“We will make the necessary preparations. We have something in the works on our end, but it may take us a few days. You’ve caught us in transition. Our last base was compromised and we’ve recently relocated to a more secure location,” Aris spoke up.
“The sooner we find Sortec the better. As for my injured, keep me informed of their recovery. It’s imperative that Zion returns to Gathow,” Danstu stated.
Zion nodded several times, wishing he hadn’t. His mind buzzed, causing him to momentarily black-out. Jeina noticed he was drifting and helped keep him upright. “I… understand, sir,” he said, slurring his words.
The signal went silent and everyone in the group turned to Zion for answers.
“Son, are you alright?” Avant Nigeer, the eldest member of the group asked as he took Zion’s shoulder.
Zion grunted as he rubbed his forehead. His empathic senses were scrambled, fading in and out and causing him to feel dizzy, but it was the last thing he wanted those around him to know.
“I’m a little light-headed. Is there any place I can grab a bite to eat?” he asked, hoping to keep his new associates from asking any questions. He knew why Danstu wanted him to return to Gathow, but he wasn’t going to tell them.
“I’ll take him,” Jeina offered, motioning for Zion to follow her. He followed her into the hallway. As they walked, she kept glancing back at him to be certain he wasn’t going to pass out.
At an open doorway, Jeina peeked inside a room to see if anyone was present. There wasn’t. “Why?” she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Zion watched her for a long moment, amused by her outright question. “What? No foreplay first? I thought Marisheio were better at interrogating,” he joked.
She returned with an icy stare. “I prefer the direct approach. Besides, I work in media relations,” she corrected.
“Media? Huh. Well… consider it classified,” he grumbled back, once again massaging his temples.
She pressed her arm against the wall beside him, forcing her body closer as if to make him feel uncomfortable. “Why would the Chadon of the Tasgool come to Clovucutte, let alone venture near this system? What idiot thought that was a good idea?” she demanded an answer.
“Again--” he started.
“Classified,” she huffed.
“I can tell you it wasn’t our intention. This is exactly what we wanted to avoid.” He turned to her, looking her in the eyes. “Do you know where our ship is now?”
“Then why are you here?” she asked but before he could respond she raised her hand. “I know… classified. And no, we don’t. We grabbed you and your two men and got out of there. I know the Marisheio are curious why one of their missing ships has crash-landed on their planet. It didn’t help you hadn’t deleted the call signs the Tasgool were using. They are searching for you, well… other Narkoy,” she mentioned. “Though, it isn’t the first time. There’s been other Narkoy who’ve attempted the same thing,” she added.
Zion’s eyes widened. “Other Narkoy?” he asked with concern. “We were never informed of there being any Narkoy who escaped Matrador,” he mentioned.
Hearing voices in the hall, she motioned for him to follow her into the cafeteria. “A short time after the battle of Nogoana, three Narkoy ships crash-landed on the northern continent. It was rumored that sixty-three Narkoy were found alive in the wreckage. No one has heard about it since,” she mentioned. “What I’ve,” she cleared her throat uneasily, “seen, many are being used in scientific experiments on a remote planet. The last report though was two years ago,” she explained.
“And the ships?” Zion questioned.
“I happened to know they retrieved the ships, but the ships exploded while science teams were investigating their technology. They killed nearly a thousand Marisheio scientists. Many were top in their fields, setting us back years in our technology research,” she explained.
“I wouldn’t put it past Sortec to have rigged the Mawan to explode if we were captured,” Zion mentioned, wishing he hadn’t after he spoke.
She handed him a plate of food left over from mid-meal. “I don’t want my people to have Narkoy technology any more than you. I’ve seen first hand what they’re capable of… and…” she drifted, her thoughts growing distant.
“I know,” Zion grumbled. “I have a friend who was tortured by them for two years. She’ll never walk again,” he mentioned.
“Walk?” she grimaced. “She’s lucky. They usually start interrogations by removing toes, then feet, working their way up to fingers, then eyes,” she mentioned. “They must have liked her.”
