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  They wasted no time getting aboard the shuttle. Grimes took her seat in the cockpit while Dira and Jason sat in the front seats, directly behind her, in the cabin. With the cabin open to the cockpit, Jason watched Grimes at the controls. She entered in the coordinates—to an area directly above the scrapyard on the surface—and activated a phase-shift. Everything flashed white. Jason looked out the observation window to his left and now saw the scrapyard a hundred feet below them, and his house nestled on the east side of the vast property. Grimes pulled back on the controls and the Perilous rapidly headed away from the surface. Within seconds, they’d reached Earth’s upper atmosphere.

  Chapter 2

  Alchieves System

  Pharlom Command Warship

  _________________

  The Pharloms, as a race, were distinctive in looks and mannerisms. Even the Craing, who had come across thousands of different species and races over the centuries, had placed the Pharloms at the very top of the list—as one of the most bizarre.

  Leon Pike, a human, was born to two Earth parents who’d joined a younger Commander Perry Reynolds, some twenty-seven years earlier, to crew aboard an amazing Caldurian vessel named The Lilly. Leon’s parents were now long dead … and his home had always been open space. At only twenty-six, he went by the title of Merchant Trader, but in truth he was up for hire for any number of trades: intergalactic guide; bounty hunter; even a trader of black-market goods … on a rare occasion—if the terms were acceptable. But that didn’t mean Leon lacked a strong moral compass. Yes, he was a man with few personal allegiances, but the ones he did possess were quite strong. Leon didn’t steal from or cheat his friends, and he did his best not to sleep with their wives. He may have broken the latter rule several times lately, but he had made a conscious vow—a decree—to never, ever, let that happen again. That was four days ago.

  Leon held no allegiance to the Pharloms—none whatsoever. Being here now, on the command vessel’s bridge, sitting next to Mangga, the fleet’s Grand Overseer (equivalent to the rank of admiral), had been one big error in judgment.

  Leon wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought Mangga was looking at him. The Pharloms did not have faces, per se, in terms of the typical two eyes, nose, and mouth. They did have a head, but it looked more like a piece of granite than something organic. Composed of hundreds of sharp ridges, and just as many valley-like indentations, there simply was no way to know where, exactly, a Pharlom was looking. Although, of late, Leon thought he saw an eye, of sorts, located in the mid-section of Mangga’s head. So, nodding in that general direction, he gave back a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod.

  Leon tried to remember the course of the events that had put him here. That hiccup had come about using Dirinian middleman Jericho Goll, another human, but obviously one lacking any semblance of a moral compass of his own. Jericho had set the whole thing up—had come to Leon with what he’d described as a quick, in-and-out, two- or three-day planetary guide gig. An unnamed third party needed to traverse the ten-world Alchieves solar system. Not a simple process. Leon, though, had done it several times—mostly smuggling bendalli weed to the locals. The Tromians, who’d been raided many times over years past, had constructed close to one hundred space cannons that were now located throughout their solar system. Most were perched on satellite moons, but some also free-floated in space. Just one of the gigantic weapons could annihilate a trespasser ship. Leon knew the access codes, which allowed any given ship a free pass without harassment. And that’s how he’d gotten himself into this present fix.

  Leon actually liked the Tromian people. They didn’t deserve this … whatever this was. Probably a raid, one he’d be responsible for. He pushed feelings of guilt from his mind and tried to concentrate on the hovering hologram at the center of the bridge. They had just entered the Alchieves solar system and were approaching the first access point. Within seconds, the Pharlom destroyer would be hailed. If the access code relayed back wasn’t correct, this ship, and others in this fleet of eighteen, would be fired upon.

  Leon debated if he should just go ahead and give them an incorrect code … let the pieces fall as they may. Hell, perhaps the Pharloms’ shields could fend off an inevitable, retaliatory bombardment. Not likely … Leon never heard of ships surviving Tromian cannon fire, once unleashed.

  And now was the time—the communications officer was informing the Grand Overseer of the incoming hail. The timer had been initiated. He would have less than forty-five seconds to enter the proper nine-digit code.

