Alien Alliance Box Set

atmosphere: a comfortable space of old bonderol siding and woodsmoke, varnished beams and wainscoting. Kerosene lamps burned on a table. Banzari cracked open two bottles from the low bar fridge by the nearby wall. He handed one to Yul that was frothing over.
“Why’d Rande send you here? You want to buy a dengal?” He gave a cynical snort. “Ain’t selling any, just so you know.”
Yul shook his head.
They walked back out into the bright light of the yard, savoring their drinks. “No, you’re no buyer, I see that. You need work? Sorry to tell you, Trixie and three others are the only help I need. Had to let Cindy go, caught her robbing from the till.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Yul frowned. “Heard you’ve got worse problems than some sticky fingers in the cashbox.”
Banzari’s brow scrunched up in a knot. “Seems as if there’s been a high incidence of poaching these days.”
“Poachers?” Yul rubbed his bristly chin. “Heard worse than that.”
“Yeah, well…Come on, over to the gazebo. We can talk about it more, if you’re interested.”
A courier truck came clattering down the red-dirt road, kicking up dust. It clattered to a halt, brakes screeching, axles squeaking. ‘United Parcel’ was written on the side in faded blue and white letters. Yul mused, “Delivery in the sticks. Who would have figured?” The operator jumped out with a large package under his arm.
“Mr. Banzari?”
“None other.”
He handed him the package. Lan squinted at it. “Gristol Enterprises? What you know.” He snatched the package. “Feed supplies. Always some fool company trying to sell you promotional materials at any hour of the working day.” He scrawled his initials on the operator’s clipboard at his request and the courier gave him a toothy grin and got back into his vehicle and drove off.
Banzari grunted. “Let’s see what—”
Yul laid a hand on Banzari’s wrist. “Wait.” He hefted the package, tested its weight, scowling. “Seems heavy for its size.” He shook it. Heard something metallic rattle that didn’t seem quite right.
“I’d hold off on that,” Yul warned him.
“You don’t think—”
Banzari set the package down like a hot potato in the shade of the picnic table under the gazebo’s awning. He winced in disbelief.
“Why not?” said Yul. “If these people’re as bad as my father intimated.”
“Bastards! I’m going to take this downtown to Captain Jayet’s office. Before it shuts up for the day, soon as I’ve hauled these pipes over to the pile.”
Banzari took off his cap, stared at the package in disgust, scratching his bushy crop of hair. “Some intuition you have, Vrean. Sure glad you were here. Tell you what, I’ll set you up with some lodging. You can come and go as you please. Come down with me to the station, I’ll introduce you to Captain Jayet.”
Yul hesitated. “Not just now. Getting comfy with the local law isn’t on my wish list. But I’ll consider your offer of lodging.”
Banzari peered at him crosswise. “Sure, have it your way. Planned to go to town today to sort out some issues with my attorney. I’ll kill two birds with one stone.” He lifted a hand. “Take one of the outbuildings at back. Key’s under the mat. We’ll talk more when I’m back.”
Yul sauntered past the barn and riding area, a small cultivated paddock with slatted fence and mounting block for riders. He moved on to the nearest cabin and let himself past the heavy wooden door, sliding on well-oiled hinges. He stared about, looked the place over. Clean and quiet. Cozy too—stone fireplace, low wooden table, straight-back chairs and upholstered recliner with adjoining kitchen. Spartan, serviceable. An electric hotplate, pots and pans with small icebox in the corner. Dark wood, varnished beams running across the ceiling, a small loft space with peaked roof and low, comfortable cot. Plenty of riding gear tucked in the deep shelving, and memorabilia pinned to several walls—photos, black and white, of past guests, he presumed.
Yul drifted back out, where he discovered Banzari studying him. Earlier he guessed the man’s age about forty-five but now in the harsh light of Valgon’s sun, he’d upped that to fifty, fifty-five.
He stepped over to look out beyond the electric fence. Grazing lands stretched as far as the eye could see. Place was like a nature preserve here. Lush vegetation, high ivy clinging to the corrugated trunks of bonderol trees with high-spanning boughs. All offered plenty of shade. The air, moist and humid, was teeming with life. Butterflies, birds, lizards, small rodents. Plenty of grass for the dengals to eat, and plenty of savannah for the herd animals to roam on. “Quite the paradise you have here, Banzari.”
The ranch owner beamed in appreciation. “Imagine all this gone, sold to the dogs.”
Yul grunted. “I can’t. So what gives?”
“Long story short, a galactic company, Veramax, wants to ‘take over’ my operations. With a special focus on the frontier worlds as prime real estate—outreach projects, high growth ventures, maximizing capital with low investment risks, or so the pitch goes.”
Yul’s brows peaked. “Here? What’s their primary angle?”
“Well, see, genetic research. They’re setting out to splice genes of animals, mix in different species, the whole kitchen sink. See those dengals? I’ve whole herds of them roaming and breeding out there in that wilderness, thousand acres of it. They want to use the dengals as lab rats, experiments for their ‘research’. Build a better breed. God knows what and why. Frankenstein stuff. They came to me couple of months back, wanted me to sell both farmland and my stock. I told them, no. A few weeks later they returned with a slick-tongued operator, some hard-sale suit spewing legalese at me and veiled threats, about bylaw infringement, risk fees, hefty fines, a real pain in the ass. Threatened to get me to sign a waiver, incorporate my business, put it on the stock market, gaining 51% of the