Alien Alliance Box Set

He’d lost his weapon back on the killing grounds in the wilds. This black-cast weapon was unfamiliar in his hand. It felt clumsy and unreliable.
He came to a standstill before the study door. It stood ajar. The faint murmur of voices drifted to his ears. He crouched, listening, a tense scowl on his lips.
He nudged the door open with his shoulder. Taking a few steps inside, he scooted over in the shadows by the table, fingering the camera. He set the recorder on.
A harsh voice spoke in the gloom: from one of two dim figures standing about fifteen feet away, “Tried to play it nice, Banzari, but you brought in the milk man. Now you’ve got a real problem on your hands. Me.”
A pistol came down and whipped Banzari’s chin with the muzzle. Yul heard an agonized howl.
From the place where he crouched, he got several seconds of damning video, to complement the audio of the dead poachers.
Out of the side door connecting with the kitchen, another figure appeared. Two mugs of coffee were clutched in hand. Yul tensed in disbelief. Damn, who was that? Could it be?
“Hey, Banzari, I turned down all the lights like you asked. Looks as if you stirred up a hornet’s nest. I don’t see—”
“Step over there, Pops!” The gunman’s teeth glinted in the dim light. “You two geezers, over by the wall. There. Now! No funny stuff.”
Rande choked. “What the hell—What’s the meaning of this?”
“Move!” The thug knocked the coffee mugs flying to the floor.
Something alerted him to Yul’s presence at the last instant. He whirled and spat blue fire. Maybe the click or flash of the camera’s infrared.
“Creeping up on me like a weasel! You sneaky bastard!” The gun muzzle arched up in a rain of more fire.
Yul dove for cover, cursing as he fired at the lone gunman, only to have the rifle jam in his hands. He tossed it aside in disgust. Must have gotten battered back at the dengal fight.
“Yul, watch out, Son!”
Yul scrambled for the closet. Fire ripped by his heels and smoked the soles of his boots. He crouched in the corner, waiting for bullets to riddle him. He reached over, pulled the door shut, panting.
The thug roared, “Unless you want to eat a few hundred kilowatts of blaster, I’d suggest you come out of that cubbyhole, coward.”
Yul’s mind worked double time. He doesn’t know if I have another weapon.
“Let’s all relax,” Yul shouted through the crack. “Maybe we can work out a deal.”
“Only deal that’s going down here is instant forfeiture of this property! I’m getting the rights to these dengals. Big money at stake.”
“Banzari’s not going to sell,” said Yul. “Go get your dengals from somewhere else.”
“This is a special breed. They can get high return for Veramax. Special dengals on Banzari’s ranch. Perfect for experiments, especially the horned ones, like those males. Veramax and her subsidiaries’ll dish out mega yols.”
“Big slice for you too, eh, you bastard?” cried Banzari.
“You could say that, and I reckon your milk boy’s just the gnat in my side that could mess this up. Too bad you slipped up and came unprepared, chicken shit,” the gunman sneered. “If you come out quietly, I’ll promise to kill you quickly.”
“Otherwise?” Yul said.
“Dear old dad here might not fare too well.”
Yul heard the click of a switchblade as it flicked open.
“Yul, don’t do it,” came a hoarse voice, Rande’s.
“Shut up. Get back, you old codger!”
Yul heard a thump and a painful groan as a boot collided with a fleshy part. Yul gritted his teeth, weighing his options. Too few in retrospect.
“Enough,” said Yul. “I’m coming out. Ease up on the knife, bozo, and the fucking gun. So how much is Veramax paying you?”
“Enough. Get your ass out here.”
“You’re gonna kill us anyways. Might as well tell us.”
The gunman gave a short laugh. “Sure, okay. 300k. What’s it to you? Not a bad haul for a few weeks’ work.”
“And you can live with all the blood on your hands?”
“I’ve lived with worse.”
Yul slowly opened the door and walked out, his shoulders thrown back, face creased in a truculent scowl.
“Ah, you sentimental fool,” the gunman jeered. “Pegged you for a more enterprising sort, Vrean. Reckon that’s about the stupidest thing you could have done right now—walking out with nothing to deal.”
The man wore a mask and black tights. Lean, wiry, fast and capable, a compact E1 clamped in his right fist.
“Maybe not, tough guy. You’re on candid camera. I uploaded the video and audio feed of the past few minutes to my safeguard site. They’ll be public news come tomorrow.”
“You fucking idiot! Know who you’re playing with here? These people’ll rip your legs off like wings of a butterfly and feed ’em to the fish.”
“Don’t care. I can disappear and be gone for years if I have to.”
“You’re going to be dead, smart man, along with your family.” His voice was a gravelly hiss. “Get over there. You die first, milk boy.” He shoved Yul over with the others.
“Who are you?” Yul snarled.
Banzari leaned against the wall, spitting out a wad of blood. “Meet Harvey Ymir. Veramax’s prime stooge.”
Ymir clicked his tongue. Smiling a crooked smile with too many teeth, he motioned the gun. “Now, that’s no way to introduce a new business associate.”
“Let them go, Ymir. It’s all over,” said Yul. “You can’t win with that footage—”
“Shut up.” He slammed the pistol against Yul’s skull. Blue stars flashed before Yul’s eyes. He staggered back. “Another word and you get your ass fire-bombed this second. Now get over there, you idiot.”
The thug tried his communicator again. No answer. “Now tell me, what the hell have you done with Tommie? Did he and his rock heads fuck up