  “You will provide the code now, human,” the Grand Overseer ordered.

  Leon stared back at the Pharlom leader. He, like other Pharloms, was big and imposing. Like brown-colored stone men, they all wore black and had armor plating secured over their chest, lower torso, and upper thighs. Their hands, their most human-looking aspect, held a cluster of eight fingers—digits—and like the rest of their physiology’s makeup, was more mineral-based than fleshy. Their every movement produced the sound of stone grating against stone. That sound, multiplied times ten as the bridge crew constantly moved about, was getting beyond irritating.

  At twenty-six, Leon felt he had a good many years ahead. He certainly was not ready to die, either at the hands of these raiders, or by Tromian cannon fire. He stood and walked around the bridge perimeter to the communications officer. He leaned over and began entering the code onto a touchpad device. He had this, the first access point code, memorized. Actually, he had the code for every access point memorized—each of the ten different sets of geometric symbols. Once the last symbol was entered, a return Tromian transmission indicated they’d received clearance to proceed.

  Leon knew the next challenge for the Pharloms would be staying hidden from Tromian sensors. He’d be surprised if they weren’t detected already.

  “Eighteen ships won’t go undetected from this point on, Grand Overseer,” Leon said, as he returned to his oversized chair, back on Mangga’s left.

  “Yes. We most definitely have been detected.”

  “Then the rest of the codes won’t help you … they’ll lock us out,” Leon said, suddenly feeling uneasy.

  “We only needed access into the solar system … this first set of codes. The only ones we did not possess. I thank you for your help in that regard. Now … no more of your services will be required.”

  “But how will you—”

  The Grand Overseer cut him off, sounding annoyed. “I suggest you not speak, nor bring further attention to yourself. Remember, you are our guest here … cause problems and you’ll be eliminated.”

  Leon sat back and kept his mouth shut. The center hologram was active—showing various planets and moons and, strangely, the all too quiet floating cannon platforms—moving past them in the silence of space.

  The only thing Leon could come up with was he’d given them an additional few moments for the element of surprise. It seemed a lot of trouble for all the effort. Truthfully, he didn’t know what these people thought … what they considered important, or not. They were raiders … pillagers of worlds. Everyone had heard of the Pharloms. They would ravage at will all the planets within this solar system. Leon only knew he needed to get off this ship, away from the Pharloms, as soon as humanly possible. Leon recognized the tiny, light-blue world at the center of the hologram. So that was their destination … Trom. As the planet grew larger, so too did the levels of excitement of the bridge crew. This was what they lived for.

  “Um … I need to use the facilities.”

  The Grand Overseer ignored him.

  “I really need to go—”

  “Quiet!” The Grand Overseer turned in Leon’s direction then back toward the hologram. He spoke to the crewmember on his side. Leon remembered his name, something like Garbon … or Carbon. Whatever his name was, he stood up and gestured for Leon to follow him. Before leaving the bridge, Leon gave a half-hearted wave to the Overseer. “I’ll be right back.”

  “You’re fortunate the Grand Overseer likes
you,” the bridge officer said.

  Leon simply nodded at that, not sure being liked by the Overseer was such a good thing.

  They turned and entered another corridor. The air was humid, hot and sticky. And the deck was gritty beneath his feet—as if there was a beach nearby and nobody had remembered to wipe their feet. The corridors were wide, like the chairs, and everything else, too, aboard this Pharlom ship. Leon pegged the Pharlom walking in front of him to be several thousand pounds … easily. The problem was guesstimating where his heart was located. How the hell could he even ball park it? So he didn’t try. He studied the placement of the body armor and saw where each section of armor was loosely strapped in place. Perhaps in battle they tighten these things up a little. Leon also paid attention to ridgelines of his rock-like skin. Big sections, like continents—like tectonic plates that moved on their own, as the big creature walked. In between those rocky plates would be his only access to the soft organics within. With well-practiced efficiency, Leon pulled a slender-bladed knife from a hidden sheath at the back of his collar. Garbon … or Carbon must have detected the movement because he slowed, turning his large girth around to face Leon. Leon didn’t hesitate—he drove the blade of his knife up at an angle where his armor gapped open—in between the lower torso and his chest tectonic plates … once … twice … three times.

