“You won the planet from a Mr. Rosstt - correct?”
“Yes. I assume he’s a good CEO, he but doesn’t play poker well at all.”
“His corporation bought the planet legally, fair and square. So it was Rosstt’s planet to sell, or lose, in a poker game, as the case may be.”
“That was one of the questions I had concerns about. Thank you for resolving it.”
“So the question now is, what do you plan to do with it?”
“Thought I might get into real estate.”
Jazez smiled. “That’s usually a good investment. I’m very happy to hear you say that. Because our government would like to make you an offer.” He reached into his briefcase and brought out about a dozen sheets of paper, bound together. He passed the packet over to Mavers. “Would you read that please? It’s an offer to take the planet off your hands.”
Mavers skimmed the document. Another plus for the Terleran civilization was that their legal documents were not written in legalese, but in plain straightforward language. The papers were a simple contract, but Mavers didn’t believe the figures he saw.
He looked up. The two Terlerans wore poker faces.
“Am I correct? Your government is offering $50 billion?”
Jazes nodded. “Yes.”
“That’s $50 billion Earth currency?”
“In money or in gold. Transferable upon your signature to the nearest bank. We have the authority to release the funds if you agree.”
“Wow.”
Mavers looked at the contract again.
“Just out of curiosity, why does your government want this planet?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Mavers, that’s none of your business. Our government doesn’t want to release that information. It has no bearing on the price so we would prefer to keep that secret.”
He shrugged. As they said, it was none of his business. He imagined they could find a use for it. Perhaps they had knowledge of huge diamond mines or jaster deposits. Perhaps the fountain of youth was on the planet. Being Genrich, Mavers didn’t need youth yet, but maybe other races did.
He leaned back in his chair. “Gentlemen, this is a very attractive offer. Perhaps I’d be a fool by not jumping and signing immediately. But whenever I have a major decision to make, I like to think about it a while. I’ve learned it’s better to pause and consider, no matter how enticing a deal looks.
Jazez nodded again. He didn’t seem disturbed by the words.
“So I would like to take, say, a day to think about it. I’ll be having breakfast again this time tomorrow. Would you like to drop by then and I will give you my answer? Right now I’m inclined to agree with the deal, but, as I said, I’d like to mull it over for a while.”
“That will be fine, Mr. Mavers.”
“Call me Jim.”
“I’m Jazez.”
They shook hands. Mavers didn’t expect any pressure from the Terlerans and didn’t get any. They smiled, stood up, and politely excused themselves.
“They have to be the nicest people in the galaxy.” Jack said.
“That is my impression. It’s a pleasure doing business with them.”
“I assume you are going to do business with them. You’re not going to turn down $50 billion are you?”
“Doubtful.”
“Then I expect a huge bonus.”
As Mavers walked back toward the room, the clerk waved at him. He pressed a card into Mavers’ hand. “This woman asked me to tell you she would like to see you. She’s in room three twenty-two.”
Mavers' eyes narrowed as he read the card.
“Ms. Belen Morganthal?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mavers smiled. “I’ve been expecting her.”
Chapter 9
Few things in the galaxy bothered Clay Starret. He could roll with the punches and KO his opponent. He’d roll with the waves and grab a surfboard. If he had dinner with the high society on Palmeran, he would discuss wine and art in a way that brought envy from his dinner companions. A friend had once remarked he should have been a 19th century British aristocrat. He had the bearing, the intelligence, the stiff upper lip. He had the essential enjoyment of life. Bad news could hit him and Starret would just smile, have a glass of wine, and tell others he’d handle it. When others were in a panic, no beads of sweat squeezed from his skin.
But there was one thing that ever-so-slightly annoyed him. The wanted poster from Vanderlyn. Couldn’t they get a better photo of him?
In his spacecraft on Titan, the largest moon of Regilin, he viewed the photo. The screen wasn’t that huge but it clearly showed a day-old beard stubble. His hair was ragged and uncombed. The photo made him look like, well, a criminal, for Pete’s sake.
It was true that wanted posters rarely showed clean-shaven men but he still thought the authorities should have obtained a better photo. There were certainly photos of him around the galaxy. And in all those other photos he was well-shaved and his hair was neatly combed. Those other photos showed him impeccably dressed.
He shook his head then just smiled.