Zion looked away in disgust. “Not what I saw. But… well, I’m not Marisheio.”
“Be grateful you’re not,” she warned.
___
In the command center overlooking Gathow, Danstu anxiously paced, unsure where to look for answers. He paused, glancing over the controls of the com then examined the weapons station.
A young woman at the science station behind him turned to watch him. “Sir, is there anything we could help you with?” she asked with concern.
He paused and turned to her. “I would, but I’m not certain what to ask for,” he admitted. He took a seat at the empty station beside hers. He started to speak, but paused, holding his hands in front of his mouth as he thought. “Tell me, hypothetically, if you crash landed on a hostile world and you’re healthy enough to walk, what would you do?” he asked low.
The woman brought up a map of Clovucutte without being asked. “I’ve been running scenarios since I heard the rumors.” She pointed to a red X blinking on the screen.
“What did you hear?” he asked concerned.
“The Chadon’s ship crashed on Clovucutte. Correct?” she questioned. Danstu didn’t respond, but his lack of a response was enough for her to continue. “This is where we believe the Chadon fell from the ship and,” she pointed to a green X, “this is where we believe Tremble would have landed… if the rumors are correct and she did indeed jump after the Chadon to save her.” She zoomed in, showing the field of grass, pointing to the exact one Sedom landed in. “There’s a good possibility the Chadon survived, but…” she switched to the area where they believed Tremble landed. It was an image of a massive rock quarry several miles wide.
“Tremble?” he said with a shuddering breath. “Luck of the draw, I suppose,” he huffed deeply. “Zoom back to the field,” he said. The woman zoomed back to the field. “Okay…” he glanced behind him to see if anyone was watching, “if this is correct and if you were in this situation, what would be your next move?”
“Safety and communications,” Commander Tu’fal, a short-statured Windrit man, with pale white skin, stated from behind Danstu.
Danstu turned to the man, surprised he had been standing behind him. “Commander, I didn’t want to disrupt,” he said.
A smirk appeared on the Commander’s lips. “The Chisarel is in the command center. You can’t help but… disrupt,” the man returned with a smirk. “Lieutenant, you’re showing the Chisarel the scenarios you’ve been running?” he asked the woman.
She nodded. “Yes, sir. And sir, we’ve calculated the distance from the Chadon’s landing site and the nearest city. It would take her two days to reach the city on foot,” she explained. “There is a road not too far from her location. It would only take a matter of a few hours to reach the road.”
Danstu grinned. “Once on the road, she would probably commandeer a vehicle and drive into the city where she would probably attempt to contact us.”
“She knows how to drive?” the Lieutenant questioned.
Danstu frowned as he thought about her question. “She knows how to fly every ship in Gathow. A transport is nothing to her,” he explained. “How much of a delay does this readout have?” he asked.
“Approximately two days,” Tu’fal answered. “We won’t know if anything is correct until another twenty-eight hours,” he explained.
“Twenty-eight hours? Fin
e. Keep your eyes on those subspace satellite images. As soon as you have confirmation of her position, inform me immediately,” he ordered as he stood. “This is classified, so please refrain from talking to anyone,” he continued.
The Commander and the Lieutenant saluted Danstu, sending him on his way. At the bottom of the elevator leading up to the command center, Danstu found his guards waiting. They quickly stood at attention as he walked by then took up position behind him.
He didn’t acknowledge them and seldom did. They were one of the drawbacks of the position and he tried to forget they were around.
It wasn’t until he reached the cafeteria did one of his guards speak. “Sir, the area isn’t secure,” he stated.
“What are they going to do, throw food at me?” Danstu pointed out. He entered the cafeteria.
As he walked inside, someone called out. “Chisarel!”
An entire room of five-hundred men and women all stood and saluted Danstu, leaving their food to grow cold before them.
“At ease,” he called out, waving for everyone to sit.
