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  ALIEN ALLIANCE

  Chris Turner

  Fantastic Realms

  Copyright 2019 Chris Turner

  Cover design: Shutterstock

  Published by Innersky Books

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in these stories are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

  CONTENTS

  THE FRONTIER

  THE DIM ZONE

  AUDRA

  THE TIMELOST

  XARES: FINAL COUNTDOWN

  THE FRONTIER

  BOOK I

  Chapter 1

  Trudging down the single-lane dirt track, Yul stopped, gazed upon his father’s salvage shop out in the middle of a field. He’d been having second thoughts about this long-in-coming visit. High time to drop in, see the old man. How long’d it been?

  Not much in these rural parts. Some large tracts of farmland with a few lazy grazing animals, acres of pepper and potato plants fringed by woodland.

  He shrugged, lips pinched in a wintery smile.

  Small engines ranged the front yard of the salvage enterprise, announced by a big white sign in bold black letters, Rande’s Salvage, suspended over a rectangular auto-shop-like garage in the back. Some were classics, a point of pride among his father’s collection of electric and diesel engines, dinosaurs that he’d collected since forever, all brands imaginable and vintage from day one. The repair depot he kept, looked something like a scrap yard, but Rande had always made a good name for himself, offering some of the best service in Kingsguard. Nothing seemed to change much around here. Not like the high-end, state-of-the-art space cruisers and war machines he was used to. Valgon planet was technically a backward world steeped in used old tech. Yul was glad that there were still frontier worlds like this one left. The earth-like worlds that had been spared the terraforming machinery of the corporate giants were all too few…the ones where pioneers had landed with no tech beyond the ships that had transported them there. One day he feared every planet’d be heavily industrialized.

  The sky carried a neutral tint in the long 33 hour day that drove life on Valgon. Bands of cirrus clouds ran the gamut, hazel in color. A brisk wind pushed up from the sea in the east, bordering the forest. At least he’d picked a pleasant day.

  Arriving late in the day after hours ensured he’d avoid facing his father’s customers and clients. The fewer people who recognized him the better.

  A middle-aged man turned at his approach from the small outboard boat engine jacked up on a sawhorse. Shocks of grey-brown, curly hair fluffed to either side of his head, a small spot in the center balding. His eyes drew close together, an indication of curiosity, neither friendly nor unfriendly.

  “Well…if isn’t my prodigal son. Looks as if you just got off the boat. You’re looking the worse for wear in that spacer uniform. Like something the cat dragged in.”

  Yul drew a deep breath. He felt his chest muscles tighten under the scrutiny. A hand went up to his shock of dirty blond hair, a reflex, he realized, from childhood. He clutched his father’s hand in his own mechanized one, courtesy of a blaster accident, a somewhat tentative grip that increased in intensity.

  “That’s a strong grip you have, son.”

  Yul inclined his head. “Been working out, Dad. How are things? I see you’ve got some grey now. Otherwise looking the same as ever. Or should I call you Rande?”

  Rande shrugged. “Call me whatever you like.” He gave a weary sigh. “Could be better, could be worse. Had a dream this week you’d show up. Marthe always said I had a knack for premonition.”

  Yul felt a distant emotion brewing in his chest as if he were caught in a time capsule. He’d heard that one before, about the sixth sense, maybe too many times.

  “Your mother would have wanted me to look out for you. But I’m afraid you’re well beyond my reach. She died last year, you know?”

  Yul nodded. “I know.”

  “Always worried about what had become of her son. What could I tell her? You disappeared off the face of the planet just like a ghost. Swallowed up by a black hole. Killed under suspicious circumstances? Wanted by the law? I kept checking the holo channels for news of an unidentified body. Heard nothing. Not even a peep.”

  “I couldn’t contact you—without repercussions.”

  “Seven years…I reckon that just about makes a death in my books.”

  Yul looked away with a hollow pang. “I couldn’t return here without risking some bad people on my ass. Didn’t want them to hurt you, or mom, on account of the business I’m in, the people I run with.”

  His father clicked his tongue. “What hijinks you got yourself into, Yul?”

