Wrecker's Moon

by Patrick McClafferty

  “Maybe a few hours’ sleep will make you more talkative.” The interrogator sighed, turning for the door. “I told them not to use such a high setting in the stunner,” he grumbled to himself as he opened the door, “but nobody listens to me. Gods it stinks in here!” And then… “What count could she have been talking about? I know it wasn’t…” The door swung shut.

  Kelsoe was moving before the door hissed closed on its hydraulic closers, slipping the badge between door and case, preventing the latch from engaging the striker. Kelsoe sighed and struggled her way out of the rest of her bindings.

  A half dozen escape plans tumbled through Kelsoe’s mind at the same time, but they all boiled down to, “You have to go NOW!”

  Shaking the feeling back into her hands, she took a deep breath and opened the door. An open-mouthed guard looked up from his seat bedside the door just as Kelsoe’s fist struck him in the temple. He went down as if he were pole-axed. Hiking her dress up to her knees, she ran silently on slippered feet after her interrogator through the dim corridors. Four more guards lay sprawled on the hard floor when she burst out of the building door, mere yards behind her quarry as he stopped to unlock the door to his two man skimmer parked behind the building. A noise made him turn, just in time to catch Kelsoe’s palm-heel strike to the point of his chin. He bounced off his transport and slumped to the ground while Kelsoe stood over him, panting.

  Without knowing why, Kelsoe grunted and struggled the man into the passenger seat. Her former interrogator groaned once, giving her more than enough incentive to search the man without delay. In a clever shoulder holster she quickly found a small stunner similar to the one she had left back in the saucer, and without hesitation, she shot the unconscious man in the chest. He spasmed once, and then seemed to sag.

  Cursing to herself as she fought her overlong dress, Kelsoe clambered into the pilot’s seat of the skimmer and slammed the small door. Her eyes opened wide as she stared at the unfamiliar controls. “I can’t fly this!!” She wailed, until her common sense shook her like a terrier, and she began to use her mind rather than her emotions. Her corneal HUD lit almost at once as the clever device began to analyze the controls before it. Like the handprint panel in the residence, this vehicle had a small panel on the dash. Kelsoe dragged the small man’s hand over and twisted it roughly to place his thumb in a small depression. The controls lit, and the skimmer started. “Now, how do I fly the damned thing?” She muttered. Again, the HUD provided simple guidance on how to take off, and Kelsoe felt more than a little embarrassed at letting something this simple stump her. Using the simple control stick, the skimmer lifted smoothly, heading like an arrow toward a distant skyline. A suspicious part of her mind reminded her that this skimmer belonged to an Empire agent and therefore probably had tracking hardware aboard, which the authorities would be using just as soon as they figured out she had escaped. She had to dump the skimmer.

  The small two man craft dove for the city, but instead of heading into the towering well-lit buildings of the central city, Kelsoe headed for the rundown, abandoned section of town, landing the skimmer on the top of a dark moldering apartment block. Setting the simple auto-pilot to take the craft out over the ocean until it ran out of fuel, Kelsoe jumped out as fast as she could and dragged the interrogator out just as the skimmer lifted off. She watched it bobbing and weaving its way into the distance before it finally disappeared in the hazy night.

  “What now?” She muttered to herself, sitting next to the unconscious body, her mind numb and her body aching. All she really wanted to do was to sleep. Instead, she stood up, took out the stunner and shot the man again before turning to look for a way off the exposed roof.

  Kelsoe shuffled toward an outside stairway, and painfully made her way down several floors before she re-entered the building. The smell of rot and feces made her want to gag, but she slowly wound her way to a wide spiral stairway and then up. Sitting at the top of the stairs was a scruffy guard sitting in a rocking chair, pulse rifle lying across his lap. His eyes widened as she approached and Kelsoe, walking directly up to him, smiled and did her best curtsy. “Room Service.” She chirped brightly. Caught in the act of standing, the guard froze in his surprise, and caught Kelsoe’s spinning backfist on his right temple. He went down in a clatter. Kelsoe looked down at the small guard, and smiled as she began to remove his clothes.