  Chapter 3

  Alchieves System

  Pharlom Command Warship

  _________________

  Leon jumped back as the Pharlom creature staggered, stumbled, and fell face forward onto the deck. He was fairly sure the huge creature was dead, even before hitting the deck. He was also fairly sure the racket from its fall could be heard all the way back to the bridge. Leon moved quickly, removing an energy weapon side arm from the Pharlom, who now looked more like a pile of rocks than anything else. He hesitated, looking both ways, up and down the corridor, preparing for others to come running at him any second. No one came. Leon examined the weapon in his hand. It was immense—suited for someone with fingers the size of bananas. He placed two fingers over the trigger and tested his grip. It would have to do. Leon took one last look at Garbon, or Carbon, or whatever the hell his name was, and hurried down the corridor.

  He knew exactly where he needed to go. One thing in Leon’s favor—the Pharloms typically designed their vessels with only one primary deck. They didn’t like stairways. You wouldn’t find an elevator on board, either—their enormous weight prohibited its usage. The ship was an oblong sphere, so Leon kept moving down the curved corridor toward its wider stern section. Eventually he knew he’d run into the flight deck. There he’d find a ship. Unfortunately, though, the Pharloms weren’t much on using smaller, individual-type space vessels. Their girth alone prohibited them from getting in and out of small spaces. But Leon did notice there were other vessels about when he’d first arrived, more like excavation and utility vehicles stored within the ship’s flight deck. He wasn’t sure if any of them were space faring, and only hoped he’d have time to find out.

  Leon felt through the soles of his shoes the unmistakable pounding of multiple Pharloms on the move up ahead—the deck vibrated as if dual pile drivers were approaching. A klaxon alarm blared and he heard the computerized voice of an AI. His internal nano-devices were already translating, as the sectional coordinates of his current position were given out. He looked for somewhere to hide—a hatchway or an intersecting corridor … anything. What he found was neither right nor left, but overhead, where a wide support girder ran the width of the ship. How do I get up there? From the deck to the beam, he guessed, was about ten feet. Taking large, quick steps backward, he took a deep breath and ran. He angled toward the side bulkhead and jumped, using his right foot to push off halfway up the bulkhead. That gave him the extra few inches he needed to reach up and grab the girder with the fingertips of both hands. He hung there, swaying back and forth for several seconds, expecting to see Pharloms come into view around the curve of the corridor any moment. He managed to pull himself high enough that he could reach one hand up, and over, the cross beam, which gave him enough of a secure handhold to pull his torso and legs up. The girder was no more than nine inches across but it was wide enough for him to lie down sideways. Leon had no sooner pulled his legs up on the beam when three Pharloms appeared. He knew from experience they were all out running. Any other species would see him lying up there, pretty much in plain view—but these rock people didn’t have a neck to swivel. They slowed … here were the coordinates the AI had most recently indicated for his position. They passed by beneath him and thundered on. As soon as they were around the bend, he jumped down and continued toward the stern.

  More Pharloms were looking for him. Twice, Leon needed to repeat the same maneuver—jumping up, grabbing onto, then lying on an overhead support girder. Eventually, he was certain, they would see him. He figured he’d already traversed a quarter mile when he heard, in the distance, noise coming from the flight deck ahead. He slowed his pace and stayed close to the bulkhead. At a wide hatchway, he peered around the corner.

  Leon had wondered about his relatively easy escape—the lack of any real initiative by the Pharloms to apprehend him. All that was answered now. The Pharlom ship was no longer in space; in fact, from what he could see through the wide open doors of the flight deck, they were already on the ground. Beyond the doors was the misty-blue world of Trom. They’d landed at the edge of a city. From his perspective, Leon guessed it was the capital city of Cammilon. No less than two hundred Pharlom soldiers, each loaded up with immense packs, and equally immense energy rifles, were methodically heading off the ship onto Trom soil. The invasion there had begun.

