“Marsa Grakko,” Hess answered with a smirk. “It has been a while. I trust the good doctor’s accomodations out in the Verge have been to your liking?”
“He is a strange old man. He is… I believe it is what you humans call ‘creepy.’ I think you know what I mean.”
Hess shrugged. “Doctor Schroeder is an esteemed scientist in his field. His focus on his work is a little single-minded, but I assure you there’s not a sinister bone in his body.” He glanced at the five massive krokator in equally puffy jackets scowling at him and his woefully undersized ex-Marines. “Do you think we could speak privately?”
Grakko nodded and turned to his comrades. “Komoka, buri hakan adar!” Friends, wait here for a while!
Hess signaled his own bodyguards to relax and he walked down the frigid road into the dark of the night with Grakko. “So, Grakko, you wanted to talk. Is everything alright?”
“Alright? Hardly. The suggestion is laughable,” Grakko growled as they moved further from the HUVRs. “I have spent the past two months hiding out with your scientist at that crumbling machine gun factory hearing him complain about how he does not have sufficient facilities for his experiments or about how the ship fuel we gave him to refine lacks the right isotopes, or some similar phrase. I escaped Piskka, barely with my life, and most of my finances there were frozen. Needless to say, many of our sympathizers have been wary after that debacle.”
Hess coughed uncomfortably. “I apologize if Dr. Schroeder has made you uneasy and irritated, Grakko. We are working around the clock to get the second facility built, but for now the factory out in the Verge is the best we have. This is a project I would prefer not to attract attention to. As for Piskka, my associates and I took a hit there too. You were a fool for not realizing that Oraank was being watched by the sukuda. I’m up to my ass with the Commission’s investigation and things were bad enough before the company’s name was inexorably tied to yours. Supplying warlords and gangsters on Border Worlds with weapons looks bad enough; financing terrorist organizations in a sovereign nation is even worse.”
“The Emperor and his government, they are the true ‘terrorists,’” Grakko said defiantly. “And we have taken a scalp the Empire will never forget. We have assassinated the Emperor in the heart of the Krokandir on Urkuran Eve. Nothing will ever be the same. Speaking of which, what have you done? I believe that President Paine is still alive, unless I am mistaken.”
“The Hudda Kugrall sure as hell didn’t kill the Emperor themselves, and you know it,” Hess snapped. “And the bomb went off early. We’re handling it. Perry said there’ll be another opportunity again soon.”
“Our friends are very displeased with you, Mr. Hess, and they are concerned about your commitment.”
“To hell with the Raptors!” Hess bellowed, almost so loudly that the bodyguards could hear. “They can soften up the League without our help and find another lackey to do their dirty work.”
“I think you are being a bit overdramatic,” Grakko cautioned. “We all have similar goals. Working against each other is counterproductive. The Black Prod demands results out of me as much as you demand results out of Schroeder and Perry. Speaking of which, Perry travels to Terra soon, does he not?”
“He’ll be landing there soon, if he hasn’t already. Why?”
“I have a friend who has recently fled the Empire out of fear for his life. His fears were not unfounded, as his business establishments on Rukkur have been raided by the sukuda. His name is Kamaan Dakkal and he has dedicated himself to avenge the crimes committed against him by the Empire. He was in the military briefly when he was younger, and he is a cold-blooded killer.”
“Where is he now?”
“Stuck in transit. I spoke with Jurkken, who is more than happy to put Dakkal up at his place on Terra so long as we can get him there. We were unable to utilize our own back-channels with all of the increased surveillance.”
“If you give me details on which world he is trapped on, I will guarantee he gets to Terra without any hassle from immigration officials or SIS,” Hess said, relieved that that was all Grakko wanted to ask him about. “Perry has a plan in the works. We’ll find out more as it develops.”
“And you trust Perry?”
Hess grinned. “Of course I don’t. I wouldn’t trust anyone who would voluntarily befriend us.”
Grakko nodded in understanding, chuckling. “I admire the honesty, Hess. I must leave you now… I promised the good doctor I would see about getting him something more volatile for his machines.”
