Galactic Council Realm 1: On Station

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Galactic Council Realm 1: On Station Page 11

by J. Clifton Slater


  “So you think they’re Navy?”

  “More likely Marines based on their fire discipline,” she said as she typed on her PID.

  “The competition was the fourth ring of the Realm Championship,” I said after reading from the screen, “You scouted for them while the big guy was hassling you? And your team won?”

  “Of course they won. Every team I navigate for wins. Now, how can I help you?”

  Years ago, after Artificial Intelligent machines became so accomplished at winning video game competitions the Galactic Gaming Council banned them. Now every team needed a fifth player to control the scouting and planning satellite. Apparently Agdta Hernan was a first class game navigator. If what I’ve heard was true, she was earning a fortune in prize money from her hobby. I wanted to ask more about her second occupation but I was short on time.

  “Is it possible for someone to unpack a cargo crate in a sleeve, mess with a container and put everything back together?” I asked, “While the cargo is in route?”

  “No. While the cargo sleeve has some atmosphere, it has little gravity. Once the holding straps were removed the crate would float. If you opened the crate the contents would also float. It would take a team to, as you say mess with a package, and put everything back in place. Besides, the ship’s Captain would catch everything on video,” she explained.

  “Okay, good,” I said, “Does a ship’s manifest list the cargo crates’ content? In other words, could someone pull up a transit ship’s records and find out the destinations of specific items that are packed in a crate?”

  “Not from a ship’s cargo manifest. They’d only see a destination for the crate. That information is encoded,” She stated, “If you want to know the exact department where an item is destined, you’d need to check with the Shipping Office on the station where the cargo is off loaded.”

  “Thank you, that helps,” I replied. The waitress arrived and set two beers on the table. I handed one of the bottles to Agdta.

  “Now for the big favor,” I said between sips, “I need to know what other cargo ships arrived at the same time as the last Clipper Ship from Nafaka. It would be about five weeks ago. Can you do that and send the results to me when you’re done?”

  “That shouldn’t be difficult. As soon as I can,” she said looking at her PID, “You’ll have to excuse me now, my Marines want to schedule our next match. I will send you the information.”

  I eased out of the booth while Agdta was busy with her conference. As I walked along the bar I thought of having a word with the bartender. Before I reached a decision, a couple of hard bodies walked in dressed in civilian clothing. I knew they were Marines because their rebreathers were clearly marked in lettering that spelled GCMC. Their emergency breathers like mine was lettered. Except mine read NAVY O meaning that I was a Naval Officer. They both spotted it.

  “Good afternoon Sir,” they said in unison by way of greeting.

  “Afternoon Marines,” I replied, “In transit are you?”

  “Yes Sir, we have six months’ leave,” the female replied.

  “How long are you planning to be in this pub?” I asked.

  “We don’t shove off for two more days so we’d planned to have drinks and dinner,” the male replied and added nervously, “Sir, is there a problem with this place?”

  Marines never mind conflict. They enjoyed mixing it up, or tearing things down with one exception. A Marine starting leave was a lamb. Nothing and no one would deter them from getting to their R&R location. So if the pub was off limits or a bad place, they’d gladly go somewhere else. I didn’t want that, in fact, I needed the lambs to take the afternoon off.

  “Dinner and drinks are on me if you’ll sit at that table by that booth where the intense lady is sitting,” I said pointing back to Agdta’s location, “She’s navigating for a Marine team in the Realm Semi Finals.”

  “We can spare five hours or so,” the male replied.

  “Good and I do not want anyone to bother her,” I said handing him a chip with my information, “If there’s any trouble, I’ll take care of the station officials. Understand?”

  “Understood, Sir,” the female Marine said with a mischievous grin.

  As I said, Marines never mind conflict especially when they have an Officer’s support. Agdta wouldn’t be having any trouble this afternoon.

  Chapter 18

  I stepped off the lift on the executive deck of the station. Following the signs down a long corridor, I found a door marked Shipping Agent. Before I could open the door, my PID alerted me that a message was incoming. It was from Agdta.

