Dana Cartwright Mission 3: Kal-King

by Joyz W. Riter

  “New are one thousand credits. I have a recycled link-reader for twenty — unregistered.”

  She wasn’t sure if he winked, or his eyes just naturally seemed to. “Recycled?” She suspected that meant stolen.

  He immediately countered her thought. “Recycled means I took it back as a trade-in on a newer model.”

  She still didn’t believe him.

  He chuckled and with a throaty rasp admitted, “From someone who no longer needed it.”

  Dana got the picture. “Show me?”

  He did. It was in surprisingly good condition.

  “I always liked link-readers better than the new padlets.”

  “They are lighter…more versatile,” he added.

  “Does it come with a charger?”

  He produced a small, fist-sized box. “Solar recharger is separate, works on a variety of devices, also twenty credits. On T-III it works very quickly, otherwise, requires bright lights. Bring back if you don’t like it. Full credit always offered.”

  “Sold.” Dana reached for some local currency in her backpack.

  “We don’t take local. Cards only.” He shrugged his massive shoulders.

  She pulled out both the resort card and the other. “Where can I get this transportation card recharged, do you know?”

  He grinned. “We can do that here. Ten credits each trip. How many you need?”

  She guessed, “Six.”

  He nodded, reached for the card, and then whispered, “I have some other items, perhaps you would be interested?” He indicated a locked, flat case about the size of her backpack.

  “Perhaps…”

  He used an oddly shaped key to open the case and displayed a variety of knives.

  “All metal?” Dana realized. Her eyes narrowed. “No Sterillian?”

  “Sterillian very hard to get. Collectors keep.”

  She shook her head, rejecting the array, though some of the Castellan blades certainly were impressive. “I prefer non-metal. They’re worth it.”

  He shrugged, locked the case, and moved it back behind the counter.

  “I need a bunk for a few nights,” Dana tested. “Is there anywhere secure, but inexpensive?”

  He chuckled. “Spacer’s Haven…Triple locks, very secure. Weekly rates.”

  “Do they take local?”

  “Always…but never use the link-reader there. Easily traced. Better to visit pubs or cafés…Or the coffeehouse at the marketplace.”

  She understood his meaning and felt he was being truthful — well, as truthful as a local mobster can be. “Thanks.” She handed over the resort card and the transportation card.

  “One hundred total,” the Rigelian said, running both through a device on the countertop, and then returning them.

  Dana took the link-reader and slipped it in the outer slot on the backpack, secured the cards and solar-charger inside, and then slung it over her shoulder. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you…”

  His response shocked her. “Glad you survived.”

  So am I… she thought, giving him a smile, betting he knew more about the incident than the blasted Spaceport Commissioner and the Investigator combined.

  “Commodore?”

  Kieran Jai pulled his attention away from the stellar cartography maps tracking all ships in the sector. One small dot on the map was cause for concern. The panoramic view served as his control center aboard SS Thresher, though Captain McHale had offered him the run of the ship. He turned to make eye contact with his assistant. “Colonel?”

  “Pardon my interruptions, sir,” Colonel Xalier purred from the doorway, “there’s been an incident reported. Ambassador Taurian’s ship crashed on landing at Tonner III.” The Felidae indicated he had the supporting details on a padlet in his furry paw and sadly blinked his feline eyes.

  “Taurian! What a pity; he was an incredibly charming man,” Kieran mumbled. “Have you reviewed the report?”

  “Yes, sir?” Colonel Xalier offered the padlet, ruminating, “The pilot survived. Claims it was no accident.”

  “They all do,” Jai grumbled.

  “Sir?” It came out as a nervous hiss.

  Commodore Jai scowled with annoyance as Xalier continued, “With all due respect, sir, the pilot was Captain Cartwright, Dana January Cartwright.”

  The Commodore’s scowl deepened while reaching for the padlet, suddenly ashamed of his outburst. Just reading Dana Cartwright’s name caused a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, and an ache in his heart, not to mention a pang of lust much lower.

  He read on and made a snap decision. “I scheduled a five-day vacation at The Crossroads Station. Change that to Tonnertown on T-III.”