Hess returned with Grakko to the HUVRs and bid him farewell. The black utility HUVRs sped off into the night, and he watched them vanish before breathing out slowly, the steam settling in the air in front of him, before returning to his LUXR.
Things were starting to get out of control.
#
Krokandir, Planet Rukkur, Kroka System
“Sharm Zurra, while this does not violate my command, I must say I am disappointed in your decision to accept the Lady Erenna’s request.”
Admiral Tarkas sternly added, “High Prod Nikkwill and I both wanted you to get some rest after your adventures up in Ankina. This reeks of a poorly thought out plan.”
“The royal family naturally supersedes us, but the Lady Erenna does not know much about galactic policy or espionage. I have spoken with the head of the sukuda and even he is reluctant. You have no formal training as a foreign agent, Sharm Zurra – you have spent your career as an agent of the military on commando operations. Counterintelligence is a completely different field.”
Zurra studied both of his superiors and bowed his head. “I realize I have disappointed you, High Prod Nikkwill.”
“You have. I cannot punish you, however, for something you would have been hard-pressed to refuse.”
“The Lady Erenna is a difficult woman to turn down,” Zurra concurred. “I doubt I will discover much in the Alliance, however.”
“That is where you may be wrong. The sukuda believes that there is something to the connection between Hessian and the Hudda Kugrall, but they have trouble knowing where to begin. I have alerted Ambassador Orget Jerven that you are arriving. While a typical politician, Jerven is a loyal supporter of the regime. His position, however, requires a certain amount of discretion. If you should cause a mess in Los Angeles, you answer to him, and know that he will be far less forgiving for a mistake on a foreign world than I would be for one here.”
Tarkas spoke again. “To put it simply, Sharm Zurra, your margin for error while on Terra will be smaller than anything you have ever encountered here, where you are operating with our blessing. If something were to go wrong, Jerven will deny any knowledge of your existence and the Empire will be unable to help.”
Zurra thought about this before replying, “I understand. Does the Emperor know about Erenna’s request?”
“It is best the Emperor not worry about his aunt’s machinations while he has so much on his plate. If he were to find out, we should be sure it is because of our overwhelming success. He is not as lenient as his father, so it will reflect as poorly on us as on you should anything go wrong on Terra,” Nikkwill explained and rose. “You have until the upcoming summit with senior League of Planets military leadership in Los Angeles to turn something up. When I leave the summit, we extract you if I am not satisfied with your performance. Your cover, along with that of the sukuda, will be as part of my advance detachment. The journey between here and Terra is three days long, more than ample time for you to think about your mission.”
There was a long pause before Tarkas finally said, “You are dismissed, Sharm Zurra. Frusrand guide your path.”
“And make sure Kurkand does not need to keep you in his mercy,” Nikkwill interjected quickly, completely serious.
Chapter Fourteen: The Zone
Southern California Extraterrestrial Zone, Planet Terra, Sol System
The Zone had risen to such a fantastical perch in popular Allied culture that only by
going into the Zone itself could one get rid of the falsities associated with the place.
It was always portrayed in one of two ways – sometimes, it was depicted as a colorful interspecies melting pot of distant extrasolar cultures, home to a variety of creatures from around the Milky Way and where alien music, foods, literature, art and leisure came together to form a strange symbiotic experience unlike anything else in the galaxy. It was also portrayed as a hellish cesspool of crime, depravity and filth, drawing from humanity’s traditional prejudiced attitude towards ETs. The Zone was supposedly the place that made every case for the segregation of other species.
Gresham found it to be something in between. The street lights were on at this time of night, casting pools of light against closed storefronts, barred windows and the open doors to bars and clubs along the main drag in this part of the Zone. He heard excited yipping from the canine broggs standing outside of a seedy establishment, and watched a Hunafuan slither out of one club to head to the next.
Lara turned to look at Gresham. “This is the good part of the Zone. Once we get off the beaten path a little, things will get shadier. It’s about a one mile walk from here to Lugrash’s, according to the guy at the diner.”