  “Plenty. You’d rather not know.” He shifted his loose-limbed frame, grown stocky now from punishing exercise and rigorous self-training, turning to better assess Rande’s appreciable pantheon of engines. He looked like a sleepy tiger, some self-contained quiet type who blended into the background. But all that was illusory. He was fast as a snake; could take down men twice his size and weight. All skills Yul had taught himself while on the job, learned from the school of hard knocks…as the scars and bruises and odd broken bone had proven. Wish he’d have been able to clean up better. Hell, he hadn’t even been able to get out of this silver spacer uniform before the next hyperjump-transpo to Valgon. Not many came to this out-of-the-way place.

  Rande saw where he was gazing and shook his head. “I’m getting too old to run this business. Young Millman Joe’s going to take care of it. So I can settle down and do my fishing by the lake.”

  “I know him,” said Yul. “That peddler’s had his hand in many pots. Think he’s any good for the salvage trade? Or small engine repair?”

  Rande shrugged and sighed. “Maybe. Maybe not. But as ready as he’ll ever be, I suppose. I’d give it to you, but I know you’re too much of a wanderer. Inherited too much of your mother’s blood.”

  “Can’t help what we are.”

  “I’ll give you this, Yul, you followed your dream, pursued what path you wanted, shoddy as it is.”

  Yul scowled, irritated at his father’s disparagement of something he knew nothing about. The freelance merc trade was nothing to brag about, true, but he’d wised up in a short time. He’d hired onto a lot of tough jobs and they’d paid his way. Never liked that mild condescension in his father’s cynical tone. Hadn’t eased up one bit.

  Rande gestured a gnarled, sun-browned hand. “Friend of mine, former client, quite distraught, is having some trouble with some extortionists, embezzlers, if you like. Some syndicated wheelers and dealers out of Veglos. Moved in last season, squeezed a hell of a lot of local folk. Think they can push honest folk around.”

  “Plenty of those around. Every planet’s got ’em, no matter how small.”

  “Thought you might say that. Well, Banzari’s got himself mixed up with some hard-edged types. Almost got his head blown off from what I heard.”

  Yul’s broad face darkened. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  Yul pressed him for details. “What’s in it in for me?”

  “You’d have to discuss that with Banzari. Lives down by Smokey’s Hollow on Line 12. Got a ranch, boardwalk, lakefront, the whole kit.”

  “Okay, will check him out.”

  “How you get down here?”

  “Walked over from the station, then the geotrak.”

  Rande licked his lips. “Guess that means you don’t have a ship of your own.”

  “Who does, Pop? Why even ask?”

  He smiled. “On account that I heard stories…rumors perhaps, that you were some big space merc.”

  Yul looked at him hard through slitted eyes. “No evidence of that fr
om where I’m standing.”

  Rande grinned with amusement. “You go over see Banzari, Yul. We’ll get caught up later.” He spat out a wad of tobacco. “Got some legal hassles to deal with. Need some patching up with Judge Sloane. Long overdue.” He sighed. His father’s cheeks burned red from many days working in the hot sun.

  Yul didn’t expect much from the old man, as warm and peachy as usual. Nor did he think he’d be putting his hard-earned skills to work too soon.

  Chapter 2

  Rather than waste the day walking and catching sporadic geotrak connections, Yul rented a four-wheeler at the local dealership. He drove out to the Banzari property, about eleven miles away, parked at the end of a long gravel driveway and decided to walk the rest of the way to the ranch house, for whatever reasons.

  Banzari’s operation was several grades above what Rande’s was, with its trimmed hedges, big rambling farm house with wooden logs and peaked roof. Wide acreage ran on both sides. Pristine forest and graze-land ranged behind, tall bonderol trees rising on the ridges. But signs of decay lurked around the edges: creeping rot on the clogged eaves full of wild boysenberry leaves, green mildew on the shingles, vines creeping up the walls, torn-up fencing in a garbage pit, still smoking, the wire mesh blackened. Old piping lay beside it, twisted and corroded as if a sewage or plumbing job had been done. The smell of brush fires wafted his way. It came from the backwoods in a thin curl of blue smoke. The whiff reminded him of his childhood, growing up in a sleepy farm community. Not necessarily unpleasant, but not that pleasurable either.