Everyone sat as Danstu searched the cafeteria for Lolum and his uncle. Somehow, he knew the two would be dining together. He found them in a back left corner of the room in an area designed as The Firsts room. It was used mainly as an area strictly for the use of the first people to join the Tasgool and for high ranking personnel.
As he approached, both men glanced at him from their meals but neither stood.
“What, no rising to attention?” Danstu questioned, mainly as a jab to them both.
“Bad back,” Lolum grunted as he picked at his peapods.
Danstu turned to his heavy-set uncle. “Bad knees,” his uncle returned. He swung a seat out for Danstu to sit. “Sit down, boy, before you cause a riot in here,” he said.
He gladly accepted the seat, finding it rather uncomfortable with so many eyes watching him. “It’s a strange feeling when you’re constantly watched. Half the time I feel like I’m being judged or plotted against. I’m starting to think that paranoia is a major part of this position,” he admitted.
“We’re surprised to see you outside of your office,” Lolum mentioned. “Must be important.”
A young Crehail woman hurried over to the table, bowing slightly. “Chisarel, can I bring you anything?”
“A connag sandwich and a cup of tallis brew, thank you,” Danstu requested. She bowed again and hurried away. He watched the woman as she walked away, trying to recall where he last saw her. He was excellent with faces, yet he couldn’t place hers. “From the camps?” he questioned.
“Houvor breeding colony. We liberated about two-hundred young women from there last month. A few of them decided to remain in Gathow,” Lolum brought up.
Danstu nodded, vaguely recalling the operation. The colony was some distance away on the other side of Matrador, near the westernmost coastlines. Marisheio forces had been collecting young women to set up a brothel to enjoy on their off time. Sedom caught wind of the colony and ordered it to be destroyed. It was one of the ten colonies Sedom destroyed before she left on her current mission.
“I’m glad some decided to join us,” Danstu said. “I need to ask a favor,” he began as the woman returned with his meal. “Thank you,” he said. She bowed again then hurried off. “I’m beginning to hear rumors circulating about the Chadon. I need you to negate any rumors. If asked, she is on Loos on a diplomatic mission,” he stated.
“Isn’t she at a conference on Loos with No-nee?” his uncle returned with a questioning, jowly scowl.
Danstu grunted as he sipped his brew. “Yes, yes, she is. There were just… concerns that she was apprehended by the Marisheio,” he mentioned low. “Which are completely absurd,” he mentioned a bit louder in case someone was listening in.
He glanced over his shoulder, noticing several officers sitting at the table behind them grow quiet. They were obviously all listening to their conversation.
Danstu grunted uneasily. “I’m going to speak to the press today regarding Sortec and I believe she’ll be calling to confirm our conversation,” he mentioned in a normal voice.
The officers at the table behind them began to eat and chatter again, allowing Danstu to relax. He took a quick bite of his sandwich. “Now I remember why I don’t like to leave my office,” he grumbled. Lolum smirked at the remark.
“How the hell are you going to pull that off?” Lolum asked low.
Danstu shrugged. “You’d be surprised,” he exhaled. He took another bite and quickly swallowed. “Also… when you have time, we need to discuss a situation regarding housing on level ten,” he mentioned to Lolum.
Nokinil perked up. “Shouldn’t I be involved?”
Lolum grimaced, noticing Danstu’s stern expression. “Uh… I don’t think this one involves the major at this time. When we’ve cleared the level, I’ll have you take over then,” he mentioned with a scowl. “Best I can offer at this time is a lower level. Sortec mentioned at some point the levels are contaminated. Maybe we can use the level above it?”
Danstu thought a moment, finishing his thought with a nod. “That might work out well. I’ll look into it and get back to you.” He stood with a tap of his index finger against the table. “Gentlemen,” he said, leaving behind his plate.
Nokinil stared down at his food, thinking about what was said. “She’s been captured, hasn’t she?” he asked in a whisper to Lolum, who returned with a nod.
