The Dead Worlds

by T. R. Harris

  There was a tall light pole close to one of the warehouses, one of dozens that laced the warehouse field, but which were all dark. Jay ran up to it and crouched behind. He was within twenty yards of one of the open warehouses. Inside, light beams from the aliens lit up the interior, giving Jay a look at another building filled with the same pods as he found in the original warehouse. One was open with a loose crate sitting on the floor. An alien pulled a prototype rifle from the box.

  Holy crap, Jay thought. There are more rifles … a lot more.

  The raiders were now going systematically along the rows of warehouses, blasting open doors, and taking inventory of the contents. Jay could tell when they hit paydirt. Someone had dialed back the power setting on a rifle and was using it to mark the doors with charred circles. In stunned silence, Jay watched as door after door was marked.

  Eventually, the excitement waned, and the raiders began concentrating on a specific set of warehouses. It was hard to tell, but Jay guessed that as many as eight or nine of the warehouses had weapons containers. Jay wasn’t a math whiz, so it took him a while to work the numbers in his head. Six containers to each building came to fifty-four containers. And four hundred weapons in each container … the number was over twenty thousand. He adjusted his math and came up with twenty-one thousand six hundred. He couldn’t be sure that each building contained exactly six containers, or if the pods were full. Besides, the number was odd, so he concluded there were twenty thousand weapons in what was known as the Saxon Order. More math followed. At a thousand Juirean credits each, that was two hundred million. No, wait, twenty million, Jay corrected himself. Still, that was a hell of a lot of JCs. And that was if the rifles were only worth a thousand each. Undoubtedly, they could be worth a lot more, maybe double. The numbers were staggering.

  Jay sank back on the tarmac, resting his back against the concrete base of the lamppost. As much as forty million credits, and at one time, potentially all his. He snorted. More correctly, he was about to leave ninety percent of it on Hax’on unclaimed. As it was, he had nothing now. Even his life was in jeopardy. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

  After a moment, he rolled over onto his belly again and peered around the base of the pillar, looking to see what the aliens would do next. Even though they had around fifty containers, only six were decontaminated. To use their ships to transfer that many pods into space to form transport strings would turn ships into radioactive wastelands. And unless they came with a boatload of decon form in their ships, there wasn’t much they could do with the containers. They would have to come back—

  That’s when Jay noticed a group of the aliens break away from the others and run toward the Ed Gibson. They sprinted through the open cargo bay and disappeared inside.

  Dammit, Jay thought. They’re going to use the EG to move the containers. Once in space, it wouldn’t matter how hot they were. They could be hooked together and towed to a secret destination, there to be decontaminated at the pirate’s leisure.

  And they had six deconned containers that could fit in a cargo hold. That would be the ship heading for the raider’s base of operation.

  Jay suspected Liave-3 to be that base. The planet was overflowing with contraband of all kinds. All that product had to get to the planet somehow, and Jay had never witnessed massive freighters unloading cargo at the Kanac Spaceport, other than that by legit salvagers. Even so, an incredible amount of additional product showed up for sale at the large open-air markets or was bargained over in smoky bars, back rooms and restaurants.

  That was the ship he had to get aboard.

  But which one would it be? Then he shrugged. It would be the one with the leader on it—the muscular black alien. All Jay had to do was see which one he went aboard.

  The raiders were already carting containers toward the Ed Gibson. At most, the ship could carry three of the pods. Subtracting out the six that could go in a hold of one of the pirate ships, that still left fifteen shipments into orbit. That was a lot of liftoffs and landings and would take well into the next day. Daylight would not be his friend, not if he hoped to stow away aboard a specific starship. It was dark now. He had to make his move. What choice did he have?

  He retreated from the activity, using the darkness to mask his movements. He took a wide berth and then doubled back, approaching the cluster of pirate ships from the opposite direction of the loading operations. Before daybreak, he surveyed the layout, finding his best approaches and access points. Then he waited to see which one the captain would go aboard.

  After that, things would get dicey, as if they weren’t already.

  11

  Jay found it impossible to sleep during the night, as the near-constant liftoffs and landings of the Ed Gibson rocked the area with sound, light and vibration. He was exhausted by the time the fiery yellow orb in the sky greeted him, promising another day of roasting in his thick environment suit. He was already dehydrated, and his stomach grumbled for food. His sour mood grew worse when he realized that just getting aboard the alien spaceship wouldn’t solve his problems. He would then have to steal food and water while staying hidden. And it was a given he couldn’t keep the Hazmat suit on, not aboard the starship. That would involve him stealing clothing as well. But it sure beat the alternative. Or did it? Being tossed out of an airlock and into the vacuum of space was not his idea of a good time.

  It was well into the afternoon when the six decontaminated pods began to be carted to one of the pirate ships. As was expected, it was the largest and newest of the small fleet. The Ed Gibson also took on the last of the hot containers. That was also when his last best chance of guaranteed survival ended. His precious David Lender was loaded aboard the radioactive starship, and the rear cargo doors buttoned up. The Gibson would be scuttled once the cargo made it into space; it was no use to anyone at that point. And the speeder was just more evidence of who had been to the planet. His options were now down to stow away or die, with the modifier: stowaway and die as a real possibility.