  ‘Two ships, a Sloop and a private yacht docked four hours before the Clipper from Nafaka,’ her message read, ‘The Sloop was docked for a week. The yacht departed the next day. And thank you for the Marines, they look delicious’.

  Delicious? I’ve heard of Marines and even been described myself as a Leatherneck, a Devil Dog, a member of the Galactic Council’s Misguided Children, the Galactic Council’s 911 plus a few more not so complimentary adjectives, but not delicious. I’d meant to get Agdta some protection, not eye candy.

  The Shipping Agent door opened onto a large room filled with work stations. In the center of the room was Captain Xhosa towering over a short portly woman. She looked bored and I recognized the look on the Captain’s face. He was mad.

  “My ship made this stop purposely to fill my chemical shipping order,” he said loudly.

  “I understand, but as I explained before, the Station is unable to complete the request,” her voice was nasally which sounded whiney even as she tried to come across as firm, “Our shipments of raw materials are down. Your cargo will go a long way in easing the shortage.”

  “So you lured the Uno Shoda here for my cargo and lied about having a full load for me to take out.” Xhosa practically had steam coming off the top of his head.

  I wasn’t about to get mixed up in that argument. Instead, I avoided them by targeting a corner work station. Hoshi, the name plate on his desk read and he was not the kind to volunteer. I asked for his help and he rolled his eyes. He wasn’t immediately responsive until I shoved my tag into his face.

  “Hoshi, I need to know the destinations of every item that was unloaded,” I showed him Agdta’s message minus the part about the Marines, “And a list of the dock crews that handled the crates. And I need that information now.”

  He worked fast and once the information was on my PID, I slipped out of the door. Behind me, I heard Xhosa lower his voice. It wasn’t a good sign.

  My next stop was at the quarters of the Dock Superintendent. From him I learned that each crate was scanned before his crew unpacked and placed the contents in collection areas. His recollection was that two crates had damaged universal code labels. He remembered it because it was rare for the labels to be unreadable and two at once was unusual.

  “What happens to the crates if you can’t scan them?” I asked.

  He explained, “Those crates are placed at the end of the dock. My crew unpacks them later. Each item has to be hand scanned and reported before we can carry it to the proper collection area.”

  “Why is there such a long break between the unpacking,” I asked him thinking about the time I spent watching the deck with no activity, “and the pickup from the collection area.”

  “Each department is responsible for picking up their own stuff,” he explained, “They need time to gather a crew so the pickups are scattered.”

  A thought occurred to me and I asked, “The contents from the two damaged crates, how long were they on the dock? “

  “Let me think. We were running late with a Sloop and a Clipper arriving,” he replied, “Those crates were unpacked and I believe the contents sat near the crates for about twelve hours.”

  “Why so long?” I asked.

  He thought for a second and replied, “Don’t know but we can only place the items in a collection area after we get clearance from the Shipping Office. After Cheeky reported the
damages, we took the crates out of our work area. We finally unloaded them but couldn’t get confirmation to move the items to the collection areas. I’d say the Office either forgot about them or they had more pressing issues.”

  Three thoughts came to me. One was I needed to see the crates and the damaged labels. The second was I needed to speak with Cheeky. I decided to combine two of them. I asked the Dock Superintendent to instruct his man to meet me on the cargo deck at first watch. He agreed.

  My third thought was a suspicion. The White Heart’s nutrients being left unattended for twelve hours hadn’t been an accident. The Druids were told of the arrival and they picked the container up within two hours of being notified. Someone had arraigned for the barrel to sit unattended for those ten hours. I wanted to speak with that person.

  All this thinking left me hungry and thirsty. The pub where I’d left Agdta was packed. It was late into second shift so the crowd must be first shifters out for an evening. I pushed to the booth in the back but it was occupied by two couples. The Marines and Agdta were gone. I was on my own for dinner.

  It was late when I finished the meal. I took a lift to the Merchant Fleet hotel deck and checked in.

