Adam sat askew in the pilot’s seat of the Cassie-1 and watched as the planet Castor grew in size until it nearly filled the entire viewport. He’d seen some glorious planets before, many looking as if they’d come straight out of the CGI computers at Industrial Light and Magic — George Lucas’ company — and destined for an IMAX screen somewhere. These were magical worlds, full of vibrant, vivid colors and inviting blue oceans.
Castor wasn’t one of them.
In fact, it was a hellish-looking place, nearly all brown and dusty, with only a thin band of green around the equator, along with three small patches of brackish ocean.
But people didn’t come to Castor for the scenery. They came for the treasures under the surface.
Castor was the mining capital of The Fringe, so rich in iron, bauxite, sulfur and other metals and minerals that for thousands of years, long before the Juireans arrived, the natives of Castor had literally scraped their planet clean to get at them. With the surface now so dry, dusty and light in oxygen, making breathing virtually impossible without a respirator and O2-assist, the natives had turned their obsession into their salvation. Their entire civilization had moved underground, now occupying the labyrinth of tunnels cut through solid rock over the centuries in search of their precious resources. Vast cities, with populations numbering in the hundreds of thousands, now thrived in these tunnels, and in the massive central chambers bore out to accommodate the every-growing population.
Indeed, Castor was growing — and prospering. There were not many commodities that The Fringe supplied to the Expansion. The mines of Castor provided about the only money-making export in the entire Sector.
And with a dense population and prosperous economy came the criminal element.
Seton Amick was one of a dozen high-level crime lords who catered to the vices of the Castorian population, and indeed, the entire Fringe. He dealt in anything illegal, from drugs to technology. And with the loose monopoly on the latter imposed by the Juireans, bootleg technology was one of Amick’s biggest profit centers.
So when an upstart from Hildoria — the late Kunnlar Bundnet — had infringed on some of Amick’s territory with the sale of wave transmitters and linking devices, Amick had sent Adam out to make a statement. That was what Adam was good at — making statements. Amick employed several other, more stealthy assassins. But when he wanted to punctuate the hit with a message, he sent Adam.
Adam hadn’t intended on leveling Bundnet’s compound; he just wanted to get in and out without much fanfare and collect his fee. But more often than not, Adam’s hits turned into massive firefights with high body counts. He had been trained as a Navy SEAL, and their entire motto called for deadly stealth, not flashy and excessive overkill. However, it always seemed to work out that way…
Maybe he was just getting lazy, Adam thought. Since being set loose in this new existence of his, Adam had yet to meet anything even approaching his equal in strength, coordination or cunning. So with such a lack of competition, he was growing complacent, and he had to admit, a little bored. Killing aliens for a living at first seemed like the perfect occupation for him. But now, he wasn’t so sure.
As always, though, he held out for the promise that his situation was only temporary, and that one day he would return to Earth and to whatever life he could salvage there. The fee for Bundnet’s killing would be sizeable, and help sustain him a little while longer, as he continued his quest for a way home.
The spaceport for the Castorian capital city of Krune was massive and exposed to the harsh elements of the surface. Even though the labyrinth system was extensive, the Castorians could not justify using up precious living space underground for the ships of the realm. So Adam placed the Cassie-1 in a clearing about two kilometers from the nearest access port and donned an uncomfortable full-face breathing respirator and oxygen supplement for the brief walk through the blowing dust.
Castor’s gravity was about standard for The Expansion, which made it about equivalent to three-quarters that of Earth’s. Adam could have jogged the distance in just a few minutes with little effort, but he decided to stretch his legs and actually enjoy the wide open spaces for a change.
Gravity was both his ally and his bane. In order to maintain his strength and muscle mass, he had to spend as little time on-planet as possible. That meant staying cooped up in his ship for the majority of the time. Any sane being would have gone stir-crazy after only a few days in such confinement, and Adam had endured this routine for going on nine months already.
Adam took an elevator down 23 levels and was deposited in the middle of a bustling metropolis with shoulder-to-shoulder beings, chaotic wheeled transports and a noisy train system that was actually the envy of The Fringe. Luckily for Adam, the respirator helped filter out most of the foul stench emanating from the crush of alien bodies. Over the months, he had grown somewhat expectant of the odor, although one could never completely ignore it. Recently, however, he had begun to wonder if the aliens felt the same about his own distinctive scent. If they did — or even felt the same about the scent of other aliens — they never let on.
