Galactic Freighter: Scourge of the Deep Space Pirates (Contact) (30 page)

Mahoney keyed his pocket comm and never using a name or location said, "In two hours." The message would set in motion his prearranged plan to get off Barnard's Star.

On time, Jarred Mahoney disguised to his satisfaction in common street clothes, a slight hunch, and cane, ambled from the building, and blended with the pedestrians along the walkway. An aircar stopped and he stepped in.

"What happened to trigger this?" His bodyguard asked.

"President Waters. I don't trust him. I think he's decided to turn me over to the Ionian Navy. You know where to take me."

Anticipating this day, Mahoney had meticulously prepared for his escape.

On a secure line, he made a call to a hired look-alike. He wasn't pleased with the thousand credits it cost, but the man rightly suspected Mahoney was in a tight spot and knew how to make the best of an opportunity. His biggest concern was the Ionian fleet blockading the planet. Their inspectors would conduct a thorough search of any vessel that tried to leave orbit.

An hour later, in one of the safe houses he'd established, Mahoney busied himself encoding the data chip that would get him past the authorities. He had to make his move quickly. The longer he waited, the more difficult it became to out-maneuver anyone hunting him.

Once he’d prepared the ID chip confirming he was a crewmember on the Galaxy Adventure, a commercial luxury cruiser, his driver took Mahoney to the spaceport.

Jarred Mahoney boarded the pinnace for the deep space cruise ship. Enough money had changed hands to ensure that his getaway should go smoothly.

As the pinnace entered the liner's hanger, Mahoney left his seat at the rear and entered the passenger men's room. Several minutes later, he emerged dressed as a common deckhand, the cane hidden, and his hunch now gone as it had carried his change of clothes. Anyone who cared to look would notice that the seat remained occupied…byMahoney's double.

Mahoney edged his way to the hatch, stepped onto the cruiser's hanger deck, and joined the crew unloading the passenger's luggage. That done, he melded with his coworkers.

Shortly later, an Ionia Naval shuttle docked, disgorging an inspection team and squad of Marines. An hour passed and the hanger crew busied itself launching the pinnace for its second stop.

Once cleared of the hanger, Mahoney breathed a deep sigh. Even if his double were discovered, the Galaxy Adventure would be well on its way out-system and beyond reach. He had made good his escape from Barnard's Star and the Ionian Navy.

After a month in space, the liner orbited Polimator, a small planetoid far off the most commonly used space lanes. Roberto Garcia warmly greeted his co-conspirator.

"No trouble getting off Barnard, I see. A few credits in the right place does wonders," Garcia said. A short stocky man, swarthy best described him. His land holdings on Polimator were vast even compared to larger planets. He held title to most of the arable land and was the major producer of fruits and vegetables sold to Barnard's Star.

"A lot of credits," Mahoney sourly retorted.

"How much longer do you think the blockade will stay? I have a dozen loads ready to space. Can't hold them much longer."

"The blockade should be over. You should have heard by now," Mahoney said. "En route I heard Barnard had capitulated and the Ionian fleet would withdraw. Something must have gone wrong. I think." He paused, "President Waters planned to turn me over to the Ionian Navy. Now that I'm gone, there's no reason for the blockade to continue. You had ships on orbit, and should be able to get some input." Not hearing from Garcia's ships and Barnard's Star to resume shipments meant the quarantine remained. The Ionian Navy must have forced a total lock-down on communications.

The next day word came that ten ships with foodstuffs could enter in-system. That meant those on orbit at Star would return. Mahoney and Garcia would shortly know what they were dealing with. Garcia's ships would transmit as soon as they cleared Barnard's Star controlled space.

"Shit," Mahoney said. "Now I have to contend with that bastard." He handed the vid comm to Garcia.

"Buck Fryman," was all the man said in disgust. "They'll put it all together and it won't be long until they show up here. What then?"

Mahoney lost his planet, Woodall, and now Katakan. Woodall had fallen after he sided with the Brafford Alliance and the Ionian Navy had destroyed most of their fleet. The loss of Katakan was Fryman's doing and a bitter defeat for Mahoney. He hadn't been on the planet when the freighters attacked, but had virtually owned Katakan and planned to make it his base of operations.