Outside the cafeteria Danstu was met by several people, some he recognized and some he’d never seen before. Tucarris, his head of security, hurried him out of the area and away from the crowd. Danstu never once looked back until he was safely in his office again.
“What was that all about?” he questioned, sighing in relief when he saw his office door.
Tucarris shook his head, his cropped chestnut hair sparkling in the incandescent lighting of the office. “Too much for one man to handle on his own, sir,” he mentioned. “Sir, if I may offer my advice, you need an assistant.”
Danstu entered his office, noticing that a new stack of computer pads had been dropped off at his desk. He closed his tired eyes. “An assistant for an assistant?” he chuckled.
“Sir, with the Chadon away, you’re doing the job of two important people. If you don’t watch yourself, you will collapse,” Tucarris warned.
Danstu slid behind his desk, his body sinking comfortably into his seat. He glanced at the dark screen of his com monitor, noticing how long his hair and beard had grown. When was the last time he cut his hair? He couldn’t recall. He also couldn’t recall growing a beard or trimming it by that matter.
He tugged slightly on his blond beard. “I look like Lolum,” he chuckled. “I hadn’t realized,” he mentioned.
Tucarris pointed a thick, yet stern finger at him. “Precisely what I was talking about, sir. You need to take some time for yourself,” he pointed out.
Danstu turned to his stack of computer pads. “Do we have a trustworthy barber in Gathow? Getting a good haircut and shave relaxes me,” he asked.
His hulking guard paused to think. He slowly nodded. “I believe the barber I use would do an adequate job. He’s on level three,” he decided.
Danstu stood from his seat again, not bothering to look at his stack for fear it grew even larger. “I’m going to the gym, then after to get a haircut. Please have it arranged for me.”
He walked out of his office again, finding everyone had moved aside for him to pass. He stopped by the desk of his head clerk, startling her. She was a Crehail woman in her mid-fifties with short brown hair and a pudgy face.
“Yes, Chisarel?” she asked, blinking several times.
Danstu tapped the corner of her desk nervously. “Lerrina, I need a list of people who have political training and who can help fill in when I’m not around,” he explained low, knowing full well he was being listened to.
The woman nodded several times as she jotted down notes. “Does he or she need to be already a re
sident of Gathow?” she questioned. Danstu grunted giving her the impression he didn’t care where they came from as long as they could do the job.
He hurried from the office, determined to do as Tucarris suggested.
___
The stars outside Captain Cembre’s cabin glimmered with deceit. She knew they hid the Azeran and wasn’t about to give her up. Secretly, she hoped that once they towed it back to Gathow, the Chadon would allow her to captain it. The Assan was a beautiful and powerful ship, but there was something about the Azeran that drove her to obsession.
A knock on her door startled her from her star-gazing. “Come,” she called.
Commander Miserin entered the unit, having to duck through the doorway to not hit his head as he entered. “Captain,” he began. “We have located a faint signal on the frequency the Chadon provided,” he mentioned.
Cembre practically flew through the open door and out into the hallway. Miserin managed to keep up with her hurried pace.
“Are there any other ships in this quadrant?”
“None of any consequence we’ve found. The Dormins moved out of range from our long-range scanners. There are two small cargo ships that will come into range in approximately eight hours,” he explained.
A smirk appeared on her pale lips. “Then we have seven hours to find her,” she decided as they entered the lift to the bridge.
“Also…” he began with hesitation, “The Chadon’s ship was shot down over the planet of Clovucutte. Captain… rumors claim it was destroyed,” he said grimly.
Cembre stopped the lift, turning to him. “Is anyone alive?” she questioned, her green face paling in fright.
Miserin shook his head. “Some of the crew have been rescued, but they haven’t located the Chadon as of yet. They believe she is alive though,” he explained. “We are under orders to keep this matter classified. The Chisarel wanted us informed of the situation in case we’re called to help.”
The Last Narkoy_OSLO Page 3