Kana's Crusade

By Jordan Blaze

Unknown criminals are snatching Harkos off the street in broad daylight, and Harko-skin handbags are showing up in the local market. Kana teams up with her Harko friend Ginny to find the perpetrators. They uncover a brutal scheme to exploit the Harkos and a plot to take over galactic trade routes. Kana battles killer robots in the polar regions of Belonia, before being bundled onto a spaceship headed for a long lost planet. There she must navigate smoking ruins and combat feral inhabitants in her search for the key to the Harkos' freedom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jordan Blaze
• Release date: Dec 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005482015

Jordan Blaze

Jordan is a multilingual author and adventurer from Australia with a wide range of interests including entomology, ghost hunting, high-speed trains, cos play and snow sports.

Book preview

Kana's Crusade

by Jordan Blaze

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright 2022 Jordan Blaze

Please remember to leave a review for my book at your favourite retailer

Visit my Smashwords author page:

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/JordanBlaze

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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 with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

About Jordan Blaze

Other titles by Jordan Blaze

Connect with Jordan Blaze

Chapter 1

Ginny’s ATV screeched to a halt at the kerb as I stepped up to the entrance of General Genetics headquarters. Even by her outlandish driving standards, it was an abrupt arrival. I paused at the door and watched four hind legs and a backside leap from the cabin. She turned and ran toward me, her two pairs of arms gesticulating like a run-amok wind turbine. Her scales sparkling in the sunshine contrasted with the look on her face. She appeared ready to snap her long jaws around anyone who dared get in her way.

Slow down, girl, I said as she reached me. What’s up?

It’s Ellie!

Ellie? I asked, wondering what could have happened to Ginny’s partner to cause this level of distress. Had she had an accident? Lost her job at the bio-repair unit? Come down with Harko scale disease?

Ginny grabbed my arm and looked into my eyes. She’s been snatched!

Snatched? What do you mean?

She was on her way home from work last night. An unmarked van – one of those fast six-wheelers with the dark windows that everyone has these days – pulled up beside her. Two humans leapt out, grabbed her, and bundled her inside. Then the freaking pexelgorts roared off!

I was so shocked that I couldn’t say anything for a few moments. The idea that Ellie had been kidnapped was preposterous, but I had no reason to doubt Ginny.

Have you heard from her since? Or heard from the snatchers?

No, nothing. She didn’t come home. She’s not answering her synport. I’ve been up all night, talking to a witness and trying to track her down.

I put a hand on her shoulder. That’s awful, Ginny. I’m so sorry. Come inside and we’ll try to think what we can do.

As I signed Ginny in, Dallis, the receptionist, who was a dim-witted cousin of mine from the Uzu Islands, asked, Is she here for the interview for the janitor’s position?

Ever since Ginny and Ellie had sheltered me in their house during the Erbo rebellion, I’d developed greater respect for the Harkos. That increase had been matched by a substantial decrease in my tolerance for Human and Belon bigotry toward them, especially from my own relatives.

Can’t you see she’s with me? I asked. She’s a client. You’ve got two good eyes on those stalks. Use them!

Dallis’s eyes were still wobbling in shock as we headed towards the elevator.

’Kana of Empennago - Head of Biosecurity’, Ginny said, reading the plaque on the door as we entered my sixth-floor office. Weren’t you a humble genetic counsellor before?

Yes, but luckily I–

Got a promotion, while I’m still driving my taxi, Ginny said, plonking herself down on the designated Harko seat at the small meeting table in the corner.

Well, I–

Don’t worry. We’re used to it. Equal contribution, unequal reward.

I sighed and sat down next to her. Ginny, in my mind, you’ll always be a hero. If you hadn’t been willing to fly me to Empennago, sleep in a tree, and eat pit-a-wits for breakfast, we would never have captured Reba and triggered the collapse of the rebellion.

I went over to the sink, filled a bowl with water, and placed it in front of her.

Tell me again what happened to Ellie. Every detail.

When Ginny finished, I asked, Did you report it to PlanSec?

I knew it would be a waste of time, but I called them anyway. She stood up on her back legs and mimicked the PlanSec officer. ‘Harkos go missing all the time. Come in and fill out a report when you have a minute.’ They couldn’t have shown less concern if I was reporting a missing pet pit-a-wit.