  Later, with an empty room on the top floor located, and now back on the flat roof, Kelsoe looked up at the cloudy sky. “Mia?” Kelsoe whispered.

  “Kelsoe???” The AI’s voice almost sounded frantic. “I see you on my scanner now. I’m coming to get you.”

  “I’m all right now, Mia. I got caught, but managed to get away from my captor in one piece.”

  “You’ve been gone for more than a day, and your signal is coming from the other side of the planet from the Smith residence. I picked up your signal earlier, and have been orbiting above you. It’s almost dawn there, according to my clock.”

  “Wait until after dark, Mia. Even with your cloaking systems we might be seen. The building has a flat top and we’ll be on the roof.”

  “We?”

  “I’ve invited my friendly interrogator along for the ride.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then.” Mia said with more than a little reluctance. “I’ll see you after dark.”

  The small room was very dimly lit, but not so dimly that the slowly awakening man couldn’t miss the fact that he was tied to a sturdy wooden chair. Wallpaper of a faded floral pattern hung in strips from the walls, and the air was filled with the stench of decay. The windows were covered with the shreds of dirty rags. Several feet away stood a small table and another occupied chair, holding a relaxed looking Kelsoe Smith, this time wearing worn leather pants and soiled leather vest, compliments of the distracted stair guard. Her hair that had been tied in a tight bun was loose now, but tied back with a strip of rawhide. Across her knees rested a worn but serviceable Empire issue pulse rifle while on the table beside her sat the contents of her interrogator’s person. Kelsoe hadn’t been surprised at the poison tooth, but she had been surprised at all the other objects buried in the agent’s skin and in the lining of his clothes. Kelsoe was more than a little surprised, and scared when she admitted it, when she found that she could locate the implanted devices in the agent simply by passing her hand over the man’s body. The pile on the table before her was impressive. The man’s eyes widened when he noticed her pick up the poison tooth. She raised her grey eyes to his equally grey face.

  “Now, what shall we talk about?” Her voice was friendly, almost bantering. “I already know who you are, Jochim Howarth.” She smiled, and the man shrank back into the seat of the chair. “Why don’t we just stick with what is your job, and who sent you.” Her smile widened. “Perhaps more questions will crop up…in time.” Crossing her arms under her breasts, she watched him squirm for several long minutes. “In order to expedite matters, my name is Kelsoe Shaheera Smith, daughter of Lady Lydia Smith and Aarlan Theodosius Smith.”

  The agent’s face slowly turned the color of chalk. “Impossible! Lydia Smith was killed when the liner Olympus crashed.”

  “Did anyone think of having the wrecker’s check the DNA of the deceased, or more importantly, the survivors?” Her smile was feral. “That was a serious oversight. The dead woman and her unborn child were, in fact, mother’s cousin.” Kelsoe leaned forward in her chair, her fingers idly toying with a small, razor sharp knife sitting on the table. It had been, at one time, implanted in the interrogator’s left leg. “Father was lured to his death by those same wreckers, and survived only long enough to recognize me and pass on several important pieces of information before he died.” She took a deep breath. “But those wreckers are dead now, and that leaves me with…you.”

  “All the wreckers are dead?” The man stuttered in a surprisingly high voice.

  “Dead or taken by the Fleet, so you m
ight say as good as dead. I’m sure those that survive will do almost anything to ensure their survival.” Her smile turned frigid. “Anything.”

  The agent looked as if he was about to throw up. “I was sent by the Imperial Intelligence Service.” He began quickly. “My task was to eliminate the Smith family, and trap anyone who might know about the hidden FTL Transceiver in the office of the Primus. If the Primus or his immediate family showed up I was to kill them without question or hesitation.”

  Kelsoe stared at him in horror. “You killed all the Smiths?”

  The interrogator actually looked startled. “Of course not. Corpses make poor hostages, and even poorer political pawns.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Everyone always wants to speak to the hostages; it’s really very tedious.” Kelsoe clenched her teeth, and tried very hard not to kill the small man. “While the Primus and his family were direct dangers to our movement and therefore slated for elimination, the remaining two thousand one hundred and sixty three Smiths are being held on a small island in the southern ocean named Isla del Diablo.” The man let out a small sadistic giggle. “A tropical paradise, you might say.”