  Taking a chance that a few minutes of breathing the slightly radioactive air wouldn’t hurt much, Jay stripped off the environment suit, leaving only the lightweight undergarment—similar to a pair of long pajamas—and the heavy boots to protect against the hotter ground. He smelled like a yak in heat, and the pajamas were soaked in sweat and other bodily fluids. The suits the pirates wore would keep them from detecting his ripe scent. That was if he didn’t die of radiation poisoning first.

  He scooted along the side of the closest warehouse to the ship, approaching along the midsection. Most of the activity was at the rear cargo ramp, and any raiders on watch would be on the bridge, with a view in the opposite direction. He ran under the short stabilizing wing and up to the side of a bulbous gravity generator until he could work his way under the ship. The vessel rested on landing skids, with a gap of about four feet between the hull and the ground.

  Jay had spent enough time aboard starships to know that there were several access panels on the underside of the hull used to reach cable runs and sensors. There should also be an auxiliary docking port and maintenance hatch. He crawled along until he found the square hatchway, knowing that the more time he spent laying on the ground, the better his chances of receiving a stronger dose of radiation. The port operated manually since it would be impractical for everyone aboard to have access to a security code. Jay set to work spinning the release wheel. It was obvious it hadn’t been used in a while. But fortunately, there wasn’t a lot of rust accumulating while a ship was in space, only on the surface of a planet. And this newer vessel hadn’t had time for the mechanism to bind up, making it impossible to turn without tools. Jay’s Human strength was enough to get the hatch open.

  The inner chamber was small and oriented strangely. That was because access to the small airlock was below the internal gravity line of the ship. Here, objects would be oriented toward the ceiling; on the other side of the well-barrier, to the decks. Jay worked his way in and then closed and dogged
the hatch. He was in an area of the ship that would be rarely visited. Now all he needed to find was a change of clothing, food and water. It was also a good bet this part of the ship—although pressurized—wouldn’t be heated or cooled. There was no need. Anyone accessing the airlock to do work outside the ship would be in an environment suit.

  The bottom line: He couldn’t stay here, at least not until he was better provisioned.

  The airlock opened to a series of narrow stand-up passageways, all below the gravity line. They gave workers access to the focusing rings and other elements of the internals. Jay moved along the corridor, walking on what was now the ceiling. Eventually, he came to a transit tube that took him into the main part of the ship, where he would potentially run into any number of raiders.

  Jay had to act fast, while the loading was taking place. The main spine corridor was empty of crew members, so he made his way forward to where he would find the galley. As he got closer he heard voices. Peering around a corner, he spotted two raiders at one of the processor stations. They were joking but in a hurry. His translator revealed that they were on an unauthorized break from bridge duty, grabbing a snack while the captain and the other officers were in the aft section, supervising the loading of the pods. They didn’t linger long and were gone a moment after their food spit out of the machine.

  Jay rushed to the same station, scanning the controls to see if they were anything out of the ordinary. Fortunately, they weren’t. Most starships were of a universal design, able to be used by a variety of species. This one was no different. He spotted the testing port and inserted a finger. After a sharp prick, he pulled it out and began punching keys on the screen. Human chemistry was now included in most programs, and the menu displayed was for Human compatible food and drink. He selected a variety, knowing that his food would have to last at least four days, maybe longer. As the solid items began to spit out, he ordered up a quantity of plain old water. He wouldn’t be fancy. Besides, at the moment, water was his most immediate need.

  With a hefty load of food and water, Jay then looked around the room for something in which to place his booty. It was a pretty good armful, and he didn’t want to risk dropping any on the way to the access airlock. He noticed that the cushions on a nearby couch were clad in pillowslips. That would work nicely, leaving the crew only slightly curious as to what happened to the cover. With his bag full of goodies, Jay set off back down the corridor but checking as he did several of the side doors, looking for the crew quarters.

  As he hoped, the room was empty, with everyone on watch or working on the loading. There was clothing scattered around, and after a few samples to check sizes, he left the compartment with a thick jumpsuit and an oversized jacket. It would get cold in the airlock, and this would help. He made it back to the airlock without incident, exhibiting a nervous grin at his efficient scavenger hunt. But the feeling was short-lived when he thought of the days ahead, and the possibility that some alien worker would find him in the airlock. He’d only managed to clear the first hurdle. There was a whole track full of them ahead. And each would only get taller as the days passed.

  Two hours later, the ship left the surface. As expected, the internal gravity kicked in, and he found his orientation change abruptly. The ceiling was now the floor, and the heat inside the room slowly faded away, replaced by the expected cold. Jay huddled in a corner, wrapped in the huge, tent-like coat, thankful that most aliens are larger than Humans.