He boarded a west-bound train for the half-hour journey to the section of Krune where Amick lived. It was upscale, made up of very wide caverns with paved surfaces and lined with towering trees and bushes of vibrant green, yellow and red. The artificial lighting set high in the distant ceiling added warmth to the air, and they had even incorporated a gentle summer’s breeze circulating throughout the neighborhood. Wealth had its privileges.
The taxi dropped him off at the head of Amick’s street. As Adam made his way toward the gated entrance to the residence, he knew he was under surveillance; you didn’t survive in Amick’s game as long as he had by being careless.
As he approached the gate, four burly Castorian guards suddenly appeared out of nowhere holding flash rifles and serious attitudes. Adam had been to Amick’s house numerous times in the past, but still the guards frisked him, scanned for explosives and took his precious MK-47 from him for safe keeping, placing it in a safety box near the gate.
Entering the house itself was an awe-inspiring event. The foyer was massive, carved out of solid rock that had been polished to a brilliant luster and displaying striations of dozens of bright colors. And beyond the entry was the Great Room, a fifty-meter long chamber that ended at a vast glass dome overlooking the desolate exterior landscape of Castor. Only the wealthiest Castorians could afford homes that overlooked the outside world, and Amick was among the wealthiest.
Near the dome, and peering out at the late afternoon shadows as they crept slowly across the jagged mountains in the distance, stood Seton Amick, a communicator to his ear and speaking loudly to someone on the other end. Adam approached and stood silently as two husky Castorian guards moved closer to him, just in case.
Amick was about Adam’s height, stockier and bald except for a thick crop of hair that grew on his back. The outfits Castorian males wore accentuated this feature, and was equivalent to women back home displaying their cleavage. Besides his wealth and power, Adam understood that Amick was considered quite a catch to Castorian females. Good for him.
Amick acknowledged Adam’s presence and he held up a hand, signifying that he would be done with his conversation in a moment. Adam nodded and glanced at the two flanking guards. They looked tough, but Adam knew their bone density was about half that of his own and that the bulk of their stockiness came from their furry torsos. Hardly a challenge, Adam thought to himself. I could take out both of them in under five seconds.
Amick closed the communicator, placed it in a pocket and turned to greet his guest. He didn’t smile; most aliens didn’t smile. It was often considered a sign of a challenge to do so. But his eyes lit up as he walked up to Adam.
“My friend, you have returned,” he said graciously in a deep, bellowing voice. “Another successful adventure from what I’m told.” Then he narrowed his eyes some. “Twenty-three dead and Bundnet’s home in ruins; you never cease to amaze me with the subtlety of your skills.”
He placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder and led him over to the bar. After a few taps of the screen, two cold drinks rotated out of the wall; Amick scooped them up and handed one to Adam. Adam’s blood chemistry had long ago been programmed into Amick’s dietary computer, so he knew the drink was safe. The two of them clinked glasses and Amick took a deep gulp of the potent beverage.
Adam liked Amick, as much as he could like any alien. He was pragmatic, intelligent and actually fun to be around. He was at the top of the food chain in his world and with that position came a relaxed attitude and a joy at being alive. His spirit was contagious.
Adam removed the full-face mask but kept the respirator over his nose. Lifting the respirator briefly, he took a long swig of the drink then replaced it. The air underground was clean of any contaminants, but the oxygen level was still too low for Adam to keep the respirator off for more than a few minutes.
“Now I suppose you’ll want your fee?” Amick said cheerfully. “I can never get you to relax and stay for a while. I’ve been so curious as to your origins and how you are able to accomplish what you do so effortlessly. We never get the chance at a prolonged conversation.”
“Sorry about that, Seton,” Adam said after another sip of the drink. “If our oxygen levels were more compatible I’m sure I’d spend more time here. But wearing this damn mask irritates my delicate skin.”
Amick burst out laughing, a deep, violent shaking that rocked his entire body. Adam had thought Seton was having a seizure when he had first seen him laugh many months ago, but it was simply how Castorian’s did it. Adam kept his lips shut, but spread his mouth in a wide grin as he joined in the alien’s jovial mood.