“Outstanding,” Gresham muttered. The crowds along the sidewalks were growing in numbers at an alarming rate. Every species Gresham could recognize, and some he didn’t, were lining the streets. There were bipedal humanoids, reptilians, mammalians, amphibians and also aliens that defied any conventional classification, of every shape, size and biological composition. It was one of the most amazing sights he had ever seen.
“Something else, isn’t it? Try not to stare at anyone, we’re the odd ones out here,” Troy said, giving Gresham a friendly smile and nudge.
“I never knew there was so much… variety,” Gresham said breathlessly as a pack of reptilian silvelds moved past them.
“You’d never know living in LA. How strict are your neighborhood’s ET ordnances?”
“They’re pretty relaxed for a place like Topanga. We’ve got a family of Vegans in my building.”
Troy nodded. “Interesting. Mine is pretty relaxed too. Lara’s is about as segregated as they come. It’s illegal for ETs to even set foot in Marble Heights after sundown.”
Lara paused to watch a pair of Balgoshan street performers outside of a smoky lounge. Within the lounge, human hookah pipes were being smoked alongside the gukka device imported from the Krokator Empire and an assortment of other extraterrestrial smoking products.
“Nog washja!” one of the Balgoshans hissed at her. “Nog! Donation? We not perform free. Nog, nog!”
Lara pulled out a ten-credit bill and threw it in the top hat the street musicians were using for collections. “Tell me about Lugrash,” she said calmly.
“Iokago,” the other Balgoshan muttered and regarded his friend. They were both about five feet tall, the typical height for their species, although their pointy horns gave them an added two inches. Both had brown-spackled greenish flesh and observant, calculating eyes. Neither of them had washed themselves for several days, and both wore second-hand human clothes bought from one of the numerous markets in the Zone where stolen retail goods were sold at cheap profit – one of them wore a pair of women’s shorts that revealed his thick, pockmarked calves.
“Lara, I don’t think they’ll tell us much…” Gresham said.
“Be quiet and let me negotiate with them,” Lara said. She leaned closer. “Lugrash. Want more money? Nog?”
The one with the women’s shorts smiled, revealing that only a few of his sharp teeth remained. “Nog! Nog washja, nog!”
“Knowing Balgoshan would certainly help,” Gresham muttered as Lara pulled another ten credits out of her pocket. The first Balgoshan clawed after the money but she pulled it away.
“Lugrash,” she repeated. “In Standard, please.”
“Warehouse big,” the one in shorts said in frustration. “Lugrash big warehouse, no go warehouse if human, Lugrash kill. Big trouble fuck with Lugrash. Lugrash crazy, Lugrash kill.”
“Anything more?” Lara asked.
“No, fuck you human, nog now! Give nog before we get friends and fuck up you, fuck you!”
“This is pointless. Just ask him how we’ll know that it’s Lugrash’s place and give him the money,” Troy said.
“How will we know which warehouse is Lugrash’s?” Lara tried, tossing the ten credits into the top hat. Both Balgoshans’ eyes gleamed with ecstasy.
“Big runway, ships land. Cranes and ships on runway, big warehouse!” the Balgoshan said. “Now, you fuck you human. Play music, not waste fuck time.”
Lara nodded and beckoned for Troy and Gresham to follow her down an alleyway. They emerged on the other side onto a similarly crowded street, this one packed with small late-night eateries serving food from around the galaxy. A large Orracowan forcibly bumped into Gresham and the nine-foot tall alien snarled at him with both his interior and exterior set of teeth when he turned in protest.
“Don’t start picking fights with aliens bigger than you,” Troy said and grabbed Gresham’s arm. “Let’s worry about getting to Lugrash’s. That beast will tear your head off for sport if you give it a reason to.”
Glaring one last time at the towering alien, Gresham reluctantly followed the two SIS agents through the throng and another alley. They wound their way through increasingly dwindling crowds and increasingly darker streets and alleys until only a few lights shone from the windows of the aging tenements and the only sound was the distant hubbub of the crowds now dozens of blocks behind them.
“So what’s the plan here?” Gresham wondered as they crossed an empty street. Eight Fantoon eyes stared at them from the shadows as two alien derelicts picked through garbage.
