint Valarie—you remember him—he got me my first job selling real estate. That’s when I discovered I had a knack for it.”

  Lefty lifted his glass of high-class native wine in a toast. “Here’s to your knack, ol’ buddy! You’ve done quite well for yourself.”

  “Speaking of that, if we get a chance I’d like to show you the starship I own. I call it the Enterprise.”

  “Of course you would, nerd.”

  And that’s when it started….

  Chapter 4

  Lefty’s phone rang; he answered it before the second ring. A cloud of concern came over his face. When he ended the call, he began to look anxiously around the room.

  “Going to have to call it a night, Jason. Someone’s already taken a pot-shot at Enic. One of my guys bought it, along with four of his native security detail.”

  “Sorry about your man,” I said. “Is Enic all right?”

  “For now. My team has him on the move outside the hotel, looking for a place to stash him.” Lefty’s eyes suddenly focused on me.

  I saw where this was headed and shook my head. “No way! It’s not secure.”

  “There’s security to get into the Enclaves, and your house does offer a defensive location. Besides, what better way to get into Enic’s good graces?”

  “While potentially risking my home—and my life—in the process.”

  “C’mon, ol’ buddy, where’s your sense of adventure? And just think, you might also be able to wrangle some cash out of the old bug and his government. He’s paying big bucks to stay at the hotel…and look what that got him?”

  “Like how much cash are we talking about?” Now my interest was piqued.

  “He’s paying in excess of forty thousand a night—in equivalent currency—for his bank of rooms. Your place is plenty big enough to house them all.”

  “Hey, let’s not go crazy,” I cautioned. “I’ll take in the president and your team, but I don’t want a whole colony of bugs infesting my place. I don’t think my termite bond would cover that.”

  “So you’re okay with this?”

  “For forty grand a night he can stay in my bed!”

  Of course, afterwards I would replace the mattress and burn the sheets.

  Lefty made the call to his team, and we left the restaurant with to-go boxes.

  What could it hurt? And Lefty was right: What better way to get an edge on the competition than having the president of Annoc-Conn forever in my debt?

  Boy, am I just lucky at business…or am I really that good? I tend to believe I’m really that good.

  ********

  I called ahead to the main gate of the Enclaves to allow the caravan of vehicles transporting the president to enter. They still had to get through the gate to my estate, but I would only be a few minutes behind.

  My house was one of the most magnificent in the Enclaves. I had it under contract a year ago with Undersecretary Mark Wilson, but that deal fell apart when it was discovered he was one of the main conspirators in the whole Unity Stone Affair. He was now back on Earth, cooling his heels in a maximum security prison in California. His wife left him and returned to Earth as well, absent the orange prison outfit, of course.

  With the home back on the market, and I went ahead and bit the bullet. Now I was the proud owner—mortgaged, of course—of a six thousand square-foot, seven-bedroom, nine-bath home with the most incredible backyard you’ve ever seen. The house was built to impress, and people of a lot higher rank and social status than my old Army buddy. And now it would play host to an alien, who by some estimates was the titular head of over nineteen trillion—that’s right, trillion—beings across his region of the Quad.

  Yet as impressive my plan was, I had no idea how compatible my house would be to the alien. After all, Enic Jor was a bug. Would he even cast a second glance at all the wonderful Human amenities my place had to offer? As a matter of fact, would he even sleep in my bed if offered? Hell, he may dig a hole in the backyard and crawl into it at night. I had no information on the sleeping habits of the Conn.

  And then I cringed at the idea of Enic using my bathroom, with the images I tried to purge from my mind being disgusting, even for me.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all….

  ********

  There were nine vehicles cluttering the road outside my house when Lefty and I arrived. The eight remaining members of the Human security detail had stationed themselves up and down the street, alert to any approaching cars. A gathering of angry neighbors had already formed. I used the remote control in my car to open the gate, and the entourage entered, clearing the street in a matter of seconds.

  I waved at my neighbors and cast them a shit-eating grin. They didn’t wave back.

  The front door was also activated by remote control, so the president was already in the house by the time I parked. My phone was ringing as I approached the open front door.

  “Jason, what the hell is going on at your house? I’m getting a boatload of calls about something big going on.”

  It was the president of homeowner’s association on the phone. Stephen Arseneault and I were pretty close friends—or at least we had been until now. I quickly explained what was happening.

  “Dammit, Jason, I’m sure there has to be something in the CC&R’s about hosting targets of intergalactic terrorism within the subdivision. If not, then there should be. You know if anything happens there could be some serious collateral damage.”

  “Relax, Stephen. It’s only for a day or so, until new accommodations can be found for the president. Besides, there’s a squad of Human security guards onsite, as well as some of Conn natives who’ll be staying in the pool house.” I wasn’t sure about that last part, not after speculating about the bugs possibly being dirt-dwellers. Either way, at forty grand a night, I could afford to replace a little sod here and there.

  “The Enclaves weren’t built to keep out terrorists and assassins,” Stephen pointed out. “And what about air assaults? Hell, the assassins themselves may be able to fly. Have you seen those things called Litamores? They look like big-ass angels.”

  “I’ve heard of them, but I’m pretty sure angels aren’t gunning for the Annoc-Conn president. An old Army buddy of mine is in charge of the security detail. He’s more than capable of keeping the bad guys—or things�
��from causing trouble in the neighborhood.”

  “Like they did at the hotel?”

  “That was a more public venue. Trust me, Stephen, everything will be fine.”

  “It had better, otherwise it will both our asses. Now I’ve gotta go. I’ve already had four new calls come in since I’ve been talking to you.”

  And then he was gone, and I was in my house, standing face-to—beak—with Enic Jor.

  “I believe you are addressed as Mister King,” said the alien. The voice I heard came from the translation device embedded behind my left ear, which tapped into a database of literally millions of languages spoken across the Union. My words would be instantly converted to Enic’s language as well. The translation would be seamless, unless you counted the unsynchronized movement of lips, beaks, flaps, or whatever else was used to promote speech.

  The alien was also smaller than I’d imagined, standing only about five feet tall, yet with his larger lower torso, his body did tend to spread out behind him more than the typical Human—or at least more than some Humans.

  “Yes, Mister President, but you can call me Jason. Welcome to my home. I know it’s a different design than you’re accustomed, but I hope it will fit your needs.”

  The alien swiveled his head around, his opposing eyes looking off in different directions at the same time. I wondered what the hell he was seeing and how the images were being processed in his brain?

  “These are very nice accommodations, Jason. They will serve nicely. Although our physical bodies may appear to be radically different, I assure you the form of the chambers and the format of your furniture is very similar to Conn standards. You may find, however, that I will curl up on your seating platforms, rather than dangle my legs over the side, as I’ve observed Humans doing on occasion.”

  “Perfectly acceptable Mister President.”

  “And please address me as Enic. Titles are for official gatherings, not for everyday interactions.”