Treasure of the Galactic Lights (Jason King: Agent to the Stars--Episode 2) Read online

  Treasure

  of the

  Galactic Lights

  Jason King: Agent to the Stars

  Episode 2

  by

  T.R. Harris

  Copyright 2016 by T.R. Harris

  All rights reserved, without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanically, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. ***

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  Novels by T.R. Harris

  The Human Chronicles Saga

  The Fringe Worlds

  Alien Assassin

  The War of Pawns

  The Tactics of Revenge

  The Legend of Earth

  Cain’s Crusaders

  The Apex Predator

  A Galaxy to Conquer

  The Masters of War

  Prelude to War

  The Unreachable Stars

  When Earth Reigned Supreme

  A Clash of Aliens

  Battlelines

  The Copernicus Deception

  Scorched Earth

  Alien Games (coming Dec. 20, 2016)

  Jason King – Agent to the Stars Series

  The Enclaves of Sylox

  Treasure of the Galactic Lights

  The Drone Wars Series

  Day of the Drone

  In collaboration with author George Wier…

  The Liberation Series

  Captains Malicious

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  This was turning into the closing from hell, yet the worst part about it, I saw it coming. And you would think that with all my years of experience I could have done something about it.

  You would be right, of course. But I have been distracted lately….

  Sure, the whole galactic crisis thing had worked out in the end, but not before half the galaxy wanted to see my ass in a wringer. To this day, there are still a few alien jerks who think I was behind the whole conspiracy.

  The Unity Stone Affair—as the media likes to call it—continues to shake things up even six months later, with arrests taking place across the Empire. Three-hundred-year-old organizations are crumbling, as guilty parties head for the hills—or the stars, in this case. From what I understand there’s a dozen or so warrants still outstanding for former members of the Linorean Foundation, with some of the more recent arrests taking place as far away as distant Earth. One would think that if you could get twenty thousand light-years away from Sylox you’d be safe from persecution. Well, that ain’t the case, not in this ever-shrinking galaxy. Either you end up on a member planet of the Union, or you take your chances on some savage ball of rock where the natives would just as soon eat you alive than give you the time of day.

  But you get the idea.

  Although I was officially cleared of any wrongdoing, some of the more vindictive Zorphin Enforcers still believe I was behind the theft of the Unity Stone. Fortunately, I still have a few friends in high places, and they’ve been running interference for me. And of course the media loves me, so I make it a point to appear on every talk show and newscast I can to tell my side of the story. This has made it harder for the sore losers to make anything stick. After all, I’m a celebrity now, a big name, a somebody within the social strata of Sylox City. I’m—

  ********

  “Jason. Jason King!”

  I shook myself out of my musings and refocused on the group of people staring at me from around the closing table.

  See what I mean? I get distracted.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to the frustrated escrow agent. “I was just trying to work up a solution to the impasse.”

  “I can’t see what can be done…short of postponing the closing,” said the buyer’s agent. His name was Donny Weir and he was a real asshole. He’d opened up a small realty office about four months ago, believing that he could siphon off some business away Galactic Realty and Relocation Services, what with all the trouble I was having at the time trying to stay out of jail. To his disappointment, I recovered nicely—as did my business—so all Donny ended up with were a few of my cast-offs, the jerks I didn’t want to work with in the first place.

  “If we have to postpone the closing, then we have no deal,” I told Donny flatly. “The Hoover family is heading back to Earth later today. Either we close now or they’re going to rent the property.”

  “But what about the baseboards and the fence?”

  “You had your home inspection. You should have asked for the repairs at that time.”

  “But the walk-through—”

  “Is not the time to bring up new items,” I quickly countered.

  “All we’re asking for is a little adjustment,” Donny pleaded. I could tell he was not only frustrated but embarrassed. He had assured his customers that he could force the concession out of my sellers. With them packed and ready to board the shuttle later that afternoon, he felt he had them—and me—over a barrel.

  In reality, he did. The Hoovers had been trying to sell their home in the Sterling Bridge subdivision of the Enclaves for over six months, ever since transfer orders came in for their return to Earth. They’d bought the home only a year before, and in light of all the scandals hitting the Union these days, real estate prices on Sylox had softened. Now all their money was tied up in the house, and they really needed it to get a fresh start back on the mother-world.

  Donny was asking for a five-thousand-dollar concession.

  Yeah, I know, five grand isn’t that big a deal, not when you’re talking about a two million dollar property. And the Hoovers were still walking away with a little over five hundred thousand, which coincidently is right around the down payment they made when they purchased the home, so they weren’t losing any money on the deal.