  The ship didn’t enter a gravity-well right away. Instead, it hung around in orbit while the shipping containers were formed into long transport strings of twenty or so. Then they were off. Jay could tell by the sound of the generators reverberating through the hull when they entered a well. Four days or so, and hopefully, they’d be at their destination. Immediately, Jay began rationing his food and water. There was no way of telling for sure how long the trip would last.

  Now he sat, listening to every pop and whine of the hull, and for any signs of approaching crew. It had already been a long three days on Hax’on, and his journey wasn’t over … not by a long shot.

  12

  As Jay Williford’s journey was beginning, another was coming to an end.

  The huge, modern starship descended from the sky above the Tainesin Manufacturing Works only two days after the raiders left and settled down at nearly the same spot as the three pirates had sat. The ship was only one of seven that made the trip to Hax’on; the others were still in orbit, awaiting instructions. The hard work was ahead of them.

  The vessel on the surface was of an entirely different breed than that of the raiders. For one, it was larger, larger than should have been able to land on the surface of a planet. But it did and with grace and efficiency. The vessel was also made of a smooth welded surface without seams. Normally such construction was frowned upon since starships required some flexibility in their hulls to accommodate the strains placed on them. But it didn’t seem to bother this behemoth. Everything about it spoke of high-tech, capability—and money. There were gun emplacements on the hull, but the vessel didn’t have the look of a warship. This was a privately-owned starship, the property of a fabulously wealthy individual or corporation.

  The starship carried a crew of forty-eight, with accommodations that would put luxury liners to shame. Even the protective suits the occupants wore as they stepped onto the surface were shiny and new, extremely thin and comfortable, although rated higher against radiation than even the uniforms worn by professional decon crews.

  On that subject, the owner of the expensive starship had come prepared, knowing that the decontamination of fifty pods was a big operation. The professional decon crews were in orbit and ready to drop down at a moment’s notice to begin the arduous task ahead of them. Even so, they had enough ships, crew and supplies to complete the job in a day. The sooner they left the surface, the better.

  This moment had been a long time in the making, and all they had to do now was recover their precious weapons.

  The owner of the starship was named Sirous Fenn. He was a tall, yellow-skinned alien with some of the largest eyes found among Prime species in the galaxy. As a consequence, he wore dark, protective glasses in the bright glare of daylight. But at night, he had perfect vision, as did all the members of his race. Unfortunately for Sirous, there were only two others of his kind aboard the ship; the captain and his primary assistant. Everyone else was made up of a menagerie of species, a cross-section of membership in the Gradis Cartel.

  Although Sirous owned the shiny new and expensive starship, it was crewed by criminals, a necessity based on the Cartel’s involvement in the manufacture of the weapons. Keeping knowledge of the rifles to only a few of his race was imperative, at least until he could show his co-conspirators what he had done. Surprise would be the key element. After that, his place atop the new government would be assured. And if any resisted, he would have the means to enforce his authority. Either voluntary or forced, the ultimate path for his ascension was up to others. Sirous would accept either option to ultimate power.

  But first, he needed to recover his magnificent weapons.

  It only took a moment outside the starship for Sirous to notice something was amiss. He turned to the Cartel captain—a gravel-throated creature named Pannel. Sirous never cared enough to learn his last name; he simply called the alien Pannel.

  “Is this the proper location?” Sirous asked. “You coordinated the order; you should know.”

  The grey-skinned alien was tense; the expression through the helmet lens one of suppressed anger.

  “This is the right spot. However, as you can see, the warehouses have been opened.”

  “And the weapons?”

  “We shall see as we get closer. But why would the doors be open yet the supply remain?” The alien scanned the rows of warehouses. Not all the doors were open, just the ones in the general vicinity. This was not a random act. The thieves knew exactly what they were looking for.

  At the first warehouse,
Sirous entered in a rush, then slipped out a moment later, visibly shaking with anger. “They are gone! They are all gone!” He turned to Pannel. “You said they were here.”

  “They were, as recently as a full candoc.”

  “What is a full candoc?”

  “Forty-one days, on my planet. That does not matter. The weapons were here, and now they are gone.”

  Sirous led the small survey party to another warehouse, then to another, as Cartel members spread out to check the other buildings.

  “I do not see evidence of decontamination,” Sirous pointed out. “That would be extremely dangerous.”

  “The thieves must have been in a hurry.”

  “Where are my weapons? I have spent nearly my entire fortune on this venture, as well as risking my life with its execution. Without them, my cause is lost.”

  “Captain!” a voice shouted through the comm link. “We have found something.”

  The main group moved to the indicated warehouse. A Cartel soldier came out, holding up a silver canister. “Decon foam; it is empty.”

  “Some of the pods were cleaned before removal,” Pannel stated.

  Sirous moved to the alien holding the container and studied the label. It was in an alien language, but there was a second tag placed on the metal exterior, sitting at an odd angle to the main sticker.

  “Does anyone have a reader?” Sirous asked the assemblage surrounding him. A datapad was handed to him.

  He took the device and ran it over the cock-eyed-attached label. A translation into his native language appeared.

  Tarazi Outfitting and Expeditions. Balamar, Liave-3.