Mahoney's lips pursed as he considered his diminished options.

"I think I should move on. You're not their target. If I'm not here, they should leave you alone. They know the people on Barnard starve unless your ships make regular deliveries." Running was in Mahoney's nature and he needed time to gather his forces. Other resources were available and he would call them in.

***

For the next two weeks, crews worked to modify the Dolan Elite's internal structure to accommodate the supplies required on the four-month trek to Cratten.

Working around the clock, it took the better part of two additional weeks to get provisions aboard the converted picket ship. With minimal offensive capability, it nevertheless could fend off isolated raiders. Even with Mahoney’s illicit support from pirates, he wasn't immune to those who were
uncooperative
and
opportunistic
.

With the work completed, the ship spaced for Cratten.

Mahoney had equipped his cabin with ample distractions. Cooped up for nine months, seven to Cratten and another two to Myslac required special distractions. Maintaining any kind of privacy meant forethought and he'd given it plenty. That included a well-stocked library on virtually every subject of interest to him.

***

Mahoney sat behind the desk in his cabin and motioned Roland Evans into a form-fit chair. Accommodations for both men were limited but comfortable. Small but adequate kitchens, sonic shower, bedroom, and a good-sized living space made up their private living quarters.

"We'll circumvent the near end of the
void
,” Mahoney said, “and head for Cratten and then Myslac to call on the Kalazecis."

"Never heard of them," Captain Evans said. "Who are the Kalazecis?"

"Humans consider them aliens. I'll admit, they are different—a different species. The Kalazecis have the Pagmok, warriors, and the Kalazecis owe me. I plan to collect. The Pagmok wiped out the original settlers from Earth; it's in the computer. Maybe you should study up on both races. The Pagmok are flesh eaters. Actually, there are three species, another one called the Rococo and the First. A benign race, vegetarians as I recall. With help from the aliens, I'll put an end to Buck Fryman for the last time. Maybe get Sebastian in the process."

Captain Evans stared at the blank bulkhead seemingly considering his answer. "You could have told me before we spaced. It is my ship, my crew and I should have a say before taking either into harm's way."

"You'll do as I say," Mahoney said as something sinister had awoken in him. "I own you, Evans. One comm and what abysmal finances you possess will disappear." He felt a vicious satisfaction as he said, "Stick with me, and you'll be wealthy beyond anything you have ever imagined."

Evans was by no measure a weak man but Mahoney had a financial stranglehold on him. The Captain's attitude told him the man would bear watching. The bodyguard standing behind Mahoney was added assurance he’d be obeyed.

A comm from the bridge summoned Evans, ending the confrontation.

Mahoney spent as much time as possible in his cabin. Occasional trips to the bridge reminded everyone who was in charge.

***

Once they arrived at the planet Cratten, loading supplies for the trip to Myslac took most of the crew's time. Mahoney permitted liberty but in small groups and limited the credits each man could carry. He wanted a full crew when they spaced.

Despite these efforts, two men managed to disappear. Dolin Elite spaced two weeks later for the two-T-month haul to Myslac.

One billion kilometers from Myslac, Mahoney summoned Captain Evans to his cabin. "This is a translator." He held what looked like an old microphone. "We use it to communicate with these beings." He took his chair and motioned Evans into one fronting his desk. "You need to take a look at these guys. We can't have you acting surprised when we face them."

Both men gazed at the images. "The Kalazecis are a little under one and half meters tall, the Pagmok a centimeter or so taller. Kalazecis skin is somewhat like ours, but with lots of hair. The Pagmok are more like a frogs with teeth. Both will require re-breathers when they come aboard. Need a different air mixture than what we require. Fortunately, the devices are hardly noticeable. Both races have three fingers and an opposable thumb. The Kalazecis are the brains behind the troika, the Pagmok are the warriors and the Rococo and the First the vassals, treated like children. There is another race called the Hommew. We don't have much on them. I said the Kalazecis are the brains, but the truth is these Hommew are the smarter ones. Like I said, we don't have much on them. You may want to read this." Mahoney punched up a document.

Evans read the title.
Account of the Expedition to the planet Earth. Circa 1942 CE
. "Well, I'll be damned. So it was true." He referred to the stories he'd heard for years but assumed no more than scuttlebutt.

