they gasped for breath. Seconds later, they all collapsed in a heap in the center of the room, even before Siegor could reach the comm unit to alert the guards. Yan’wal watched as panicked sentries rushed into the room and descended on the now-still pile of Human flesh.
It was too late.
Yan’wal tightened his jaw and let out an angry sigh. The enigmatic Humans were dead, and along with them their secrets and those of the Klin Then a guard shouted into his comm unit. One of the Humans was still alive! Siegor was on the link instantly. After a moment, he turned to the small screen on his desk and addressed the Overlord. “It’s just the pirate, My Lord, not one of the others.”
A cloud of disappointment descended on Yan’wal. This particular Human was outside the circle of the others. He was not privy to all their knowledge, he was sure. And yet there was still a link between them, somewhere. Within the well-trained and disciplined mind of the Senior Overlord, a plan began to take seed. Within seconds he had made up his mind.
“Commander,” he said to Siegor, “here is what I want you to do…”
Chapter Fourteen
Zoluoff Ransin was Holaconese. The Sector 7 planet was one of the major commercial centers of The Expansion, located seven hundred light years on the far side of the Core from Juir. It boasted a population of over four billion natives, not including the billion or so off-worlders who had settled on the planet. Holacon was cosmopolitan and progressive, which made Ransin’s current assignment in The Fringe Worlds that much more disappointing.
Ransin had begun his career with the Holacon Security Force, where he had excelled through ruthlessness and cunning. Yet during his time with the Force, his unique native abilities could not be utilized fully, not until he joined the Juireans and moved off-planet.
The Holaconese were color-shifters. Like certain reptiles and plants, chemical reactions in their skin allowed them to blend with a variety of backgrounds, and when combined with special tint-sensitive clothing, allowed them to essentially disappear from view under certain lighting conditions. Off-planet, Holaconese were much-sought-after covert agents. Even though small and weak in stature, they were able to infiltrate physical locations undetected with relative ease.
With Juireans so recognizable — and so few in number — the need for competent agents to do their legwork was an on-going requirement. So after attracting the attention of certain Juirean officials on Holacon, Ransin began to pick up more and more freelance assignments offworld, utilizing his investigative, as well as physical, skills with frequent success.
Ransin had migrated to The Fringe two years before as part of the entourage of the new Sector Overlord, Oplim Ra Unis. Oplim was an up-and-comer in the Juirean Overlord corps, and Ransin had ingratiated himself into Oplim’s favor four years earlier, believing him to be Ransin’s path to power and fortune. But when the young Overlord was transferred to The Fringe, Ransin found himself stuck in the armpit of the galaxy, and at a loss as to what he could do to get out of it. Having been born and raised in a more affluent and progressive society, Ransin appreciated the finer things in life, of which The Fringe was almost totally devoid of.
The planet Castor was one of the rare exceptions, if only by Fringe standards. Because of the planet’s wealth in nature resources, it did possess more than its fair share of opulence and decadence — even though looking at it from space one would never have guessed. But money attracted even more money, and with money came the need to buy more lavish things.
So Castor was Ransin’s home base of operations. He could have stayed on Melfora Lum, near the hub of Juirean power in The Fringe, but that planet was more staid and uptight than Castor. Everyone there was too afraid of insulting the temperamental Juireans.
When the file had come over regarding a matter needing his special attention, Ransin had been expecting the usual; an investigation into some purported threat to a high official or such. So he yawned as he clicked open the file on his desk computer. To his surprise, this one was different.
A Juirean shuttlecraft had been stolen, and Ransin was being assigned the task of tracking it down. This news came as a shock Ransin, not only from the audacity of the thief, but also from the question as to how it was done.
Ransin read over the file with renewed interest.
The shuttle had belonged to Counselor Deslor Lin Jul, Lord Oplim’s senior counselor, with whom Ransin had had various dealings with in the past. Ransin knew that both the Overlord and Deslor had died in a tragic accident aboard a starship several months back, the result of a malfunctioning gravity generator, it was reported. The news of Oplim’s death had hit Ransin especially hard, not from any great affection he held for the Overlord, but rather from the sickening realization that he was probably stuck in The Fringe for the foreseeable future.
What had prompted this investigation was the fact that Deslor’s shuttle had been recorded as departing Hildoria two standard days before, course unknown. What the ship was doing there, and where it was going were his two most pressing questions.
In his two years in The Fringe, Ransin had already developed a fairly extensive network of junior agents and informants, so the first thing he did was open a link to one of his more reliable operatives on Hildoria. It wasn’t long before a picture of recent events on the planet began to develop.
The shuttle had departed the port at Jaxas within a couple of hours of the assassination of a local, yet prominent, crime lord. His source had been able to verify other information as well, including the rumor that the crime lord — the late Kunnlar Bundnet — had been targeted for assassination as a result of his run-in with the Gangs on Castor. Within the hour, Ransin had learned that the major area of Bundnet’s most recent operations had to do with counterfeit technology, and on Castor, that meant only two major players: Seton Amick or Ga’lick Mo Viss. If the stolen shuttle was being used by the assassin, then Castor would be his destination, and one of these two Castorians would be his employer.
His agent on Hildoria also had a pretty good lock on the assassin himself. It was more-than-likely a creature called a Human. It took Ransin a scan of the Library to learn exactly what a ‘Human’ was. He was intrigued to learn that their homeworld of Earth (dirt?) was located outside The Expansion, somewhere in the Far Arm. How this creature came to be in The Fringe was another question to be left for another day.
After a quick calculation, Ransin knew that the shuttle had either already arrived on Castor, or would be within the next day. Another link, and Ransin had his spotters at their screens, monitoring all incoming craft to the Krune spaceport. If the assassin did arrive in the very distinctive Juirean spacecraft, Ransin would know about it immediately.
So the Juirean agent left his rather flamboyant office near the city center and boarded a train for the more affluent section of Krune, where both of the crime lords resided. His assignment was simply to observe and report. And that he was very good at.
However, during the train ride, Ransin received a transmission and was disappointed to learn that the stolen shuttle was already on Castor. He had been hoping to observe the arrival of the assassin and be able to track him to one of the crime lord’s residences. Now he would be playing catch-up.
Seton Amick’s property was the closest to his drop off point, and when the transport neared the neighborhood, Ransin was caught in the middle of a conglomeration of official vehicles and curious bystanders crowding the street. Exiting the vehicle, the agent mingled among the crowd for a few minutes, asking questions and listening to the conversations.
Soon he learned that Seton Amick was dead, and that the authorities had tracked the killer to the main street about a kilometer from the residence. He climbed back in the transport and headed in that direction.
The traffic had cleared somewhat by the time he arrived, and he was quickly able to identify the police authorities as they were setting up a command post at a nearby intersection. Ransin approached and pulled out his Juirean identification card. Almost immediately, a burly Castorian in a gold outfit came forward to greet him.
“Van Ransin, how can I be of assistance to the Juirean Authority?” the official slobbered, using the formal Castorian greeting “Van” before Ransin’s name. “What interest do the Juireans have in this affair?”
“It’s more a curiosity rather than an official inquiry,” Ransin answered. “What action is taking place