  All the way to my room, questions kept flowing through my brain. Who had delayed the shipment? Was the poisoning a deliberate act or was it an attack of opportunity? I crawled into my bed with no answers. After a while, the slight vibrations from the chemical Stations Internal drive lulled me to sleep.

  Chapter 19

  Cheeky was a muscular young man a little taller than me. I watched him approach me kind of jerking his way down the long row of empty crates. He looked nervous and his eyes shifted from side to side. The crates rose far over our heads creating an alloy canyon. Along his route, crates had been left out leaving access to the inner crates and creating breaks in the canyon walls.

  “Mister Piran?” he asked shuffling to a stop more than three body lengths from me.

  It was an odd distance for a conversation. It was more of a hailing distance.

  “Cheeky, I need you to point out the damaged labels and describe how you found them,” I said stepping closer to him.

  I didn’t have a pistol, so I wanted to be within striking reach if he got belligerent. He mirrored me and we were now an arm’s length from each other. Physically dominant people like to be close so his move didn’t tell me anything except he didn’t plan to shoot me. However, he seemed even more agitated standing near me.

  “The first crate with the damaged label is there,” he said directing me towards a crate behind me, “The other is over there.”

  Over there was across the wide opening on the other canyon wall. I stepped back and examined the label on the crate behind me. The label was crudely scratched and the coding chip was definitely cracked. No scanner could possible get a reading from that mess.

  “This crate was part of the Sloop’s cargo?” I asked as I looked for any damage around the label, “The other was from the Clipper?”

  “No sir, the other way around,” he corrected me, “The Sloop’s crate is over there.”

  “How did you find the damage?” I asked running my hand across the alloy surface near the label.

  There was a smoothed area under the label like someone had buffed out a scratch.

  “Super had me on scanner duty,” He said slowly, “I found them as I scanned.”

  “How come the Clipper’s crate was behind the Sloop’s, if it arrived a day later?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said shifting from one foot to the other, “Why don’t you look at the crate over there?”

  Why didn’t I like the idea of walking across the broad opening between the walls of crates? Stubborn I guess. Or more likely, I felt as if I was being herded to go ‘over there’.

  “Tell you what Cheeky, you go over there and tell me what you see,” I said easing up beside him, “I’ll stay here and we’ll compare notes.”

  “I’ve seen the label,” he stammered, “I already know what it looks like.”

  “Like someone found a marked crate then drew a crowbar across the label before hammering it with the tool?” I asked leaning back from him.

  Bullies when they’re nervous tend to lean in when you lean back. It’s a dominance thing and they enjoy the intimidation factor. He shifted his weight onto his front foot to accommodate the lean. This reduced the traction of his rear foot on the deck. I gripped his elbow and spin him.

  Off balance and turning, he was easy to push into the wide area between the crates. A quick leg kick from me sent him stumbling towards the far wall of crates. He didn’t make it ‘over there’.

  With a kinetic round you’ll hear a tinny hollow ping just before it impacts the target. In the rebel wars, I saw the results of head shots. The rounds were designed not to penetrate the skin of a space ship. Thusly, a kinetic round to the head left an entrance wound but the inner skull prevented the round from passing through so there was no exit wound.

  Cheeky wasn’t hit in the head. His blood splattered my left check so I know the general direction of the shooter. A quick glance told me that Cheeky had been hit in the throat. His right side aorta was still pumping. It created a puddle on the cargo deck. It pooled to his right, my left, put together the information helped me decipher the round’s path. The shooter was across the canyon floor.

  I turned from the carnage and ran away from what was left of Cheeky the deck hand. After ten paces, I belly flopped and slid across the open area. Scrambling up at the far canyon wall, I raced to the next opening in the crates. I turned the corner and sprinted to the end of that crate.

  When I stopped, I could hear rapid footsteps fading away. They seemed too far to chase but the noise gave me a good fix on where the shooter was heading. I made a dash to the next opening in the crates, turned right and ran all out towards the exit of the cargo deck.