“For a wanted poster I supposed it’s not too bad.” he said. “But it’s not my best photo. Is it Marie?”
The melodious voice of his AI computer responded.
“Most men, Clay, would be concerned about the poster and the fact they’re on it, not with the picture. You are showing the human trait of vanity which is, in fact, a weakness of yours.”
“I would challenge that statement, Marie. I merely think one must look one’s best at all times. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Not really.”
He leaned back in his chair but pointed at the picture. “Besides, this photo is not useful to law enforcement, which is another reason they shouldn’t use it. It’s not functional. When do I ever go out unshaved? No one could recognize me with this photo. They’d probably drag some innocent guy in and it will take hours to determine he’s not me.”
“No, they would just scan his fingerprints. It would take about ten seconds, Clay. But it’s nice of you to be concerned.”
“Marie, I didn’t realize AI computers could use sarcasm but you seem quite adept with it.”
“Being around you helps.”
“I will take that as a compliment, even though I don’t think it was meant as one. Please open the door Marie.”
He walked out and stood in the desert air. Titan, unlike most moons, had an atmosphere. Mostly a desert climate. His ship stood halfway on top of one of the many cragged mountains, shadowed by an overhang. The dark rings of the moon created a black slash in the reddish sky. He never knew what made the crimson atmosphere of the moon. Some atmospheric anomaly? One dark ring was so close you could make out the rocks and debris in it. It gave the moon a slightly ominous look. On the plus side, the ominous look dissuaded visitors and tourists from landing there.
But it was great for a lone spacer. A spacer who, while he could carry on cultured conversations on more than two dozen planets, at time desired solitude. There were some men who were not made for cocktail parties. Or for the endless, inane chatter that occurs whenever two or more humans get together. Not that other species were any better. They were just as mindless.
It was also an excellent spot for a rendezvous. A dangerous rendezvous.
A fleeting thought crossed his mind to return to Vanderlyn and clear his name. But he immediately rejected it.
‘Vandy’ did not have some of the better traits of other civilizations.
Such as warning shots. The Vandy government didn’t believe in them. Or in juries. Or in impartial judges.
Lawyers, they didn’t think much of lawyers either. Of course, Starret shared in that opinion.
Starret knew men and government officials on both sides of the law. While he stayed within the law 99 percent of the time, a number of individuals who made their living outside the law liked and respected Starret.
The poster was right about one thing. He had killed a man on Vandy. But it w
as self-defense. The other guy had fired first. The dead man had also murdered a friend of Starret. He walked away free because he had connections to high officials in the Vandy government. To Starret, it was a personal matter of honor to deal with his friend’s killer. Which is why his name and photo was on the wanted poster.
Fortunately, Vandy was a long way away. Officials were not going to send police chasing halfway across the galaxy for an alleged killer. While the man he killed did have influential friends, there were also a number of people in the Vandy government who hated the man’s guts. So Starret hoped the wanted poster would soon slip into oblivion, never to be heard from again.
He double-checked to make sure the tracer was on. He figured he wouldn’t have to wait too long. He was patient and smiled when he saw the blue ship speed downward against the red sky.
The ship curved and swirled in the sky, dropping its speed until it made a landing about a mile from him. Starret leaned against his ship. A door on the blue ship dilated. A Crittenden, clad in his silver uniform and darker silver boots stepped out. Starret waved. The Crit gave a curt nod.
“Marie, there’s nothing else in the sky, is there?”
“No. All clear.”
“Very good.”
The Crit was named Uherlt. Starret had met him several years ago when he was in one of his 1 percent outside the law schemes. Although he was engaged in a slightly illegal matter, it was for a good cause so Starret was able to justify it. He had kept in touch with Uherlt over the years. But he was surprised with the Crit asked for a conference, a very private conference. Starret was intrigued and agreed to the request.
Uherlt walked briskly toward him. “I would prefer to be in a ship, not outside, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all but there are no other ships nearby.”
“Even so, let’s go inside.”
“Fine.”
“I have sent you the video I spoke about. It should confirm what I have to say.” Uherlt said.
“Not that I would doubt your word. We’ve done business before and I share your view of your government. It’s horrific when a government becomes corrupt and vicious.”
Marie opened the door to Starret’s spacecraft. The two walked to a table and sat down.