“The warehouse should be right up ahead,” Troy responded, ignoring Gresham’s question. They walked down the street and turned the corner to see an expanse of tarmac, big enough to fit a small-sized cargo freighter. On the other side of this tarmac was a large, three-story warehouse about two hundred and fifty yards long. Four cranes protruded from the warehouse’s wall.
“Well, shit, this oughta be good.” Gresham looked at Lara. “What next?”
“It looks like nobody’s home. Hopefully we can sneak in on the ground floor and locate Lugrash’s office. If we’re lucky, he’s got all his shipping manifests in one place and we can get a better picture about what kind of operation he’s running and who his friends are. That, of course, is if we’re lucky. You can never be too careful with smugglers.”
Gresham mulled this over in his mind. “And if there is anybody there? Who knows what kind of manpower Lugrash has. There’s three of us against however many of them.”
“We’re close enough to the nearest LAPD checkpoint that we’d have backup here in five minutes if a gunfight were to start,” Troy said. “Besides, if Lugrash has nothing to hide, he’ll be cooperative with us. This could be a dead end, after all.”
Gresham looked back at the warehouse. It was dark, but he had the feeling that the ominous building was in no way a dead end. “Yeah, we can try talking to him or something. Those clowns in the booty shorts were pretty cooperative and articulate. Who the hell taught them Standard, a freighter jockey? A Mingiclorian?”
“A professional cargo runner and smuggler interacts with a fair share of humans and needs to be able to speak Standard halfway decently,” Lara said with a grimace. “Look, you didn’t have to come, Gresham. In fact, I’d rather you stayed out here while Troy and I go inside. I don’t need an idiot with a gun messing up my investigation.”
Troy raised an eyebrow. “Lara, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. The Orracowan hunting packs might turn up and he’s literally dead meat if they do.”
“Fine, he can come,” Lara said with a frustrated, exasperated tone. She ran a hand through her hair and glared at Gresham as per usual. “Don’t screw up, Major. You’re not the only one at risk getting killed. Zone smugglers are danger
ous, merciless animals.”
“I’m a grown man, Lara, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to hold my hand.”
Lara rolled her eyes. “Let’s go. Troy, you want to take the lead?”
“Sure thing.”
They hurried in a single file line along the wall running the length of the tarmac to the warehouse, guns at the ready and their eyes scanning for trouble. Any shadow that moved could be an alien ready to pounce – Gresham felt his heart beating faster than he had felt it drum in a very long time.
As they neared the warehouse, he felt an uncomfortably familiar stench seeping from the building – the stench of Balgoshans, the same putrid, dirty smell he had sensed when they were bribing the street musicians. They’d found the right place.
Lara hopped up onto a raised platform underneath one of the cranes and peered in through a window. She tapped the window to the darkened warehouse with the butt of her gun and squinted.
“This is reinforced glass, built to withstand bullets and medium-yield plasma charges. We’d need a cannon to blow through these.”
“Is there a door?” Gresham asked and Lara raised a finger to signal him to be quiet. She scanned the façade of the warehouse before pointing to a steel door between the middle two cranes. They approached the door and inspected it – it was locked with an old-fashioned padlock instead of an electronic lock.
“That’s cheap Zone technology for you,” Lara said sarcastically.
Parts of the lock looked rusty, and Troy took the initiative of striking it twice with the butt of his gun. He swung harder with the third hit and the lock cracked. He wiggled it off, rubbing his smarting hand.
“I think I bruised it,” he said, biting his lip in clear pain. “I’ll be fine though.”
Lara took a look at the hand and nodded after gently squeezing it with her thumb and forefinger. “I don’t think anything’s broken, Sam. You’ll be alright.” She returned her attention to Gresham. “I’ll lead. Don’t get yourself killed.”
“I’m a Dhruiz vet, Ms. Taylor, I’m not as inept as you think,” Gresham muttered. He was growing sick of her condescending insinuation that he didn’t know which end of his gun was which.
Lara nudged the door open and ventured into the darkness. There was no movement as far as she could discern, and the only things she could make out were small shimmers of light from the windows and the shadows they cast.