“Come, my friend. I will get you your money.”
Amick lead him down a wide hallway and through a double-door entry into his office. Encased in the solid rock of the room’s far wall was an electronic safe. Adam waited patiently as Amick open the safe and began to count out stacks of thin Juirean credits, which were all about the size of a credit card; they even appeared to be made of a plastic material. Each card was encoded with a specific denomination and was legal tender throughout The Expansion. After counting out a sizeable stack, Amick brought the credits to his desk and set them down. Twenty-thousand credits for the hit on Bundnet. Not a bad payday for about two weeks of work.
Adam didn’t bother to count the credits, but instead simply picked up the 10-centimeter-tall stack and placed it in a satchel he wore on the holster belt for his MK-47.
“Did you get the message about Bundnet threatening you?” Adam asked once the transaction was complete.
Amick grew serious. “Yes, I did. And thank you for that. Now that he’s dead, I’m hoping the threat does not materialize. Without someone to collect a fee from, it would make no sense to carry out the action.”
“Hopefully they weren’t paid in advance.”
Amick laughed again, but this time not so enthusiastically. “That’s another reason I wish you would stay around a little longer. I can recall at least two specific times, when you first came to work for me, that you were instrumental in saving my life.”
It was true. Only a few weeks after the explosion of the Klin starship, Kaylor had introduced the two of them, with Kaylor singing the praises of Adam’s worth as a bodyguard and/or assassin. Adam kept very tight-lipped back in those days, and hid his abilities as best he could.
He began by doing freelance bodyguard work for Amick, choosing to live aboard the Cassie-1 rather than risk losing his strength advantage over time to the lighter gravity of Castor. In fact, Amick had actually used Adam’s ship to transport him to Silea and Nimor on a couple of occasions to tend to business there. And it was during one of these trips to Silea that Adam had managed to foil two determined assassination attempts on the crime lord. This action had helped ingratiate Adam into Amick’s organization.
But Adam chose to remain independent rather than take a more active role in Amick’s criminal empire, so the crime boss instead offered him freelance wet work — and paid him generously for it. It was this arrangement that allowed Adam to survive in this alien universe and pursue his hunt for the Klin — and for Earth. When he thought about it, Adam actually owed Amick a large debt of gratitude.
About half an hour later, Adam left Amick’s residence, having graciously declined an elaborate meal and more conversation. The respirator really did irritate his skin, and the sooner he got back aboard the Cassie-1 the better. He also had to pick up some supplies before the markets closed for the night.
The artificial lighting was beginning to dim in the neighborhood, signifying the coming of night in the underground world. As he stepped out of the residence, he felt the soft breeze and heard the rustling of the branches on the spectacular trees lining the grounds, ablaze in the accent lighting for the estate. For a moment, Adam almost forgot he was on an alien planet and hundreds, if not thousands of light years from home. But reality quickly returned — as it always did — and along with it the familiar pang of homesickness that welled up inside him.
He walked down the brick sidewalk toward the front gate, feeling slightly melancholy and distracted. In his saddened state, he hardly noticed when no guards came out to greet him at the gate. However, they had appeared out of nowhere when he first arrived, so they were probably just lurking somewhere just out of sight. At the open gate, he stopped and waited, hoping someone would come out and give him his ’47. After a few moments, and still no guards, he walked to the safety box and removed the weapon himself.
A transport had been called for him and was waiting at the head of the street, its Castorian driver standing outside the vehicle, inhaling a drag off either a smokestick or one of its tamer cousins. Since he would be driving, Adam hoped it was the latter.
Still, something didn’t feel quite right. He stopped midway down the street and turned to look back at the estate. The gate was still open, having not even closed automatically after he passed through. And he had never had to recover his own weapon before…
Placing a hand on the butt of his MK-47, Adam returned to the estate. As he passed through the gate — and still no guards — he immediately knew something was up. Leaving the estate without escort was common, but just walking through the front gate uncontested was unheard of.
Adam moved to his left and skirted the side of the estate, making his way toward the entrance while avoiding the main walkway. Quietly opening the front door, he crouched and slipped inside as stealthily as possible, drawing his weapon as he did so. No sound, no presence. Hell, he’d only left the home a few minutes before. Where was everyone?
