So, he’d pivoted and had chosen to lie low. Since ore came from underground anyway, mining operations proceeded normally. But because of the threat the dragons posed and the general inhospitable atmosphere and terrain, surface jaunts were a rarity, and occasionally the isolation and situational captivity caused a worker to lose his shit. Fortunately, before Earth had vacated the premises, he’d had the foresight to import some whores as a mitigation measure. Allowing the men to get some ass provided a release valve and helped to contain the craziness.
The only real challenge going forward would be hauling the ore to the surface and loading it onto a cargo ship without the lizards noticing. However, the scheduled ship wouldn’t arrive for another year, and by then, Biggs intended to have the dragon problem permanently solved. He hadn’t earned a rep as the fixer for nothing.
“And the other thing you wanted to talk about?” he asked Hicks.
“There’s been activity in sector twenty-four.”
“All the way out there? What kind of activity?” Keeping tabs on the entire surface 24/7 was impossible. They had a limited number of cameras, so they had to be utilized where they could do the most good. There was no sense wasting equipment and manpower to watch black rock, lava worms, or tetrapods.
The ops manager scooted to the console and tapped on a keyboard. “The guys heard commotion topside, so we sent in a drone. Here’s the footage.”
Biggs rolled his chair closer. Acres and acres, perhaps a section of ground, had been flattened, the rocky spires and jagged hills blasted away.
“I think they’ve got another city going up,” Hicks said.
Biggs pressed his lips together grimly and shook his head. “No. It’s a spacecraft landing pad—they’re planning to occupy the city they’ve already built. Judging from the size of the pad, we can expect a huge ship with a shitload of dragons.”
Construction on Dragon Town had commenced as soon as Earth had ceded the planet. However, he had no intention of conceding anything to the filthy lizards. Elementa belonged to him. He would defeat the Draconians. He didn’t have a plan yet, but the answer would come.
It always did.
Chapter Four
Henry approached the food replicator where a demiforma dragon punched a lunch code into the machine. “What do you recommend?” he asked amiably.
The Draconian’s neck frill flared, along with the nostrils of his snout. As soon as the machine spit a quivering mass onto a tray, the dragon grabbed it and lumbered toward his comrades at a nearby table. “That you go back to the planet you came from,” he growled over his shoulder.
“That was more pleasant than usual,” he muttered as his order produced a pepperoni pizza—or as close to it as alien tech could mimic. That he could get even a facsimile owed to Helena and Rhianna’s positions in Draconian society. If not for their pull, he’d be eating reconstituted lava worms—or worse. He gave a little shudder, recalling the blob on the Draconian’s tray. It had seemed to be alive.
He carried his pizza through the sea of occupied tables, stirring a wake of grunted insults. He half regretted having been fitted with a translator. It might have been better to be ignorant of what they thought of him.
No. Rule one for staying alive: know thy enemy.
Hands full, he resisted the urge to scrub his nose against his shoulder. Something in the dining room smelled rank. He hoped it wasn’t the food. He sniffed the tray. Smelled like pizza.
He found a table away from the others and sat, pretending not to notice the scowls. Better get used to it. Don’t expect things will change much on Elementa.
His plans, however, had changed. He’d been gung ho to return to Earth until the president had contacted him and vetoed the idea. “Helena tells me you wish to return home. I advise against it. We’ve arrested and interrogated one of Biggs’s enforcers, who has confirmed there’s a hit on you.”
“On me?” Of all the people who’d thwarted Biggs, Henry had been a minor impediment. Far be it for him to tell an assassin how to do his job, but if he was the target, Biggs ought to prioritize a little better.
“He’s targeted my administration and family. Right now, Earth is not the safest place to be.”
“Then maybe it’s where I should be.” His entire career, he’d served as a protector, not a protectee, and it went against his nature to hide. He avoided trouble if he could, but he didn’t run if it found him.
“Biggs is not a man to trifle with.”
“If I came back, I could help locate him,” Henry had persisted. Hunting down the fixer would give him a goal to strive for, help him forget how he’d embarrassed himself by acting like a teenager crushing on a hopeless fantasy.
“I haven’t been clear. This isn’t a suggestion; it’s an order. Stay away,” the president had said. “For the time being,” he’d softened the command. “Until we apprehend Biggs, the fewer targets he has, the better off we’ll all be. If you return, you’d require a security detail, and that would endanger more agents’ lives.”
Put in those terms, what option did he have?
He bit into his pizza and chewed. It wasn’t bad, even if the cheese had an odd texture, the sauce tasted overly tangy, and the pepperoni seemed rubbery. Still, he’d love a thick, juicy real beef cheeseburger, or a bucket of hot wings with ranch dressing, an ice-cold beer—or hell, even a crepe or quiche. His mouth watered, and his stomach growled. Don’t think about food. Think about something else.
How about his fellow diners? They had resumed eating and were ignoring him,