  One lift was operating and it was descending. The panel on the side listed the decks and the lift stopped at the Executive Deck. I took the next lift to the deck.

  I stepped off the lift and turned down the long corridor. At the Shipping Office, I opened the door. There was no Captain Xhosa this time but the Shipping Agent was there. As a matter of fact, she was bending over and speaking to Hoshi at the corner workstation.

  The man who had given me the crew information was breathing hard and the Agent seemed to be trying to calm him down.

  “I explained it to you before. You cannot leave your station without letting me know,” the Agent was saying.

  Hoshi was sitting, his chest heaving with sweat beads on his brow. He didn’t look comfortable. I looked around and people at the other workstations were peering around at the Agent and Hoshi.

  “Trouble?” I asked as I pulled one of my Druid fighting sticks out of a pocket.

  A violent jerk of my wrist and the full length extended with an audible snap. I tapped the stick on my leg as I approached the workstation.

  The Agent locked eyes with me but Hoshi, at the workstation, had eyes only for my weapon. As I came nearer, the Agent stepped in front of me blocking my view of the man. My mistake. Hoshi came out of his chair with a pistol. I noticed it when he leveled the barrel at me over the Agent’s shoulder.

  A gentleman wouldn’t have, however, I was a new Officer and a gentleman just recently recognized by the Galactic Council. Underneath, I was still a hairy, knuckle dragging Marine. So I kicked the Agent hard enough to drive her body into the man. They fell back in a tangle. Before I could reach them, Hoshi placed the barrel against his temple and pulled the trigger. The kinetic round, as per its design, made only an entrance wound.

  I spent the rest of the day with the Navy Officer in charge of the station, the Shipping Agent, the Dock Superintendent and the Chief Chemical Engineer. After a long conversation about the events, we started a preliminary investigation.

  A check of Hoshi’s workstation showed the man had delayed the pickup of the nutrient. The time stamps from the Dock Superinten
dent provided that information. There were also a lot of encoded messages on his PID. His pistol had only two rounds fired. I assumed one was used on Cheeky and the other was in Hoshi.

  A search of Cheeky’s quarters turned up a bundle of Pesetas. The stack of currency was more than equal to two years pay for a dock hand. He was a young man and probably thought he was being paid to help with a simple dock theft. Until he was in so deep, he agreed to help in murdering me.

  We also discovered more about the mysterious Yacht. It had docked at the Station for a day but its credentials proved fraudulent. Apparently, it hadn’t come from the reported departure Station and didn’t arrive at its registered destination. Station records did note that four people had come onto the Station. Three had dined at a restaurant. However, there was no evidence the fourth person from the Yacht had done anything while on Station.

  There were a lot of unanswered questions remaining for the Galactic Navy Criminal Investigative Service and the Druid investigating team. The Navy liaison had already called for them. My conclusions wouldn’t add any value for the investigators. They would, I hoped, give an explanation and help the Station’s Druids find some absolution.

  I made arrangements to meet with Merlina and Kagen in the atrium.

  Chapter 20

  “Asthore’ Merlina, Asthore’ Kagen,” I said as they approached me.

  I was sitting in a secluded corner of the green space and sipping a tea. What I wanted was an ale but I needed a clear head when the Druids and I spoke. I stood as they neared and bowed.

  “It is good the man died,” Kagen stated.

  “That’s wasn’t the plan,” I replied, “I needed to question him. But now, I feel he wouldn’t have been much help.”

  “Why, Phelan, do you say that?” Merlina asked.

  “Something is going on and I think it’s bigger than an attack on one Heart plant,” I began, “There was a Yacht that appeared. Of the four crew members who disembarked, one might have been the terrorist that poisoned the nutrient container. The effort and organization necessary to falsify ships’ documents and to coordinate the attack are considerable. The dead man was just the clerk who delayed notifying you about the delivery. He may, or may not, have been the man who hired the deck hand to destroy the labels. It took a lot of planning to leave the nutrients in the open for so long.”

 

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