  Kelsoe frowned. She’d heard the name before in one of her many training sessions on the ship, if she could only remember it. Suddenly, she could almost hear G’Fleuf’s dry tinny voice in her mind. “Isla del Diablo was an ancient penal colony established by Sharaf Wahab, and closed early in the Smith reign. The deadly heat and diseases had a habit of killing most prisoners within three years, and the sharks prevented escapes. The Empire never even bothered to post guards there, but left the prisoners to fend for themselves. Escapes were actually encouraged, although none ever succeeded to reach a friendly shore. Whoever is condemned there has been given a death sentence.”

  An abrupt chill enveloped Kelsoe. “I’m so glad that you haven’t killed the Smiths.” The young woman purred in a deadly voice.

  The interrogator’s eyes opened widely. “You can’t hurt me. I work for the Empire. They’ll track you down and…”

  “Are you talking about that little locator you had implanted in your butt?” Kelsoe interrupted, glaring at the man. “I was impressed. It was actually imbedded in your right gluteus maximus, and I’m afraid you’ll have a small problem sitting for a while—but that will be the least of your worries. The locator is now safely in the tummy of a young brown rat living in the cellar of an apartment, three blocks away. As far as your handlers are concerned, you are scurrying about the city and will continue to do so for the next couple of years.”

  “You’re going to kill me!” The quaking man said in a horrified voice.

  “That depends.” Kelsoe mused with a smile that never reached her eyes. “Why don’t you just start telling me about items I might find of interest?” She leaned back in her chair. “We’ll see how things go.”

  Three hours later a pale and shaking Kelsoe Smith stood in the small dingy bathroom splashing cold water on her clammy face. The air in the tiny room was filled with the sour smell of her vomit and she stood shaking as she watched the remains of her lunch, a small ration pack taken from the pocket of her dress before she left it draped over the stair guard, flush down the toilet.

  I thought I could do it. She groaned to herself as the water dripped off her chin and into the stained and chipped sink. I just couldn’t ask him any more questions. Each of his answers made me want to throw up more and more.

  She shuddered as she recalled the long unpleasant conversation. The man was a cesspool. How could she have known that the Empire itself had invited the Vonuborg Armada to attack Wecarro, and had purposely sent the Imperial Fleet away on an exercise? It was obvious now that her father had been gone for several years when Pataki Szervác was bought or coerced into selling out the Empire. She shut her eyes, concentrating on taking long deep breaths to calm her roiling stomach, and then she grinned. I did find out one useful piece of information. She chortled to herself. There is a second FTL Transceiver on Wecarro. She let out a short unpleasant laugh as she thought; like that’s going to help me now, considering where the transceiver is located.

  What will I do with Jochim Howarth? She mused. Am I going to kill him? A thought came to her, and she smiled a cold little smirk that was devoid of warmth. Mia will be here as soon as night falls, and along with our guest, we can be on our way.

  Kelsoe shut her eyes. “A shower, fresh clothes and some good food. I’ll never complain again.” The dry rational part of her mind wisely said nothing.

  Chapter 7

  A SECOND CHANCE

  The dusty parade ground in the center of Isla del Diablo was surrounded by low adobe buildings and shimmered in the heat of the midday sun as the silver saucer settled soundlessly in the center. The very air held a thick scorched smell. Without a noise a ramp flowed to the ground from the lower dome of the saucer, and a young woman walked slowly down, garbed in Fleet black. In her right hand she held a leash which trailed back up the ramp and into the ship. Occasional wan faces peered curiously from the open doors and windows. Despite the intense heat there was no air conditioning visible on any of the buildings. The young woman jerked on the leash, and a naked bound man stumbled down the ramp, a rough black bag over his head. She tied the leash to the stump of a burned pole that stood three feet out of the baked soil, and then allowed herself to look up.