  “As a civilian?”

  “Yes. Do we have any assets there? Don’t alert them I’m coming, and not a word to anyone else about my location. I can be back in time for the pre-conference, security planning meetings if I take my private shuttle, Kaiden.”

  Colonel Xalier purred as the Commodore perused the report.

  “Obviously, Commissioner Stevenson blames the crash on pilot error.” Kieran Jai knew for a fact that Dana Cartwright didn’t make piloting errors. The timing couldn’t be worse. Then again…

  Jai fingered the voice-badge on his uniform collar. “Have the flight deck ready my personal shuttle.”

  “Aye, sir,” came in response from the Thresher communications officer.

  Kieran turned to his assistant, offering in dismissal, “Thank you, Colonel.”

  “Sir, there’s one more matter. I took the liberty of reviewing T-III’s recent arrivals.”

  Xalier’s tail twitched with irritation. The Commodore knew the signs. “Someone of interest?”

  “A Tresgan called Hawk. Lodan reports the privateer, Kal-King, landed at T-III just hours before Seraph crashed and no one exited the craft until after the incident.”

  “Lodan found that suspicious?” Adding, what he really meant to ask, “And you find that suspicious?” wondering if the Felidae Colonel was letting old racial hatreds color his judgment.

  “Not suspicious in and of itself, sir, but the Tresgan demanded — I believe that is the exact terminology used — Captain Heskar demanded Bay 95, which is the last outer bay on the approach path that Ambassador Taurian’s shuttle would use to land at Bay 17.”

  “Circumstantial at best,” Kieran retorted.

  Xalier’s whiskers twitched and his buff and black striped fur rippled as he hissed, “Never trust a Tresgan.”

  “Yes, well,” the Commodore mumbled, “that advice holds true for more than just Tresgans.” Jai would not make the same mistake Admiral Syzek made naming names, but he had a secret list. Everyone did. Only a liar would protest and say he didn’t. Though, in his line of work, Kieran Jai was quite an accomplished impersonator and, by default, a superb liar — when required.

  Xalier bowed his snout and made his exit, jaguar-like tail twitching just out of the way as the doors slid closed behind him.

  Kieran Jai sank dejectedly down into the comfortable, high-backed chair and returned his attention to the stellar cartography console, zooming in on the mercenary ship with his brother, Janz, aboard. The craft continued on a deviously jagged path, making very suspicious course corrections.

  Captain McHale limped in and stood discretely beside the Commodore. “Leaving a day early, sir? Nothing we’ve done here aboard Thresher, I hope?”

  Kieran gave McHale’s shoulder an appreciative pat, admitting, “You’ve been very generous, Captain. I’m glad the Star Service assigned you to work with me on The Crossroads Great Conference.”

  McHale nodded, but was unconvinced. “You can tell me the truth, sir. Something is wrong?”

  “Few need to know this,” Kieran began. “I suppose it will become common knowledge very soon. Ambassador Taurian’s ship crashed. I want to verify the reports personally.”

  Captain McHale understood. “You suspect foul-play then?”

  “Taurian was a ‘yes’ vote on the tr
eaty,” Kieran reminded.

  “A resounding ‘yes,’ as was Ambassador Reeves who mysteriously took ill at Rigel and had to cancel his trip.”

  Commodore Jai concurred. “Exactly! We found that incident rather suspicious, but this…” He didn’t comment further, though he knew Dana Cartwright was a former crewmate of Captain McHale. The Captain would find out soon enough, when he pulled up all the details and reviewed the Tonner III incident reports for himself.

  “Would you like a copilot? Someone reliable?”

  “No need…thank you for offering.”

  McHale gestured toward the display, watching the screen with him. “Have the mice given us anything yet?”

  “They’re trying to cover their tracks,” Kieran decided.

  “Or looking over their shoulders…” McHale chuckled, “Perhaps they suspect we’re watching.”

  The Commodore shook his head. “We dropped enough hints at the various stations.”