  But that’s not the point.

  The point was not to let Donny win.

  He was going up against the famous Jason King, broker-extraordinaire, and I couldn’t let some upstart get the best of me.

  “So you’re willing to kill the deal over five thousand dollars?” There was disbelief—and panic—in Donny’s voice.

  “Here’s the simple truth,” I began. “I’ll have the house sold again before my sellers reach Earth. Then we’ll do a remote closing and have the funds transferred in time for their next purchase. In the meantime, I’ll put a renter in their current property for ten grand a month. As you know, there’s a shortage of good executive ac
commodations at the Consulate Compound these days. I have people waiting in line for a furnished home like this, a place for them to crash for a few months while their new home is being built.”

  Donny looked to his stone-faced buyers. Nick and Bobbi Russell had come to me first, but had been so demanding and unreasonable that I politely sent them on their way. In fact, I’m the one who recommended they go to Donny’s company. Through the grapevine, I’d heard he’d shown them over forty homes before they decided on the Hoover house. Even after all that, Donny had to cut his commission by a point just to make the numbers work.

  And now it looked like he was about to give up another five-k.

  “You told us you could get the repairs paid for,” Bobbi Russell said. She was a mean thing, thin-faced, steely-eyed and irascible. “We didn’t even notice these things until you pointed them out at the walk-through.”

  “I was just doing my due-diligence.”

  “Can they really cancel the contract?”

  Donny knew the answer, but he looked to the escrow officer for support. Corrie Stout was thirty-two, tall, slender and hot. She was also very good at her job. “The walk-through is only to verify that the property is in the same general condition as when the buyers first looked at it, and that all negotiated repairs have been made.” She took a piece of paper from the stack in front of her. “Your buyers signed the repair release form. It’s not my place to advise your clients, but….” She let the unspoken threat linger.

  Either they sign the docs, or they lose their deposit.

  Sure, release of the funds would be subject to an EDO—an Escrow Disbursement Order—but that just meant no one could get their hands on the money anytime soon. And the Russell’s needed it more than my sellers—for a deposit on another home if this one didn’t go through.

  Donny was screwed. He’d made a big deal out of the cracked baseboards and a loose section of fencing, hoping to play a little hardball at the closing table. Now he was about to strike out…and strike out swinging.

  “We have nowhere else to go,” Bobbi stated, a slight warble in her voice and fire in her eyes. “We’ve given notice, and as Mr. King said, with the shortage of rental property in Sylox City, the new tenants are moving in three days from now. And we haven’t even been out looking for a place to rent—”

  “Yeah, that’s because we thought we’d be moving into our new home by then,” Nick Russell added. This was not a man you wanted to cross. He was former military back on Earth and now worked with the security force at the Consulate. He was also one big muther.

  It was time to go in for the kill.

  “Tell you what, Donny,” I said with false compassion. “I’ll let my tile guy know about your situation. He’ll cut you a great deal on the baseboards. And my repair crew can make quick work of the fence. You’ve estimated the cost of the repairs to be around five thousand dollars; I could probably save you a thousand.”

  While I make an extra grand or so by having my crews do the work.

  “But I’ve already cut my commission.”

  An embarrassed silence filled the room.

  Donny Weir had just committed the most egregious of closing-table sins. Even rookie agents know you never whine about your commission at the closing. And for good reason. Most buyers are often in a state of shock with the amount of money needed to buy a home, while the sellers are never satisfied with what they’re netting from the sale. As a result, each party thinks they’re being screwed. Yet universally, everyone thinks the real estate agents are making way too much money on the deal. Period. End of story.

  Besides that, the Russell’s could do the math. On a two million dollar sale, even a two percent commission is a lot of money. And Donny’s the broker, so it all goes into his pocket.

  I locked eyes with my vanquished rival. While he glared at me, I just grinned. It was obvious he could read my mind: Put a fork in it, buddy, ’cause you’re done. Whip out that ol’ checkbook and let’s get this thing done.

  ********

  Three hours later, I hugged a very appreciative Colleen Hoover and shook the hand of her husband, Blake. I even patted the heads of little Valerie and Saxon. Then the family boarded the three o’clock shuttle for the space station. The jumpship would leave by midnight, taking them on a four-month journey back to Earth.

  They had their half million in the bank.

  And I had a check for sixty thousand dollars in my pocket.

  All-in-all not a bad start to my week.