Just then he heard the distinctive pop of a bolt launcher, and his eyes were drawn to the electric blue flash coming from the other end of the long hallway to the left of the Great Room. Then he heard footsteps, running on the hard stone floors, in the direction of the office.
Two more quick pops — then silence.
Moving swiftly through the Great Room, Adam slid past the bar area and did a quick glance around the corner of the hallway leading to the office. There was just a slight blue haze hanging in the air, but no one was in the hallway. Still in a crouch, Adam entered the corridor, hugging the right side wall as he began to move cautiously toward the office.
Just then, a hand appeared from low down on the doorframe to the office and tossed something into the hallway. The metal object skidded along the floor toward Adam. Recognizing the grenade immediately, Adam took two quick steps back the way he’d came and dove around the corner — just as the grenade exploded.
The heat and concussion threw him over the bar and into the Great Room, where he landed on the back of a soft fabric sofa. He rolled over and came to his feet, then immediately ran back to the hallway. The stone walls had withstood most of the blast, but now the corridor was filled with thick smoke and burning material from the decorations that had lined the walls.
Using the smoke as cover, Adam was at the office doorway in a flash. He dove inside, rolling on this shoulder and coming up on one knee, his ’47 held by both hands at eye level. He quickly scanned the room for any movement, but found none. What he did find were two of Amick’s guards lying dead to his right. And there at the desk, leaning back in his chair, was Seton Amick, his eyes wide open and his jaw slack. A splash of red blood stained his brightly colored shirt, emanating from a level-one bolt-hole burned into the fabric at about mid-chest.
Adam locked his jaw and shook his head. There goes my gravy-train, Adam thought as he looked at the body of his benefactor. And then he noticed the open safe in the wall…
Adam jumped to his feet and ran to it. It was apparent some of the credits had been taken, but Adam’s arrival had cut short the robbery/assassination. Never one to let an opportunity pass him by, Adam began to scoop up stacks of credits and cram them into his satchel. When that was full, he stuffed more into his pockets There came the sound of a slamming door; Adam froze and brought the ’47 to bear on the door to the office. Then he heard the sound of light running, growing fainter as the sprinter added distance.
There was side entrance to the estate not too far from Amick’s office. Adam ran for the exit, just in time to see a thin, dark figure shoot through the open gate of the estate. Adam took off after the dark figure.
The assassin was extremely fast and reached the end of the street just as Adam was passing through the front gate. His cab driver was standing next to his vehicle, watching the assassin dart around the corner to Adam’s right. Adam reached the end of the street only a breath later, just as another vehicle sped off. Turning to the confused driver, Adam shoved him hard in the chest, sending him tumbling over a low stone wall and into a crop of bushes.
“I need to borrow your car,” Adam shouted at him as he slipped into the driver’s seat. He grasped the center joystick and twisted the top toggle to his right as he shoved the stick forward. The transport spun around 180 degrees; Adam corrected the turn and took off after the other vehicle, the whining of the electric motor reverberating throughout the darkening and once-quiet neighborhood.
The other driver was good, weaving in and out of traffic like a NASCAR driver back home. Definitely not a Castorian, Adam thought. In fact, Castorians were notorious for their bad driving habits. Since the subterranean cities were so over-crowed, and their roads clogged with traffic, all of their vehicles were lined with thick rubber bumpers that encircled the entire car. As they drove through traffic, Castorians would continually bounce off one another like some bizarre, over-the-top Disney ride. It didn’t seem to bother the Castorians much, but it sure made weaving through their chaotic traffic a challenge.
The assassin’s car merged onto the main thoroughfare for this section of Krune, bouncing hard off half a dozen vehicles and sending them, in turn, crashing into others. Adam did his best to keep up, but the remnants of the assassin’s passage were piling up exponentially as they proceeded deeper into the traffic.