It’s a disgrace that Harkos go missing all the time and PlanSec does nothing about it.

Yes, but PlanSec doesn’t care because the victims are usually maids and gardeners beaten to death by a human boss. Ellie is the fourth Harko snatched in Sulphur City this week.

Fourth? I’ve seen nothing on the news about it.

Of course not, Kana of Empennago. Harkos only make the news when some bigot accuses them of a crime. The death or disappearance of a Harko is not newsworthy.

But snatching off the street? That’s a new one. It should make the headlines.

Should, but never will.

I sighed. Ginny was right. If humans were being snatched, there’d be news coverage 28 hours a day, eight days a week.

Do you know the other victims? I asked.

Yes, I have their names written down. One you probably know. That neuter who works at the Rozzi. Their name is Doi.

The mention of the Rozzi Hotel sent a pain through my heart. I remembered being there and seeing Finn for the first time. I had to pause before I replied.

Yes, I think I know who you mean. The waiter with the beautiful scales.

Right. The others were another female and a male.

Ginny picked up the bowl. As she slurped, I thought about the motive. It might be related to extraction of genetic or other biological material, such as harvesting a bodily fluid or stem cells using a syringe. As I considered other possibilities, Ginny interrupted my train of thought.

Why do you think they took her, Kana of Empennago? For ransom?

I’d have thought most Harkos are too poor for that.

You’re right. Ginny leaned her snout on one of her hands. I certainly am. But all I can think of are terrible things.

Like what?

She’s going to be sold into slavery or end up in one of those disgusting zoological brothels, as if she’s just another animal.

I doubt if there’s a slave trade in Harkos. Look at all the unemployed ones hanging around town. You can employ a maid for a few bellings a day. There’s no need to abduct one. And those brothels have been banned here for a hundred years.

Maybe they’re going to ship her off to one on Acmena? Stick an anaesthetic in her, stuff her in a bag, and hope she survives the negative mass jump.

I rubbed my auricle for a moment. No, that’s too risky. They don’t want to end up with a body on their hands at the other end.

Ginny flicked her tail in anguish. What about … organ harvesting? Her face screwed up and, despite knowing she was as tough as an iron pot, I thought she might cry.

Don’t worry, Ginny. Harkos can’t afford transplants, and Harko organs are incompatible with humans and Belons. There must be some other reason. Listen, this is what we’re going to do. We’re not going to panic, but we’re going to do everything we can to find Ellie. Can you talk to the families of the other three victims? Find out every little detail. Anything at all. In the meantime, I’ll talk to my boss. This might be a new kind of biological or genetic crime. I’m going to recommend that we investigate and escalate the investigation to Level A. That will make it my unit’s top priority. If you hear anything vital, or if Ellie contacts you, call me straight away. Otherwise, let’s meet at the Rozzi after work.

I got in to see my boss, Flexor, in mid-afternoon. I’d been pondering the approach I’d take. I’d worked with him for over a year and had gleaned some of his preferences and prejudices. For a human, he wasn’t a bad person, but he did at times flash the usual colonists’ sense of superiority.

As I entered, Flexor stood up from his broad polished basalt desk. He motioned for me to sit at the round wooden meeting table, on which the gargarban timber grain scribbled crazy patterns. From the table we had a fine view all the way down Comet Street and across to the Sea of Snails.

What’s up? Flexor asked, scratching his grey-speckled goatee.

Something’s going on with the Harkos and I think it will be of interest to us.

I started described the snatching of the four Harkos, while he leaned back in his chair, two pudgy hands resting on his paunch.

Before I could finish, he interrupted. Why should we care about Harkos disappearing? First, we’re a private company, not the Planetary Security Forces. Your job is to investigate crimes against us and our commercial and intellectual property. Second, Harkos go missing all the time. Maybe they got lost on the way home?

I didn’t let his questions faze me. That was always his approach: ask difficult questions.

For one thing, I know one of the Harkos. She’s intelligent, works at the bio-repair unit, and had a key role in the Harko uprising against the Erbos. Witnesses saw her being bundled into the van.

Still, it’s not our concern. I suggest you go back and tell your source to report the incident to PlanSec. And remember, there are two sides to every triangle.

Two sides to every triangle?

Think about it, Kana. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got several important things to do before the end of the day. He stood up and took a couple of steps towards his desk.