  An eight-foot-high wire fence ran at the back as far as the eye could see, behind which several horse-like animals peered through, their lower jaws munching on long grass in mild interest. Grey-russet ears perked up at his approach. Oval pools of bovine eyes looked through the mesh, as if lusting for the greener grass on the other side. Yul smiled. He could relate.

  One of the same large four-legged creatures ran in front of him and stomped its hooves, startling him.

  Yul stepped back. A voice intruded from behind, “Those pipes are due for the dumpster. Messy job, re-plumbing this old place.”

  Yul turned, sized up a spry man with deep-set eyes and bushy brows standing to his right, arms laden with metal pipes carried from the nearby barn. He was stocky, fit, a man of purpose with a mane of black hair and a short white billcap tucked over his ears. An angry blue bruise blossomed on his left cheek. “Don’t worry. Kaybra’s just plain territorial.”

  The shoulder-high animal eyed Yul with no warmth, showing a healthy rack of white, blocky teeth. Its slumped, shaggy back bristled.

  “You’ve got a mighty light step, sir.”

  “And you’re trespassing on private property.”

  Yul pursed his lips. He stared, wondering if he should be worried about the bulge at the man’s hip, obviously an E4 handgun, as he put down the pipes.

  “Just a reminder, stranger.” The man smiled. “This is the main riding area, and over there is the lodge. What brings you here, to Brindlewood Ranch?”

  “My dad, Rande, sent me.”

  “Rande Vrean? Oh.” His expression changed immediately, all smiles and chuckles. “Any son of Rande’s is a friend of mine.” The man’s tanned face beamed. He stepped forward, a build robust and sturdy, held out his hand. Yul took it.

  “Lan Banzari. You are?”

  “Yul Vrean.” Yul took the outstretched hand.

  “Yul…heard about you. Skipped off years back, worried your mother sick. Sorry to hear about your mother.”

  He licked his lips, looked away. The dengal came up to nudge Yul under the armpit.

  “Go on, git!” Banzari smacked the animal’s rump and it trotted off and began munching grass elsewhere. “Damn dengals. Always underfoot. That one’s tame. Had her since a foal. You like some wine? Beer?”

  “Beer is fine.” Yul shrugged.

  “Follow me.” While the dengal contentedly munched its grass, they moved toward the lodge. Banzari let Yul in a side door. Yul took in the atmosphere: a comfortable space of old bonderol siding and woodsmoke, varnished beams and wainscoting. Kerosene lamps burned on a table. Banzari cracked open two bottles from the low bar fridge by the nearby wall. He handed one to Yul that was frothing over.

  “Why’d Rande send you here? You want to buy a dengal?” He gave a cynical snort. “Ain’t selling any, just so you know.”

  Yul shook his head.

  They walked back out into the bright light of the yard, savoring their drinks. “No, you’re no buyer, I see that. You need work? Sorry to tell you, Trixie and three others are the only help I need. Had to let Cindy go, caught her robbing from the till.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Yul frowned. “Heard you’ve got worse problems than some sticky fingers in the cashbox.”

  Banzari’s brow scrunched up in a knot. “Seems as if there’s been a high incidence of poaching these days.”

  “Poachers?” Yul rubbed his bristly chin. “Heard worse than that.”

  “Yeah, well…Come on, over to the gazebo. We can talk about it more, if you’re interested.”

  A courier truck came clattering down the red-dirt road, kicking up dust. It clattered to a halt, brakes screeching, axles squeaking. ‘United Parcel’ was written on the side in faded blue and white letters. Yul mused, “Delivery in the sticks. Who would have figured?” The operator jumped out with a large package under his arm.

  “Mr. Banzari?”

  “None other.”

