Retribution: Lanyon For Hire, #6

By John Paulits

Lanyon For Hire:  No job is too tough to solve, no matter how many people get hurt.

They say most murders occur within families. Lanyon finds out how true that is as he steps into three family feuds that turn deadly quickly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Dec 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781947128699

Book preview

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Champagne Book Group Presents

Retribution

Lanyon for Hire, Volume 6

By

John Paulits

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This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Champagne Book Group

www.champagnebooks.com

Copyright 2018 by John Paulits

ISBN 978-1-947128-69-9

December 2018

Cover Art by Robyn Hart

Produced in the United States of America

Champagne Book Group 2373 NE Evergreen Avenue Albany OR 97321 USA

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not buy it, or it was not bought for your use, then please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

For Hayden the Fierce.

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One

Lanyon awoke in the dark, flat on his back. A wave of panic rippled through him as he gathered his wits and recalled the night before. When his eyes adjusted to the surroundings, the darkness, as well as his alarm, receded but not by much. A thin shaft of cold, white light leaked under the door of the windowless shack where the Malcosians had left him. Both small moons of Malcosia punctuated the night sky, one full, the other nearly so, and provided the meager illumination.

When he rolled onto his side, his right hip, stung by a burst of energy from a Malcosian pistol, barked in pain. He ran his hand along his belt. His rator was gone. He hoped the Malcosians hadn’t found the other rator hidden in his right boot heel or the pocketmailer in his left. If they’d taken those…

He inhaled deeply to test the tenderness of his side. Annoying, but manageable. He staggered to his knees and then to his feet. After bouncing a few times to test his balance and his hip, Lanyon checked the door. Locked, of course.

He felt for the two Argonian weapons—thin, blue tubes which spat hot energy—which he kept in specially designed leather sheaths on the back of his boots. Gone. The rator he hoped was still in his boot heel could not blast through the locked door. Rators affected only living flesh, and not in a good way.

Going to a knee, he twisted the heel of his right boot. Relieved, he extracted his rator and set it to low stun—enough energy to render a person unconscious for an hour. Then he groped his way to the back wall of the shack. His right hip throbbed, so he sat and positioned himself to alleviate the ache. With his rator nestled in the palm of his right hand, he needed only to be patient.

~ * ~

When, three days earlier, Over-Minister Kenned summoned him to Vermenia, the seat of the Malcosian government, Lanyon responded quickly. He had an unusually quiet month doing little else but relax in his two rooms over a used clothing store near the Malcosia City spaceport, wander the city and spaceport for a semblance of exercise, and, in the evening, frequent the numerous bars and restaurants spread through the neighborhood of the spaceport.

At the beginning of each new week, he sent out his message to five of the eight planets of the Malcosian system: Lanyon For Hire: With Rator. The planets Telluria and Terbania offered no attraction: one, because of the hostile inhabitants, the other because of the hostile environment. And Guardon would never welcome him back after the chaos he and Jophena caused on his first visit.

He received no responses from his interplanetary calling card. Distress, apparently, hadn’t disrupted anyone’s life lately. Unusual, to say the least. He’d done a great deal of work for the Malcosian government, so when Kenned beckoned, Lanyon boarded the first sub-orbital cruiser with a vacant seat for the ninety-minute flight to Vermenia.

So good so see you again. Kenned politely rose from behind his desk. Malcosians did not shake hands, so he sat after his greeting.

I hope you have a job for me, Lanyon said. My life has been a little too peaceful lately. He took a seat in front of Kenned’s desk.

I do. A complicated situation has arisen in Meado. Do you know it?

Lanyon shook his head and waited. The welcoming expression Kenned greeted him with quickly morphed into discomfort, betokening an unpleasant conversation ahead.

Kenned took a moment before he continued, Meado is a good fifteen-hour trip on a scout cruiser, which we will provide, of course. It is a sizable city, prosperous, but the two most prominent and, I should add, powerful families there have a problem.

They’re fighting one another?

Often true, but quite the opposite in this case.

Lanyon gestured for an explanation.

The daughter of one family, the Tarpels, and the son of the other family, the Tralias, planned to become permanent, an assured method of keeping the peace between them. As I mentioned, the families bickered and argued many times over the years, and we’ve often had to step in and smooth things over between them.

Where does their power come from?

They own a great deal of property—collect a great deal of rent. Both of their planetcredit accounts… Kenned glanced skyward and shook his head. They manufacture many things we send to other planets, Luthania especially. They are rich, Mr. Lanyon, rich. And with wealth… He spread his hands. …comes power. Where was I?

The children were going to marry…become permanent.

Yes. Someone stepped in between the two young people and… Kenned’s hands separated again, this time to indicate an explosion, …the daughter—her name is Gwendi. Gwendi Tarpel—suddenly refused to go through with the ceremony. She refused to reveal the name of her new young man, but the combined investigations of the two families brought them his name before long. The young man knew he’d been discovered and feared for his life.

His life! These families play a serious game.

They do, indeed. It appears the young man, Padlin Boon, took preemptive action. Our security force in Meado reported the murder of the man the Tarpel girl jilted, Renbo Tralia, along with two other men, friends of his. The murders occurred in Boon’s house, and both Padlin Boon and Gwendi Tarpel have since disappeared.

Your security people are searching for them, no doubt?

Of course. The problem is—so are the two families. If they find Boon first… Kenned shook his head. "The acknowledged authorities—Vermenia, me—must handle this problem. If the Tarpels and the Tralias succeed in their vigilante efforts to find the man, the government will lose credibility. It is Vermenia’s responsibility to maintain order and the respect of the populace. Malcosia needs to acknowledge Vermenia, not the two families, as the authority in Meado. Your task will be to find Padlin Boon and bring him here, where he will get a fair hearing for what he’s done."