Flexor was right. I knew from his secretary, a niece of mine from Chelona in the Uzu Islands, that he was leaving early for a round of dust-ball with the head of the personnel section and the Minister of Intelligent Sentient Affairs.

It wouldn’t surprise me if Express was behind the snatchings, I said, staying in my seat.

At the mention of Express Genetics, our main competitor, Flexor stopped and turned around.

He tugged at his left ear for a moment, then said, OK. You got me. What are you thinking?

To go to such extremes, they must be onto something big. So big, they’re doing it secretly and are willing to risk using extra-legal methods.

How do you figure that? he asked.

Maybe there’s some new research on Harkos suggesting that their metabolism is even more unique than previously known. It could be that–

Who the blazes does research on Harkos and why would anybody read it? Harkos can’t afford any genetic therapies. There’s no money in it for us.

Even so, maybe Express discovered something about Harko bodies that has huge commercial potential. But Express don’t want to do a public research trial for secrecy reasons or because the trial is so improper it won’t pass ethics review.

Flexor sat down again and looked at me. He rested his elbows on the table and touched his fingertips together.

After searching my face for a few moments, he said, Huge commercial potential? Who would have imagined that such a phrase could be linked to Harkos? Still, you might have a point. The only way to beat the opposition and maintain profits is to think outside the quadrilateral. The fact is, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now. What about that CLIPR technology theft case? I haven’t seen the progress report. It was due last week.

Calamina’s on to it, I said, referring to Flexor’s colourful former secretary. I’d convinced him to give her a shot at being one of my investigators.

Oh, Calamina? I’m sure she’ll solve it with a flurry of expletives.

There have been a few hold-ups. Uncooperative witnesses, that sort of stuff.

Get me the progress report by tomorrow, and then you can start investigating this Harko matter.

But it’ll take her another week, at least.

Those are my conditions. Take them or leave them.

My auricles drooped in resignation. Yes, boss.

And remember, a high tide doesn’t always follow a low tide.

It doesn’t?

Think about it, Kana. Now, remember. No progress report tomorrow means no Harko investigation.

I stopped by Calamina’s desk in the work area outside my office. She was a big woman and always dressed well. Today she had on a floral dress in bright blues, greens, and yellows, with a matching silk scarf around her neck. She wore flat shoes of the finest godabar hide, and she’d tied her black hair in a bun that oozed corporate sophistication.

Flexor wants the CLIPR progress report by tomorrow morning, I’m afraid.

She looked up. Boiling mud seemed set to erupt from her eye sockets. What the fu… I mean, freaking heejeez. That’s impossible. I’m still trying to get statements. There’s nothing new to say since the last report.

I explained Flexor’s ultimatum.

He’s such a snail-lick… I mean, so demanding.

Write up what you’ve done in as much detail as you can. Once the report’s on his desk, I’ll fill you in on this new case.

I left Calamina to her grumbling. As I reached my desk, Ginny rang.

Kana of Empennago! I’m at the market. Something’s come up!

My heart sank. Another snatching?

No, worse. I think. You’ve got to come down here straight away.

Chapter 2

The market occupied a long, open-air pavilion along the waterfront near the Rozzi Hotel. Belonia’s most popular items were for sale: roasted pit-a-wits on sticks, melons, cucurbits, and a host of other vegetables from the rich volcanic-soil farms of the Morglands, dried godabar strips (an Uzu Island specialty), hand-made alumi suits in a variety of bright colours, traditional Harko clothing blankets with their intricate patterns, dried seaweed from the bed of the Sea of Snails, and jars of various other delicacies such as roasted sand beetles and stir-fried spicy snail meat sauce. The intoxicating smell of snail meat on a grill wafted over from a stall in the corner, mixing with the sharp odour rising from pots of freshly cooked cabbage and godabar broth.

Ginny met me at the entrance. Her breath was coming in great puffs as she pulled me into the labyrinth of stalls.

What’s going on? I asked.

Two rows over, next to the blanket stall, Ginny said. I craned my neck, trying to see the point she indicated through the throng of humans, Belons and Harkos milling and chattering in the aisles. That human with the greasy hair and nose like a flyg’s beak.

The vendor was quite short, dressed in a grubby white alumi-suit.

What about him?

Listen to him.

I had no trouble hearing the guy’s pitch above the other vendors. Natural handbags. All the latest styles. Only 500 bellings for one or 900 for two!