“I appreciate the trust but, even so, with what I have to tell you, you would need confirmation. Or at least your government officials would need confirmation.”
“You sound serious, my friend.” Starret reached for and held up a bottle. “Drink wine?”
Uherlt shook his head. “What tastes good to a human palate doesn’t taste good to me.”
Starret poured himself a glass. “So what do you have to tell me?”
“I want you to convey to one of the trusted Federation governments that there will be an invasion of your world galaxy very soon. My race and the Xulons seek the destruction of other Federation planets.”
“Those races don’t have enough firepower to accomplish that. They enjoy fighting wars but they keep losing them.”
“They have found powerful allies. Even as we speak, plans are being laid for the invasion and the ultimate destruction of most planets in this Federation.”
Starret sipped his wine. “Who are the allies?”
“A race beyond this galaxy. The Xulons made the first contact and then made allies of the Critts. They have formed an alliance to conquer the Federation and send it into darkness.”
“Who is this other race?”
“They are called the Saturnians and I know very little about that. I was not able to obtain that information. So I can’t give any details of the race. I can tell you the invasion will come soon. My planet is already on a war footing. Ships, jets, vessels are on military alert. They expect to be called into battle very soon. The Crit have long hated the Federation and now they see a chance to destroy it.”
“Marie, is the matinee almost ready?”
“It’s ready.”
“Use the big screen.”
As he watched, a desert planet appeared on the 50-inch screen. A circular area of sand slid away and a huge round table rose up from beneath the desert.
Three seats.
Starret had no idea where the table was located. It could have been any number of planets.
“Where was the conference held?” he asked.
“That I don’t know. It remains a military secret on my planet. I was able to obtain the tape but the location of the talks remain a mystery. Besides, I figure the location wasn’t important. What matters is the subject of the discussions.”
“Yes, I see your point.”
Starret did recognize the alien who stepped out of a ship. The thin, hairy being looked like a cross between an alligator and a bear.
“A Crittenden. One of your friends.” Starret said.
“Definitely not. One of our military officials but I don’t know him.”
He walked to the table and sat down and looked toward a distant black ship. Whoever or whatever inside was the Kingmaker here, Starret thought.
When the third round ship appeared, Starret recognized it. He told himself he should have guessed the last participant in the conference. A tall, skinny Xulon walked out, sullen as usual. The Xulons were not known for smiling. He walked toward the table.
When a door of the black ship slid open, the Kingmaker wore a dark cloak. A half-dozen attendants also dressed in black with gold markings surrounded him. The Kingmaker was also the ugliest man or alien Starret had ever seen. What little he could see of the alien’s face was a spiderweb of wrinkles. The head was covered with a type of turban. But the gold device across the eyes interested Starret. For several minutes he didn’t understand what the contraption was. All of the Kingmaker’s attendants had them too. As the dark-shrouded men walked toward the table, it hit him.
“They’re blind.” he said. “All of them are totally blind. That’s how they can see. Light-sensors. Or lasers guiding them. Never seen anything quite like that.”
The two other aliens rose and bowed as “King” approach. He gave no responding greeting. He just sat down.
“Well, the only time I’ve seen a Xulon act respectfully toward another race. The Kingmaker must be powerful indeed.” he said. “Three races sitting down for a polite conversation. I’m guessing they’re up to something nefarious. What are the odds of that, Marie?”
“Of being up to something nefarious?”
“Yes.”
“Precise odds or a rough estimate?”
“I’ll go with the rough estimate.”
“A couple of zillion.”
“Marie, if you keep throwing your scientific knowledge at me like that I might feel inferior.”
“I’ll try to tone it down.”
Starret snorted. “Well, since the Critts and the Xulons are mean, vicious and aggressive, I’m going to take a wild guess and say the blind guy’s race is also not in the running for a Good Conduct Award.”
“Your logic, Clay, is impeccable.” Marie said. “Birds of a feather.”
“Negotiate together. I’m guessing we have no history about the blind guy.”
“Nothing at all.”
There was little action at the table. The “King” moved little, occasionally turning his head to face one of the other aliens. The Critterran talked slowly but kept his hands on the table or on his chair.
Deadly Voyage (Logan Ryvenbark's Saga Book 1) Page 9