"Not having much information on these races is a major concern to me." Mahoney punched a series of icons, and spoke into the translator. "Myslac, this is Jarred Mahoney aboard the Dolan Elite. Request permission to enter your system." He gave an identifying code and position. "In a few minutes, we'll know which reception committee will greet us."

"I take it that means an attack or a more neighborly welcome," Evans said.

Mahoney nodded.

Evans didn't suggest powering their weapons; that would send the wrong message.

A T-hour later the translator came alive. "Dolin Elite, hold your present position. A delegation will board." Through the translator, the voice had the expected synthesized quality. "A Pagmok ship will arrive under the command of Rzlor with Captain Nnomm at the helm."

"If our computer information is correct, Rzlor is a direct descendant of their Emperor. Nnomm's a Pagmok," Mahoney said. "When they dock, no weapons, showing or otherwise. If they decide to kill us, we have no way to stop them. And if not, a peaceful greeting might be good enough." Mahoney didn’t mention that, many years earlier, the Kalazecis Emperor, a descendant of a Martin Grabel, had ruled Myslac. Grabel, a cantankerous human mathematical genius, who turned on his own, had the long-life gene, outlived both the Kalazecis and Pagmok counterparts for years, and finally gained power. Eventually, the Kalazecis turned on the humans, killed them all, and using the Pagmok, attacked New Earth, destroying everything except the Rococo and the First. The fleets that were away from the planet escaped the slaughter. There had been no contact with the three races since.

None, that is, until Mahoney had made contact.

Chapter Thirty:
The Kalazecis

M
ahoney and Evans stood on the hanger deck, a red carpet stretched to the pinnace. A Pagmok warrior, dressed in a light gray one-piece uniform, stepped onto the deck avoiding the carpet. His three-fingered hand rested on a holstered blaster. The being's skin seemed that of a frog, what Mahoney took as a rebreather barely visible on his face, but there was no mistaking the teeth—this was a meat eater. Slowly, the warrior’s eyes swept the entire bay.

Satisfied there was little or no threat, his hand touched a shoulder mic. Shortly, a regally dress Kalazecis emerged, his white uniform and gold-laden hat those of a flag or command line officer. With long flowing well-trimmed golden head hair, the rest of his visible body covered with short almost indistinguishable hair, he did look magnificent.

A computer generated rendition of the Kalazecis national anthem blared around the cavernous bay.

The Kalazecis, followed by a Pagmok, never requested the traditional permission to come aboard the ship. Instead he said, "I am Rzlor, emissary of Emperor Djac the third." He did not introduce the warrior. The Kalazecis', very human-like, seemed impatient.

"Emissary Rzlor, I am Jarred Mahoney." Mahoney said slowly into the translator, then introduced Captain Evans. "Would you join us in our wardroom?" He motioned toward the elevator. "I think you'll find it more comfortable."

Rzlor signaled the pinnace and five Pagmok emerged carrying a folded table and three chairs.

The Kalazecis sat, never invited Mahoney or Evans to join him but the two empty chairs clearly suggested their intent.

The humans attempted to sit but found the chairs too small. Evans stood, signaled the deck handlers to bring suitable chairs.

Mahoney tried to hide his dissatisfaction with Evans but relented when the Kalazecis nodded to the Captain.

"The code you gave came as a surprise," Rzlor said, his manner abrupt. "We never expected it to be used. Why are you here?"

"Some years ago, one of my ships saved a Myslac ship, stranded and adrift at the close end of the
void
. We repaired your ship and the Emperor's representative gave us the code and said if I ever needed anything, to come to Myslac. That the Emperor would honor any request."

"And what is the nature of the help you seek?" The Kalazecis gave what Mahoney took as an indifferent wave of his hand.

"I need your Pagmok warriors and ships."

Rzlor gave what went for a snort, his displeasure evident. "We do not loan our warriors or ships."

"You did for President Jabari on New Earth," Mahoney said in a conciliatory tone.

"You have studied our history. How did you come by this knowledge?" His air and lack of interest was evident.

"From the ship we saved. The Emperor's cousin was most accommodating and generous."