  “A few tidbits of cheese never hurt; they are guaranteed to draw out the mice.”

  They both chuckled.

  “Captain, I will be away only five days. Xalier will keep up the surveillance.”

  “Aye, sir, my team is ready to go whenever and wherever.”

  After leaving the gadget shop, Dana settled down to rest at the spaceport bar with a tall “virgin” tea, to test the link-reader and do a little reconnaissance. Unlike at a station, T-town’s spaceport attracted a wide assortment of characters. She spotted some Tresgans and more Rigelians, but very few Earth-humans.

  Although it was not the busy time of day, even under the protection of the solar dome, few dared the heat. Of those that did venture out most wore the solar cloaks Ambassador Taurian had mentioned, draped from head to toe by the specialty fabric that blocked essentially all ultraviolet-C rays and about fifty percent of the burning UV-B rays.

  No one wore anything even close to the orange-colored jumpsuit she’d borrowed from the medical center; and that made her acutely aware of how much she stood out.

  As the sun dipped below the rim of the dome and foot traffic increased, she decided it was time to find a place to bunk.

  Spacer’s Haven…

  For some reason, she decided to set the robo-cab destination as the pub farther down the promenade, which gave her the opportunity to scope out the street and shops nearby, while watching and observing the way Star Service Academy taught in Tactical Evasion and Escape. TEE never conjectured a situation like this, but some of the training — especially about blending in with the locals — applied.

  By the time she reached the hotel, her left leg pained her beyond the minimum dose of painkiller.

  “Spacer’s Haven offers clean, private bunks. No frills, no maids, no amenities, no refunds,” the clerk, a T-town native with burnished-copper skin and dark, mysterious eyes, looked over her shoulder as though to confirm she truly was alone and eligible for a “solo” room.

  Dana gave the man a pained look. “What are the rates?”

  “Two hundred a day — sundown to sundown — or eight hundred a week…”

  T-III as she recalled revolved on a cycle of six days per solar week.

  “Book for a week,” she decided, heaving a sigh. Even if the Commissioner let her leave immediately after the hearing, it would work out about the same.

  “Hearing delayed?” he asked.

  She scowled, wondering if he had telepathic abilities.

  “Not to worry… Rumors spread around T-town faster than a hydrogen fire. You look a little bruised and battered. Can’t miss the med-center jumpsuit.”

  Dana nodded, keeping silent rather than blast the damned spaceport commissioner.

  “Seventh floor and above have balconies with views. Eighth and higher get more sun.”

  “Seventh,” she readily answered. “I don’t do sun.”

  He chuckled, “Kind of obvious…” After processing her resort card and handing it back, he asked, “Human?”

  “How can you tell?”

  He grinned. “The accent,” then teased, “unusual eyes.”

  It sounded to Dana like a cheap, spacer’s pick-up line. She shrugged rather than go through the usual spiel.

  “Star Service?”

  He was asking too many questions, though empathetically, she sensed just normal curiosity. “Ten years…”

  “Lieutenant?”

  “Commander…”

  His spine stiffened in appreciation. “I served on the shuttle deck of S.S. Hood.”

  “Good ship...I was a Mech-Tech, served at One and Four, with a brief mission aboard Lancer that I’d like to forget.”

  “Know McHale?”

  She grinned, finding a new appreciation for the man. “Indeed, I do.”

  “He’s Captain of Thresher now. Good man…”

  “One of the best,” Dana answered with a smile, and then accepted the room pass, locking eyes with the clerk.

  He blinked first. “Really unusual eyes… Luggage, Commander?”

  “This is it,” she lifted her backpack.

  “Indeed...I’m Frost, by the way. If you need anything, Commander, I’d be glad to help.”

  The one nice thing about cheap, spacer hotels, if you pay in advance, they don’t ask for a name. Dana didn’t offer one; though she guessed the resort card had some details already coded on it.

  Frost’s eyes followed her all the way to the lift, and she was certain security cameras followed from there to the seventh floor solo.