  “I have a gift for you all.” She called out loudly. “This is Jochim Howarth, the Empire agent who sent you all here to die.” Kelsoe could see thin people dressed in rags and the remains of fine clothes leaving the buildings, making their way slowly toward her. A tall man with martial bearing and grey hair in the tattered remains of Fleet black walked toward her. He stopped for a moment to pull the sack off the agent’s head, and his face screwed up in a look of profound disgust. Dropping the sack on the ground at his feet, he raised his hand as if to strike the bound man and then let his hand fall. He turned toward Kelsoe.

  “Who are you?” He asked in a gravelly, dry voice, eyeing her Fleet uniform.

  She took a deep breath. “I am Kelsoe Shaheera Smith, daughter of Lady Lydia Smith and Aarlan Theodosius Smith, and Captain of the Fleet Survey Ship Wyvern.” She answered without inflection.

  The tall man blinked. “You expect us to believe that nonsense?” He growled.

  Kelsoe shrugged. “Believe whatever you wish. It’s the truth. There is a Vonuborg Armada of over three hundred ships headed this way.” She said without preamble. There was a buzz of voices from the slowly building crowd of people. “It is my intention to break into Fleet Headquarters and use their FTL Transceiver to call the deployed Fleet and to have them meet this threat. As we speak Admiral Bacheva in Task Force Seven is attempting to delay the vastly superior forces until the bulk of our Fleet arrives and together they can crush the enemy. When that has been accomplished I will do my best to remove the Smith family to a safer location.” She pointed to the naked man standing in the dust. “He caught me looking for the FTL Transceiver that had been removed from the Pirmus’s private office in his residence, but I managed to turn the tables on him. He has some interesting things to say about the Empire, if you care to ask him. I’ve removed his implanted trackers, suicide tooth and his other implanted toys, but he is still a very dangerous man, so I wouldn’t just let him go. He is capable of doing horrible things to your people.” She shuddered, and turned for the saucer.

  “My name is Horatio Elgan Smith.” The man said in his gruff voice. “Former Fleet Captain and Commander of the Cruiser Dauntless.”

  Kelsoe frowned at the man’s obvious age and experience. “Only a Captain?”

  His smile was dry, and never reached his eyes. “It’s a long story and it’s…complicated. I was railroaded out of the Fleet six months ago when the administration began a pogrom against the Smith reign.” His eyes swung to the saucer. “Do you have medical facilities in there?”

  Kelsoe turned. “Limited, but yes.”

  The man’s eyes were stricken. “Could you please he
lp my granddaughter and my grandson? She is dying from…” He swallowed. “From contracting tuberculosis on this damned island, and although only twelve he was shot trying to escape.” She could see his jaws tighten. “He was at a summer camp a month ago when they came for him. The rest of the family had already been taken, and we never had a chance to warn him.” He stared at the parched dirt at his feet. “Neither may have much longer if you don’t help.”

  Her grey eyes gave him a level look. “Bring them in, Fleet Captain.”

  “Just Horatio, please.”

  She smiled. “Whatever you say, Fleet Captain.” She replied, ignoring his request.

  Chuckling, he turned toward the dusty, heat shimmering buildings. Five minutes later he exited, carrying a heavily bandaged boy. Directly behind him followed a younger man of perhaps twenty five, with wide shoulders and short dark hair, carrying a young girl. The younger man also wore the remains of a black Fleet uniform.

  Kelsoe led the two men with their burdens up the ramp and into the small wardroom, which doubled as a sick bay in emergencies. The two translucent pods built into the walls of the wardroom already stood open.

  “Put them in there.” Kelsoe stated in a firm voice as she pointed to the pods. Horatio and the younger man put their charges down gently, and stepped back as the lids slid closed.

  Mia’s voice whispered quietly in Kelsoe’s ear. “They are both very ill. The girl I will be able to save, but the boy is dying of his wounds and is beyond my technical ability to heal.” The AI paused. “There is only one possibility for his survival. You carry the Abreeza Vector within you. Touch the child and instruct the Vector to…” she hesitated, “infect him also. It should be able to heal his wounds where this ship cannot.”