  However, if I had any idea at the time how it would eventually turn out, I would have hitched a ride with the Hoover’s back to Earth right then and there. It would have saved me a hell of a lot of money, anguish...and the big toe on my left foot!

  Yeah, hindsight can be a real bitch at times.

  Chapter 2

  Most adventures begin with some anonymous person waiting for you in your office. This one didn’t start out like that. I actually knew the guy waiting for me.

  “No fricking way!”

  The mischievous smile on the craggy face of my visitor was a sight for sore eyes. “Fricking?” the man said. “Have you gone all PC on me, lieutenant?”

  “Just office decorum…dickhead.” The man stood from the chair and we engaged in one of those handshake-bump-shoulders kind of man-hugs. “I could have sworn I heard you were killed; something having to do with a bug-hunt working security on a Union mining planet.”

  Xavier ‘Lefty’ Rodriquez rapped his left thigh with his knuckles, producing a hollow sound. “The damn thing chewed my leg off all the way to my left nut. I guess he’d never tasted Human before…and he liked it.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m used to it by now, and the technology the aliens have has made me even better than I was before. In fact, I’m thinking about having the other one done. Oh, and about that bug? Me and the guys had him for dinner that night. Tasted just like chicken.”

  “They never learn, do they? You don’t mess with the Humans!” I moved around my desk and sat down. “So what brings you to Sylox? Still working the security gig?”

  “What else is there for people like us to do—except con your way into some cushy job hustling over-priced houses to a bunch of suckers?”

  “Are you with the Consulate?”

  “Nay, still working the private circuit.”

  “And still no Mrs. Lefty?”

  “Hell no! Been a few applicants, but no one could pass the physical.”

  I laughed. “You remember that time in Kandahar—”

  “Please, LT, let’s not even go there! It took the docs at the VA several months to cure me of that.”

  I smiled at my old running buddy from our Army Ranger days. That was going back a ways, but the memories were always there, just waiting for any excuse to surface.

  My business partner—Quint Valarie—was a really cool guy and former Army Ranger as well, but he hadn’t been in the same Special Forces unit as Lefty and me. Because of that he didn’t share the same war stories. Now the feeling of nostalgia was overwhelming. The dude had to stay for a while! I have no one else I can relate to.

  “So again, what are you doing here? Passing through or will you be staying for a while?”

  “Could be a few days up to a couple of weeks,” Lefty answered. “Working security detail for some big-wig alien who’s here for one of those galaxy-shaking confabs.”

  “The Third-Quadrant Survey Conference, no doubt,” I said. “It’s bringing in a lot of bug-eyed things from across the Union.”

  “That’s it, I guess. He hired the firm I’m with to keep him from becoming target practice. Seems some of his rivals don’t like the direction he wants to take the conference.”

  “The Third-Quadrant is the newest section of the galaxy being brought into the Union. It’s supposed to be overflowing with resources and everyone and their brother wants a piece of the action. Is your client from the region, or just looking to stake a claim?”

  “He’s from ther
e. That’s where we picked him up. You know, the damn place is clear on the other side of the Milky Way from Earth. You have any idea how big this fricking galaxy is?”

  Lefty emphasized the word fricking for my benefit. Normally his language wasn’t so…restrained. At least that’s what I remember about him.

  I had to think for a minute. Hell, it had been thirteen years since I saw him last, and except for a few—actually a lot—more wrinkles on his already crevassed face, he didn’t look any different. He still had the same head of closely cropped jet-black hair and a dark, swarthy complexion. There was also a tautness to his shirt that spoke of the rock-hard muscles contained within, the product of a lifetime of physical activity. The man was a trained killer, and the dark, confidant glint in his eyes was a warning to anyone who tried to cross him, be they alien or Human.

  Of course, there’d been a time when I had that same glint in my baby-blues. Only now I use my killer instinct across a closing table, as evidenced by the wreck I’d made of Donny Weir earlier that day. Still, it wasn’t the same.

  Even though I had a check for sixty grand in my pocket, that didn’t come close to how one feels after a successful military operation. There was nothing like returning to base and stowing your gear, all the while experiencing an almost physic bond with your comrades. It’s like being part of a sports team and sharing in the glory of an important win, thanks to a true team effort.

  My real estate victories were more individual triumphs, internally realized. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I high-fived Quint after a closing. Maybe I should make that a new company-wide policy: High-fives after each closing.

  Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll make a proclamation, a decree from on high. As my thoughts wandered, I couldn’t help but think: It’s good to the King. The Jason King, that is—