Kill Shot: A Remnant of the Commonwealth, Book Two

  Kill Shot

  A Remnant of the Commonwealth, Book Two

  By Christopher Williams

  Published By Christopher Williams

  Copyright 2014 Christopher Williams

  http://BooksbyChristopherWilliams.com

  Other books by Christopher Williams

  The Guardians: Book One of the Restoration Series

  Ossendar: Book Two of the Restoration Series

  Valley of the Ancients: Book Three of the Restoration Series

  Into the Wastelands: Book Four of the Restoration Series

  Victory and Defeat: Book Five of the Restoration Series

  Red Lightning

  Nephilim

  Long Shot: A Remnant of the Commonwealth, Book One

  Chapter 1

  Aaron Walker followed the customs official down the cargo bay ramp. It was late in the afternoon and the sun had just begun its descent. It was late spring on Bathia and the temperature was perfect, at least it was for now. When the sun went down, it would get a little chilly.

  The customs official wasn’t human—he was elatori. The elatori were a humanoid species similar in appearance to humans, although they were shorter and their skin had a leathery appearance.

  They reached the bottom of the ramp and stopped. Aaron waited expectantly. It had already been a long day. They had touched down on Bathia shortly after sunrise and the customs officials had spent the last eight hours inspecting his ship, the Long Shot. They were using a false ID on the ship, and as far as the elatori knew, they had just spent hours searching a ship called Freedom’s Ghost. The elatori were nothing if not thorough.

  The Long Shot sat on a small, semi-private docking bay in Bathia’s main spaceport. Due to the enormous number of ships that came and went, the port was full of docking bays of all different sizes.

  Spaceports were typically treated differently than the rest of the planet. While in the port a spacer normally found that the planet’s laws were relaxed. Once the spacer left the port, he was treated just like any other citizen of the planet. Wanting to keep spacers away from the general population, spaceports tended to have a great variety of bars and shops within the port walls.

  The official ignored Aaron and spoke into a small handset. “Control, this is Alpha 17. I just completed the inspection on,” he paused and consulted his tablet, “Freedom’s Ghost in bay seventy-one. It’s a negative on contraband. Docking fees and tariffs have been paid.” His voice was higher than a human’s and had a sing-song quality to it.

  A crackle of static came back through the speaker. Several moments later, the static morphed into a voice. “Affirmative, Alpha 17. Your report is noted and the hold on Freedom’s Ghost’s cargo is lifted.”

  The customs official typed on his small tablet and then looked up. “Congratulations, Captain Tillson. You can begin taking your cargo to your customers in the city. Off-worlders are required to remain at the spaceport at night.”

  The official didn’t know Aaron’s real name, but instead he had given a fake identity; using the fake last name Tillson.

  The custom inspector paused, as if he was giving Aaron a chance to ask any questions. When Aaron said nothing, the official touched one of his eight fingers to the tablet. The fingerprint acted as the official’s signature. Then he ducked his head and walked away.

  Aaron waited until the official was out of sight before he let out a long sigh. He hadn’t been on many worlds since he had acquired the Long Shot, but this was by far the worst customs inspection he had ever endured.

  Bathia was a third-rate world in the backwaters of the galaxy. The Ishek were the native intelligent species. The Ishek were a small humanoid species of avian descent, and their average height was less than four feet. They were a peaceful and naïve species.

  The elatori were native to a neighboring system. The Ishek had graciously offered to share their world with the elatori after a war nearly destroyed the elatori’s home-world. It was a moment of charity that the Ishek were coming to regret. The elatori were the exact opposite of the Ishek, both aggressive and suspicious. Since their arrival, some two hundred years ago, the elatori had grown in both numbers and influence. The elatori were firmly in control now, and the Ishek had begun to be oppressed on their own planet. The lucky Ishek had already fled Bathia and the unlucky ones were stuck here. At least the Ishek were trying to arm themselves. Aaron doubted it would do much good. The elatori were already armed, and they were firmly in control.

  Aaron walked back up the cargo bay ramp to the small group that waited just inside the hold.

  “Well?” Susan Ingram asked. She was the second-in-command. She was of average height and slim but in good physical shape. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore no makeup. She was naturally pretty but a bit plain, and she didn’t try very hard to make herself beautiful. Like Aaron, she had been a member of the Army of the Commonwealth Alliance. Toward the end of the war between the Commonwealth Alliance and the Miram Union, the Commonwealth had experimented on its own soldiers, trying to make them into super-soldiers. The experiments were highly illegal and made Aaron and his fellow soldiers outlaws. Aaron and the other former soldiers kept the experiments a secret—any conscientious citizen would turn them in.

  The Commonwealth had experimented on its own soldiers to make them better fighters, hoping that they could turn the tide of the war, but the war was over before the soldiers even got the chance. In light of the fact that the experiments were illegal, the politicians of the Commonwealth made a horrible decision—they sent the doctors in to kill the soldiers and destroy any evidence of the experiments. They had succeeded mostly, but Aaron’s group had escaped. The research lab had been located on a small moon, and Aaron had blown it up to make their escape possible.