  He handed him the package. Lan squinted at it. “Gristol Enterprises? What you know.” He snatched the package. “Feed supplies. Always some fool company trying to sell you promotional materials at any hour of the working day.” He scrawled his initials on the operator’s clipboard at his request and the courier gave him a toothy grin and got back into his vehicle and drove off.

  Banzari grunted. “Let’s see what—”

  Yul laid a hand on Banzari’s wrist. “Wait.” He hefted the package, tested its weight, scowling. “Seems heavy for its size.” He shook it. Heard something metallic rattle that didn’t seem quite right.

  “I’d hold off on that,” Yul warned him.

  “You don’t think—”

  Banzari set the package down like a hot potato in the shade of the picnic table under the gazebo’s awning. He winced in disbelief.

  “Why not?” said Yul. “If these people’re as bad as my father intimated.”

  “Bastards! I’m going to take this downtown to Captain Jayet’s office. Before it shuts up for the day, soon as I’ve hauled these pipes over to the pile.”

  Banzari took off his cap, stared at the package in disgust, scratching his bushy crop of hair. “Some intuition you have, Vrean. Sure glad you were here. Tell you what, I’ll set you up with some lodging. You can come and go as you please. Come down with me to the station, I’ll introduce you to Captain Jayet.”

  Yul hesitated. “Not just now. Getting comfy with the local law isn’t on my wish list. But I’ll consider your offer of lodging.”

  Banzari peered at him crosswise. “Sure, have it your way. Planned to go to town today to sort out some issues with my attorney. I’ll kill two birds with one stone.” He lifted a hand. “Take one of the outbuildings at back. Key’s under the mat. We’ll talk more when I’m back.”

  Yul sauntered past the barn and riding area, a small cultivated paddock with slatted fence and mounting block for riders. He moved on to the nearest cabin and let himself past the heavy wooden door, sliding on well-oiled hinges. He stared about, looked the place over. Clean and quiet. Cozy too—stone fireplace, low wooden table, straight-back chairs and upholstered recliner with adjoining kitchen. Spartan, serviceable. An electric hotplate, pots and pans with small icebox in the corner. Dark wood, varnished beams running across the ceiling, a small loft space with peaked roof and low, comfortable cot. Plenty of riding gear tucked in the deep shelving, and memorabilia pinned to several walls—photos, black and white, of past guests, he presumed.
>
  Yul drifted back out, where he discovered Banzari studying him. Earlier he guessed the man’s age about forty-five but now in the harsh light of Valgon’s sun, he’d upped that to fifty, fifty-five.

  He stepped over to look out beyond the electric fence. Grazing lands stretched as far as the eye could see. Place was like a nature preserve here. Lush vegetation, high ivy clinging to the corrugated trunks of bonderol trees with high-spanning boughs. All offered plenty of shade. The air, moist and humid, was teeming with life. Butterflies, birds, lizards, small rodents. Plenty of grass for the dengals to eat, and plenty of savannah for the herd animals to roam on. “Quite the paradise you have here, Banzari.”

  The ranch owner beamed in appreciation. “Imagine all this gone, sold to the dogs.”

  Yul grunted. “I can’t. So what gives?”

  “Long story short, a galactic company, Veramax, wants to ‘take over’ my operations. With a special focus on the frontier worlds as prime real estate—outreach projects, high growth ventures, maximizing capital with low investment risks, or so the pitch goes.”

  Yul’s brows peaked. “Here? What’s their primary angle?”

  “Well, see, genetic research. They’re setting out to splice genes of animals, mix in different species, the whole kitchen sink. See those dengals? I’ve whole herds of them roaming and breeding out there in that wilderness, thousand acres of it. They want to use the dengals as lab rats, experiments for their ‘research’. Build a better breed. God knows what and why. Frankenstein stuff. They came to me couple of months back, wanted me to sell both farmland and my stock. I told them, no. A few weeks later they returned with a slick-tongued operator, some hard-sale suit spewing legalese at me and veiled threats, about bylaw infringement, risk fees, hefty fines, a real pain in the ass. Threatened to get me to sign a waiver, incorporate my business, put it on the stock market, gaining 51% of the shares, then they can do whatever they want, all if I don’t cooperate.”