They are a bit over-priced, but so what?

A Belon I spoke to said that the guy claims the bags are made from pit-a-wit skins skilfully sewn together so that the seams are barely visible. I walked casually past and had a look for myself. The scales are too large to be pit-a-wit, and they have our purple sheen. I can tell you, Kana of Empennago, that greasy faced pexelgort’s selling handbags made from Harko skins!

Her tail twitched sharply back and forth, and her eyes narrowed, causing a wrinkle in the scales between them.

I rested my hand on her back to calm her. If it is what you’re thinking, it’s awful. But let’s not jump to conclusions. They might be made from imitation Harko skins.

They look real to me. I needed a heap of willpower to stop myself grabbing him by the groobles and throwing him in the sea.

If we buy one, we could get it tested.

I’m not giving him any of my money, and neither should you. Even the notion of fake Harko skins is deplorable.

We’ll have to find another way to get one. Do you know if he’s sold many?

Three since I’ve been here.

And it looks like he’s still got about twenty left. He’s not going to sell them all today. The market will close soon.

As we watched from a distance, a human approached the stall and chatted to the vendor. She picked up a bag. She held it up to the light and smiled as the scales glittered in a dozen shades of purple. Opening the clasp, she peered inside, before admiring the exterior again.

I’ll take this one, and this one, she said, picking up a second bag. She handed over the money and walked off.

Look at how she’s got her nose stuck up in the air. She’s so pleased with herself, Ginny said. I bet she knows they’re Harko skin and doesn’t care. To her, we’re mere trinkets and baubles.

We sidled along the row of stalls, shooting glances at the bag vendor. We reached a stall that faced in his direction.

Two kilojigs of dried gargarban fruit for 20 bellings! the Belon stall holder offered, ignoring Ginny, and speaking to me in the native Belon language.

I’ll take four kilojigs if you answer my question, I replied, assuming the human wouldn’t understand, even if he could hear us. How long has that human over there been selling handbags?

The one with the dirty hair and the nose like a godabar tusk? Since the day before yesterday.

Have you heard any gossip about him? Where he’s from? Who he gets the bags from? Are they real or fake skin?

That’s four more questions already.

OK, five kilojigs of your dried fruit for the answers to all the questions.

Sorry, I haven’t heard anything about him. All the stall holders hate him, though, because he shouts louder than everyone. And he’s dirty.

I paid for the fruit, then Ginny and I drifted further along the row. A few stall holders were packing up. We reached the edge of the pavilion and wandered into the bag vendor’s row. We dilly dallied among the stalls, pretending to inspect the Harko blankets and admire the alumi suits. The vendor started packing the unsold handbags into a large carton. We edged closer, tasting samples of dried seaweed at the neighbouring stall.

Where did you park? I asked Ginny.

Down the alley from the back corner of the market.

The bag vendor had finished packing up his stall. He hefted the carton onto a small trolley and trundled away towards the entrance.

Let’s go! I said. The crowd had thinned, so we followed him at a discrete distance. When he stopped to buy vegetables, we kept walking towards him, pretending to chat among ourselves and ignoring our surroundings. We passed him and stopped outside the entrance, as if having a parting chat.

He smells grubby, I said.

He smells like an abattoir. Ginny glanced sideways as he passed us and turned down the street. He reached a white, six-wheeled van and opened the back door.

Get back here with your taxi as quick as you can, I said.

Ginny rose on her four hind legs and scampered off, her claws clacking on the cobbled road.

I memorised the van’s registration number as I walked up to it.

Excuse me, I said.

The vendor looked at me with cold grey eyes. Without saying a word, he turned away and loaded the carton in the van.

I’m really interested in a couple of those handbags, if you don’t mind.

Hey hammerhead, can’t you see? I’m done for the day. Come back tomorrow.

He flung the doors shut and headed for the driver’s side.

Thank you, I will. I let the bag of dried fruit slip from my hands. Oh, darn!

As I bent down to pick up the bag, I slipped a small magnetic transmitter from my pocket and attached it to the underside of the van.

No sooner had the van disappeared around the corner than Ginny roared up in her taxi. Using my synport to follow the transmitter signal, we trailed the vendor through the commercial district along Comet Street to a residential area at the base of the plateau behind the city. We drove past as the vendor entered a small, white-washed stone