  The experiments did more than make them outlaws though; the experiments had also changed them. Susan had become a telepath. Telepaths were far more rare than empaths. While empaths could sense a person's emotions, a telepath could actually hear the thoughts of other people.

  “We’re good,” Aaron said. He assumed that Susan’s question was more for the other’s benefit than her own.

  “About time,” the man just to the left of Susan said. His name was Eric Lewis. He was part of the crew. Eric was a cargo handler as well as being hired muscle. The man was just plain intimidating. He was maybe forty-five years old and his graying hair was cut short. He looked fit and also sort of mean. He had a nasty scar down the left side of his face.

  Thomas Slater stood beside Eric. Thomas was a big man with long dreadlocks that hung to his shoulders. He was black, and even though Eric was as white as he could be, the two were closer than brothers. It was rare to ever see one without the other.

  Both Eric and Thomas were escaped prisoners. Aaron’s group had been hired to free a wealthy industrialist’s son from a Miram Union prison ship. In the process, they had freed a few other prisoners as well. Most of the prisoners had been turned loose, but a few had joined the crew.

  The fourth person that waited for them was Russell Hicks. He, too, was a former member of the Army of the Commonwealth Alliance. He had been a weapons officer in the army, but the medical experiments had given him telekinetic abilities, allowing him to move physical objects just by thinking about it. He was in his mid-thirties and in excellent physical condition. His brown hair was cut short as befitting a military man, and there was a touch of gray scattered throughout the sides above the ears.

  “I didn’t think it was ever going to end,” Russell said. “Those inspectors were bound and determined to find something.”

  “They
’re paranoid,” Susan agreed. “They think the Ishek will try and smuggle weapons in so they can challenge the elatori’s stranglehold.”

  Aaron grunted and looked farther into the cargo hold. The hold itself wasn’t that huge as the Long Shot was built for speed rather than cargo capacity. Nevertheless, the hold was still a respectable size.

  The floor of the cargo hold was covered with a hundred pallets. The pallets were buried under self-contained crates of luxury food, or at least they had been. The customs officials had insisted on opening every single container. The rest of the crew was busy closing crates and trying to restack them.

  “Good thing they didn’t actually check the pallets,” Eric said, smiling. He rarely smiled, and it seemed out of place on his broad, blunt face.

  It was indeed fortuitous that the pallets had escaped scrutiny. The pallets were roughly four feet wide, by six feet long, by four inches thick. They were completely enclosed, and the interior of the pallets were loaded down with guns of all sorts, everything from small plasmic handguns to the larger plasmic repeating carbines. Plasmic firearms fired pulses of plasma.

  Aaron swallowed hard as he thought about what would have happened to them if the weapons had been found. It would have been an ugly end to their lives. Aaron had no qualms about gunrunning or smuggling for that matter. It was a simple matter of survival; living cost money, and they all preferred to go on living.

  It had been a little over two months since they had received the Long Shot as payment for breaking Charles Morgan’s son out of a prison ship. Morgan’s son, Kyle Grayson had taken a liking to them and joined the crew.

  In the two months that Aaron had owned the Long Shot, he had been amazed at how expensive a ship was to own and operate. It cost money to land at a spaceport, and there were taxes and tariffs on any and all cargo. In addition to general costs of the ship, clothing and food cost money—not that they had much of either. The kitchen was stocked with a few weeks’ supply of cheap, canned food, and they each had several days’ worth of clothes. He glanced down at his shirt and tried to remember how many days in a row he had been wearing it.

  Shaking himself, Aaron realized the others were waiting on him. He motioned toward the still-open crates spread across the cargo bay. “Let’s help the others get them restacked. I would love to get half of this delivered today.” Their agreement was that the cargo would all be delivered by sundown tomorrow, but he desperately hoped to be done sooner; the sooner they could be done with this planet the better.

  Aaron moved over to join the nearest group of crew. Jessica Lyter and Adam Campbell were struggling to return several heavy crates to the top of the stack. With Aaron’s help, they wrestled the crate back to the top.

  “Thanks!” Jessica said, smiling.

  Jessica and Adam were also former Commonwealth army. They, too, had been experimented on and changed.

  Jessica, the ship’s doctor, was young, only in her early thirties. She was a thin woman with blond hair and a had bookish look about her. She and Russell had been sharing a room for some time now. Her talent was in the area of illusion—she could project sights and sounds to those around her.

  Adam was the ship’s pilot. He was the youngest of the former army members and the cockiest. Aaron didn’t think it was his fault; being cocky seemed to be a prerequisite for becoming a pilot. Adam was of average height and in good shape. The women tended to find him attractive, which only increased the young man’s cockiness.

  The experiments had heightened Adam’s reflexes to the point that they bordered on being precognitive. It was truly a great quality to have in a pilot.

  Placing the last crate back on the pallet, Aaron looked around at the mess the customs officials had made. He suppressed a sigh at the thought of how late they would have to work tonight to get every last crate restacked by morning.

  Reaching a decision, Aaron placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. The various conversations cut off and everyone looked over at him. He waved them over and waited patiently as they obeyed his summons. It only took a few moments until they were all gathered around.