  “No frills…no kidding,” she mumbled, giving the room a quick scan. It was only slightly bigger than her first bunk after graduating Academy up at Earth-Station One; and it was about as far from Wind-o-mar luxury as you could get. The solo room on the seventh floor was, however, spotless. She appreciated that.

  And, as the Rigelian at the spaceport told her, the room had three thumbprint locks on the door.

  She sniffed around, fell onto the drab, green bedspread, and winced as she tried to stretch out. “Time for another pain injection,” she guessed, rummaging through the pack for the injector. After programming it for a weaker dose of the painkiller, just enough to take the edge off the pain, she pressed it against her neck. The device hissed softly and the pain soon receded to a tolerable level. She returned the device to the backpack and tucked that under the spare pillow, shut tightly her eyes, and heaved a sigh.

  Bits and piece of memories from the last day haunted her mind; the blast, the recovery, and the transport surfaced.

  “Amputate!” She gritted her teeth. “It’ll be a cold day in T-town before I allow another android-doctor to touch this body!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dec commanded some degree of respect among the mercenaries. Janz noticed that some gave him a very wide zone and, as Dec’s slave, that included him. The wrist and ankle bindings came off once the ship landed, probably because there was nowhere to go.

  Macao listened carefully to chatter among the slaves, as Dec led him from a shuttle bay down through rock tunnels.

  They reminded him a little of the caverns at the Enturian colony called the Terrines, where he and his wife, Shalee, once vacationed. And that’s exactly what Dec’s brother, Novem, had said the sokem — the imprisoned ones — called the place.

  Perhaps the trail had finally gotten warm.

  More slaves appeared, but Macao couldn’t identify their race or language. What he needed was a link-reader or a translator. All he had was the SSID tracking chip. He hoped someone was still monitoring it from afar.

  These slaves were pale, from working underground; they shunned bright lights, scurrying along, avoiding the men in body armor and those with weapons.

  The tunnels went deeper, with many crossings and turns. Lights came on automatically, controlled by motion sensors. The air smelled strangely musty; and the temperature dropped easily near to freezing. Though he knew Alphan Mastery techniques, Macao shivered uncontrollably.

  Dec kept him walking, but paid him more attention, cro
wding him. “What are you?” Dec demanded finally, stopping on a ledge above a very deep, dark cavern.

  “Cold,” Janz stuttered. He knew that wasn’t what Dec was asking, but it certainly was what he was feeling.

  Dec tapped a rock near their shoulders and a force field shimmered, then he pushed Janz through and touched the rock again.

  Macao’s heart was beating double-time. “No! Please, Dec? Janz is your slave. Janz stays with you.”

  Dec turned around and started away, vanishing around a bend.

  Abandoned, and feeling betrayed, Macao shouted in despair at the top of his lungs, “No!”

  The sound echoed then faded; the lights began to dim.

  Colonel Xalier padded softly across the flight deck, followed by two yeomen acting as porters. He led to the Dagger Class shuttle, Kaiden, and arranged for them to place the luggage inside the cargo hold. The Felidae then dismissed the assistants as he ran the preflight on the ship, confirming that all systems were fully charged and ready. He often did the preparations for the Commodore, trusting no one but SSID officers with the task, especially considering the recent event on Tonner III.

  “I love flying this bird,” Kieran muttered under his breath as he stepped aboard Kaiden, and touched the control for the hatch to close behind him. He spotted two pieces of luggage in the cargo area, guessed that Xalier had seen to it for him, and secured the compartment door.

  “All set, sir,” Xalier assured, vacating the pilot’s chair for his superior.

  Kieran offered his thanks. “While I’m gone, keep a close track on that mercenary. When they roost, good bet it will be at their primary nest.”

  Xalier assured, “Thresher can handle it. I would go with you, sir.”

  “No, Xal, I need you here. I need you to coordinate the surveillance of the mercenaries since I can’t.”

  “Captain McHale chose his best for the team. Let me come. I fear for you at that place.” Xalier’s tale twitched; he couldn’t hide from the Commodore his nervous fears. “You have much history with Captain Cartwright. I fear for her safety, too.” The Felidae brought both paws together and bowed his snout.