Finally it happened. Up ahead, Adam saw the assassin’s vehicle fly into the air, turn on its side, then disappear in a mass of flying metal, bodies and smoke. Adam pulled back on the joystick, and his own transport skidded to a stop, but not before slamming broadside into another car. Adam was thrown through the thin glass of the windshield and flew through the air until he contacted the side of the vehicle he’d just hit. Momentarily stunned, he quickly shook off the cobwebs and jumped to his feet. Peering over the tops of the now-stopped traffic — looking like so many dominoes laid helter-skelter in the street — Adam spotted the assassin’s car. It was resting on its side, its wheels still turning and smoke drifting out of the rear motor compartment.
Adam set off for the car, hopping from hood to hood in the stalled traffic, MK-47 held tightly in his right hand. He arrived moments later and shoved the barrel of his weapon through the open window. The vehicle was empty.
Standing tall on the side of the car, Adam scanned the road and sidewalks in front of him. There! A disturbance on the pedestrian sidewalk, as aliens of all shapes and sizes were being thrown out of the way as the assassin barreled through the crowd. Then the disturbance stopped where a side alley intersected the main road.
Adam took off again, making excellent time hopping from car hood to car hood. Then he jumped, clearing the crush of screaming and upset alien pedestrians, and landed softly on the surface of the near-deserted alley.
Then a gaggle of upset creatures entered the alleyway behind him, but they quickly retreated when they spotted Adam’s MK-47.
Soon he was alone in the darkening alleyway. The street was about fifty meters long, ending as it intersected with another road; on each side of it were numerous dumpsters, crates, boxes and more — just as you would expect to see in any side alley on Earth.
Adam ducked behind a dumpster and listened for any movement. All was quiet, or as much as he could tell through the din of chaotic street noise filtering in from behind him. He moved further down the alley. He knew his reactions were quite a bit faster than any alien he’d yet encountered, but still, he could never be sure. Somewhere there had to be something that was faster.
Then he sensed a movement behind him. As he turned he felt a crushing blow strike the back of his head as splintered wood flew past his line of sight. He fell forward, hitting hard on the stone surface of the alley. Then a strong hand grasped his right shoulder and flipped him over. Still in a daze, Adam felt someone mount him, just as the warm barrel of a bolt launcher was shoved against his chin, just under the face mask.
His vision cleared, and he stared up at the creature straddling him. It, too, wore a full-face mask, but in the darkness of the alley, he could not see through the lens.
But then he felt the assassin tremble. The creature reached forward suddenly with its free hand and ripped off Adam’s mask. The effect was immediate. The creature recoiled as if hit by a bolt, and then it slowly began to pull the weapon from his chin. Next it slid off of him and stood in the middle of the alley — while lowering its weapon. Next, the creature reached up and slipped off its own face mask.
It was the face of a Human woman!
Adam lay in stunned disbelief for what seemed like an eternity, until the woman reached down and recovered his MK-47 and helped him to his feet. She handed him the weapon and then took a quick look around the alley. Behind them was the chaos and confusion of the main road they had caused moments before. At the other end of the alley was a more tranquil street setting.
Taking him by the hand, the woman pulled him along with her toward the street. Once there, she stopped and scanned the road. There, on the other side and about halfway down the block, her gaze focused on a Rest Facility — like a hotel on Earth — and she set off for it, pulling him along with her as she raced toward the building.
Adam still couldn’t read alien very well, but he was able to recognize certain phrases. He could make out the lighted sign outside the entrance indicating Pressurized Rooms and Atmosphere Control. Then still without a word, and holding his hand firmly in hers, the woman entered the hotel, pulled a chip of credits out of a pocket and slammed it down on the counter.
“I need a room,” she said forcefully. Adam noticed a slight Southern accent as she spoke for the first time.
The stunned clerk took the chip and handed her a metal key, indicating room eight, down the corridor to their right. In a moment they were through the door and into the outer airlock. Entering the room proper, the blonde-haired woman finally released his hand and moved to the control panel. Almost instantly, Adam felt a rush of fresh, oxygen-rich air fill the room; the woman turned and removed her respirator.
Adam removed his as well, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, the woman fell against him and locked her lips on his.
Adam’s eyes rolled back in his head; it was an amazing feeling, the softness and warmth of her lips. It was greater than anything he could remember feeling before. What the hell, he thought as he pulled the woman tighter to his body. We can always talk later!
And with that, the two Humans tumbled onto the bed, shredding clothing as they did so.