  “New plan,” Aaron said, raising his voice to make sure it carried to those in the back. “Susan, Russell, Eric, Thomas, and I will begin transporting the pallets into town. I want the rest of you to keep restacking.”

  There were a few low-key grumblings and Aaron shrugged. “I don’t much like it either, but everything needs to be restacked tonight to make sure we have enough time to get these unloaded tomorrow.” He looked around at his crew. “Any questions?” They still looked unhappy but determined. “All right, get back to work.”

  Aaron glanced over at Eric and Thomas. “Get the skiffs out so we can get the first load of pallets ready.”

  The skiffs were long, thin cargo transports. The front of the skiff consisted of a wide seat that could sit one person comfortably or two people cramped together. Behind the seat a long bed stretched out, capable of carrying three of the pallets at one time. Their employer had loaned them five of the skiffs for this run. Since each skiff could carry three pallets and they had five skiffs, they could move fifteen pallets at a time. It seemed like a lot, but they didn’t know how far into the city they had to go.

  It took over ten minutes to get the skiffs loaded down with fifteen pallets. Aaron’s spirits sank when he looked back and noticed that there weren’t enough full pallets to make up a second load. It was beginning to look like they might not even get thirty pallets moved before nightfall.

  They drove the skiffs single file. Aaron was in the front of the group and Susan brought up the rear. He insisted they each wear a headset, which allowed them to stay in communication. The last thing he wanted was for any of them to get lost.

  Aaron found the spaceport downright small, even with his limited experience. The poorer planets simply didn’t have the money to invest in updating and modernizing these old facilities. Not that it much mattered; most of the landing bays were empty, with a ship only in every third or fourth bay.

  The port was laid out in spokes, with each spoke consisting of thirty or so landing bays. The spokes all came together in a centralized point along the exterior spaceport wall. The only port exit was located at this main point, as well as a small collection of duty-free shops.

  The entire port was ringed with a twenty-foot stone wall. The wall wasn’t to keep the spacers in the port; instead, it was to keep the citizens from reaching the ships. Like all oppressive governments, the elatori wanted to keep its citizens from leaving without permission.

  The gates were open wide, but a number of elatori guards stood on each side of the entrance. Aaron slowed down, half-expecting to be searched again, but the guards just waved him through.

  Aaron breathed a bit easier as they drove the skiffs out into the city proper.

  The city of Ula Ator was old and unimpressive. The buildings were made of ancient white stone, with the tallest buildings no more than three or four stories high. The roads were empty of any vehicles, with only a few wooden carts being pulled by some Isheks.

  Most of the Isheks walked with their heads and eyes down. The few that did look up wore a resigned, defeated look. Here and there, elatori were gathered in small groups. Unlike the quiet Isheks, the elatori were loud and boisterous.

  A deep anger bubbled up within Aaron at the sight of the misery all around. He could not imagine how a species that owed its very existence to another race could enslave and oppress that race. No good deed goes unpunished, he thought. His mind raced, trying to think of something he could do to help the Isheks, but there was nothing. Or, perhaps it was more truthful to say that gunrunning was the only thing he could do for them.

  Forcing his thoughts back the job he had been hired to do, Aaron led the small group through the city to a street that was lined with upscale shops. They pulled the skiffs around the back and stopped at shop number 1132, as per their directions. He paused only long enough to make sure the others were alert and ready, and then
he rang the small buzzer.

  Immediately the door was flung open and an Ishek leaned out, looking around at the skiffs. His skin was covered with small, bluish-gray feathers, but his face almost appeared human, except for a protruding jaw and a nose that resembled a small beak.

  The Ishek pulled his head back in and squealed something in his native language. Then he stepped out, followed by several others Isheks.

  “What is this?” the oldest of the bunch demanded. “We’ve ordered nothing.”

  Aaron sighed deeply and replied, “This is a gift from your rich uncle Lia-ua. He sends it with his regards.” He resisted shaking his head at the foolishness of it all. It was necessary to be careful, but this bit of playing spy was amateurish at best.

  The old Ishek regarded Aaron silently for a moment and then nodded. He didn’t even have to say anything as a large retractable door was quickly pulled open, giving access to the storeroom of the shop.

  The old Ishek waved his hand at the skiffs. “Pull them in so we may inspect it.”

  Aaron nodded and glanced back at the others; they all caught the look and its meaning: Stay alert!

  All five skiffs fit easily inside the storeroom and then the retractable door was let back down.

  Aaron tensed, expecting at any moment to get jumped. He couldn’t help it. Expecting to get betrayed was just part of being a smuggler and a gunrunner.

  The old Ishek’s face contorted in a parody of a smile. “What? You think we attack you?” He seemed to speak basic rarely, and he left words out as he spoke.

  Aaron relaxed a little and shrugged. “If you always expect the worst, then you can never be disappointed.”

  The old Ishek snorted in laughter. “I like you, off-worlder. My name’s Ibet-ak.”

  Aaron bowed his head in greeting. “I’m called Aaron.”

  Ibet-ak waved a hand at the pallets. “I was expecting one hundred.”