  Leon was not new to war … to battle. As early as his teens, he’d been involved in the Craing War … personally killing hundreds of Craing, or those they’d sent into battle on their behalf. He’d also been wounded and nearly killed. As a Seaman in the Allied forces, he’d served under several commanders, most notably Admiral Perry Reynolds. He was taken under the admiral’s wing from age seventeen on, and had learned much, until the small destroyer he was assigned to was hit by three consecutive plasma blasts and forced to make an emergency crash landing onto a desolate, pretty much uninhabited planet nicknamed Genocide 5, or more commonly Gen5. Leon, the only survivor on board the mangled destroyer, suffered a broken arm and ankle. Gen5 became his home for nearly a year. Marooned, he learned to hunt the local game, which he called rippers; nastily mean, rodent-like creatures, with abnormally large canines … they were an acquired taste. After thirteen months, his NanoCom saved him. Since all communications equipment on board the ship was destroyed, he not only needed a space vessel to come within range of the desolate planet, he needed, too, to connect with someone also fitted with a NanoCom. As it turned out, Sean Doogin, a scraggly old U.S. petty officer who’d gone AWOL from the Allied forces five years earlier, rescued him. Leon, in no hurry to return to fighting the Craing and feeling more than a little abandoned by his Allied cohorts, partnered up with Doogin for two years. He was introduced to a life he’d had little awareness of previously. Much of space’s commerce took place in what was referred to as the Gray Sleeve. There was nothing for the right price that couldn’t be acquired via the Gray Sleeve. A dark underworld where, to Leon’s surprise, one could not only make a good living but have the adventure of a lifetime in the process. Sure, it was dangerous. Doogin found that out six months earlier, when he was killed fleeing the premises of a Bagram officer’s living quarters. He’d become quite fond of the officer’s wife and both were killed that evening. Leon inherited Doogin’s somewhat beat up ship, called the SpaceRunner. Twenty-five years old, the ship had good bones, was ridiculously fast, and had some cool state of the art features. At the moment, Leon wished he weren’t still a light-year’s distance away from his ship.

  The Pharlom soldiers were gone—headed for the city. The planet would be ravaged for its natural resources, but first cleansed of its inhabitants. From what Leon knew of the
Tromian people, they were good traders, avoided war, and definitely didn’t deserve what would be happening here.

  Leon brought his attention toward the vehicles parked along the periphery of the flight deck. They were all large—beat-to-shit excavation tractors, along with several general transportation vehicles. One was definitely space worthy: an old Alliance delivery scout. He’d flown aboard the same type of shuttle countless times when serving in the military.

  Just then Leon realized he wasn’t alone on the flight deck. He heard the ratcheting sound of a projectile weapon being readied. The Pharloms still used what was the equivalent of a machine gun type weapon, and a large one was now pointed directly at his head. He raised both hands—one of which was still gripping the overlarge plasma pistol.

  Without thinking, Leon dove to his right, behind a grouping of stacked, large metal canisters. The Pharlom immediately began firing. The ear-shattering noise, from large caliber projectiles ricocheting off the metal canisters, the deck, and the bulkhead behind him, was near deafening. Leon half crawled, half ran out from his hiding place into the open. He was dead, anyway, if he stayed there another few seconds. Holding the pistol in both hands, two fingers over the trigger, he fired in the general direction of the Pharlom. The weapon bucked in his hands with incredible force. This is an impressive weapon, he thought, trying to reel in his aim while he ran. The Pharloms weren’t the quickest bunch when it came to close-combat fighting and that was Leon’s saving grace. He dove again, as more rounds sparked off the deck plating where his feet stood only two seconds earlier. Leon continued to fire, even as he landed hard on the metal surface. He kept his fingers tightly pulling on the trigger and, like chipping away at a boulder with a hammer, big chips of the creature’s rocky exterior fragmented off, flying into the air. He brought his aim up to the rocky creature’s head area and continued firing. Its bowling ball-sized head exploded into a dust cloud and the Pharlom’s body clanged down in a stony heap onto the deck.