Find him before the two families chop off his head?

Nothing so dramatic, Mr. Lanyon. But their version of justice will, I’m afraid, differ from ours.

Judged guilty in Vermenia, Padlin would be put away for a very long time. His life, however, would not be in jeopardy. Will locking this Padlin up satisfy the two families?

It will have to—especially when you return the daughter safely to her family. It should be enough to ensure the calmness and stability we need.

Are you certain Padlin Boon is the murderer?

Kenned offered a small smile. Who else could it have been? I’m told there’s a witness. Let me give you the information we have on the incident. Tomorrow morning, I’ll have a scout cruiser waiting at the spaceport. Oh, your compensation for a successful effort will be substantial.

Lanyon offered his own small smile in return and settled in for his briefing.

The morning after meeting with Kenned, Lanyon went to the spaceport and picked up his scout cruiser, a small, speedy vehicle with pilot and passenger seats and a cargo space in back. Four cots, two attached to each wall, folded against the hull of the ship in the rear. He noted the ample supply of water and food packs and wondered how long Kenned presumed he’d be out on this search.

Fifteen hours flying was a long stretch. Lanyon always disliked ceding control of the ship to autopilot, but after a few hours of tedious travel, he had no choice. Ten hours after starting, he reclaimed control of the ship and landed it in the most desolate place he could find. After pocketmailing Kenned the news he’d stopped for the night, Lanyon locked himself inside the ship and ate an uninspiring dinner of food packs before curling up on one of the fold down cots.

After five hours of flying the next day, Meado loomed in the distance. A range of low, tree-covered hills east of the town seemed a good place to land. He tried never to leave his ship where it could be easily found, either on purpose or accidentally. He always provided himself with a secure place he could flee to, should the need arise. Once he stowed the ship safely behind a hill, Lanyon set out on what proved to be a fifteen-minute stroll into the city.

Organized along the lines of every other Malcosian city, Meado had a long main street lined with one- or two-story businesses, eateries, and places to stay. Before the business section began, and after it ended, were homes. On the streets to the right and left of the business street were more homes, tightly clustered at first, then spaced more gracefully apart the greater their distance from the main hub.

Lanyon’s first stop was the building housing the security force. He asked for Fapal Lundig, chief of Meado security, and a guard, dressed in the standard green uniform of the Malcosian security forces, led him to the appropriate office.

I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Lanyon. We’re able to converse with one another, right? Lundig asked.

Yes. Lanyon tapped his chin. Newest Selenian translators.

Physically, Malcosian men differed only slightly from Earth men: a lower hairline and a vestigial tail the two clear differences.

So I’d been told.

Padlin Boon. Have you found him yet?

No, not him; not his girlfriend.

Gwendi Tarpel.

Right. We are on the alert for any kind of cruiser leaving the area. We’ve grounded and searched seven vessels so far, but they were on none of them. I assure you they’re not going to walk anywhere. It would take them at least a week to get to Poltan, the nearest city to us, and we fly the area night and day at varying times searching. Nothing.

Lanyon anticipated signs of hostility from Lundig toward himself, the knight in shining armor called in to do what he couldn’t, and he tried to head it off. I have to ask a basic question. Why am I here? You have access to more resources than I do. I’m puzzled. Did Kenned give you any reason why he sent me here?

Only that you helped the government before, and he has great confidence in you.

Twice, Lanyon plucked Kenned’s twenty-one-year-old daughter Meihon out of extremely compromising situations. He knew those escapades factored considerably into Over-Minister Kenned’s belief in his abilities.

What can you tell me? Lanyon asked.

You know the essential facts. Padlin Boon came between Gwendi Tarpel and Renbo Tralia. The ceremony to make them permanent was set. The two families lived in happy anticipation of the moment. Kenned surely told you the Tarpel and Tralia families rule this place. Not infrequently, they’re at odds over something or other, but they’re as tight as skin to muscle over this. Padlin killed Renbo and two others, and the two families will never allow him to leave him for Vermenia and the slow workings of Malcosian justice. We have a witness to the murder who says Padlin burst in with no warning and shot the three men.

No return of fire?

No.

The weapon he used?

Malcosian pistol. Fapal pointed to a locked wall case holding a half-dozen pistols. Like one of those.

Where’d he get it?

We have no record of his buying a pistol here in Meado, but his girlfriend’s family has access to anything and everything within reach.

Food, shelter?

Again, the girl—Boon and the girl—may have stocked away supplies preparing for this. They might be able to sit for weeks or months waiting for things to calm down. Then they leave here and go…anywhere. But they can’t stay here. She has her own money, a lot of it, but it won’t help her. The family blocked her account. She’ll get none of it under the current circumstances.

You say she’s wealthy?

Fapal made a don’t-even-ask noise.

They must be crazy about each other to give up so much money.

Or maybe just crazy.

Lanyon offered a wry grin of agreement as Fapal continued. Let me tell you what we’ve done and show you the areas we’ve scoured. From there, you’re on your own.

Lanyon listened and concluded from the presentation that the security forces had done what could reasonably be expected of them, albeit without success. But the two fugitives were somewhere. With both Malcosian security and operatives of the two aggrieved families chasing after them, their hidden lair would have to border on the invisible.

He thanked Fapal Lundig and strolled the streets of Meado until dark, thinking things through. He chose a place to eat and, after dining, left the city, deciding to sleep on his ship. He no