by Doug Farren
“The company is privately held and is registered to Mrs. Alison Shoemaker. She’s a life-long resident of Ohio. Based on the information I’ve accessed so far, Gen-Perfect is a legitimate company with no ties what-so-ever to the Purists.”
“We’ll see,” Tom replied. “Dig deeper.”
“Acknowledged.”
Several hours later, he received a call from Sorbith. “One of the Knothole’s shuttles has arrived at the Cleveland starport,” Sorbith said. “We picked up the tracking signal as it was landing. The shuttle was moved inside an Allied Cargo hangar. I have several monitor drones in the area and can try and get one in there if you want.”
Tom shook his head. “No. We can’t risk being detected. I’ll be satisfied with just tracking King Syan’s location.”
“This is your operation,” Sorbith replied. “I’m concerned, however, that the king might be shedding the pathogen.”
“I understand your concern,” Tom replied. “According to the cargo manifest, it appears as if King Syan is being transported in a sealed container. The risk of spreading T11-N106 is minimal. Besides, the Purists will want to capture as much of the pathogen as possible for their own research.”
“I saw the manifest,” Sorbith replied. “I’m inclined to believe that Allied Cargo is unaware of who and what they’re transporting.”
“I agree.”
“Even so,” Sorbith said. “I don’t intend on allowing the shuttle, its crew, or the Knothole to leave this system until their involvement in this has been cleared.”
“Agreed,” Tom said. Checking his screens he continued, “I’ll be landing at the Cleveland starport in about 45 minutes.”
“We’ll keep an eye on the signal for you,” Sorbith replied. “I have an assault team standing by in case you decide to deploy them. You’ve done a great job so far.”
“Thanks. Wilks out.”
“Lashpa has been updated,” Orion said after the screen blanked out. “She would like for you to give her a call at your convenience.”
“Now is fine,” Tom replied.
Fifteen seconds later, Lashpa’s face appeared. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” she said.
“Neither did I,” Tom replied. “What’s your status?”
“Krish needed some structural repairs which are now underway. Most of the damaged armor has been replaced. The shipyard is waiting for additional parts before beginning the replacement of the strut. If they stay on schedule, he should be fully operational in another ten days or so.”
“I would really like you to help me end this,” Tom said. “How about if I pick you up?”
“I was hoping you would make that suggestion,” Lashpa said. “The Mohave shipyard has already been informed. I’ll be ready when you arrive. Lashpa out.”
Tom arrived at the expansive Mohave shipyard and found Lashpa waiting for him in a clear area not far from where her ship was berthed. She was holding a large rifle in her right hand—far larger than anything a Terran would feel comfortable carrying. Tom extended the Orion’s landing struts and dropped the entrance ramp as the ship descended. The struts had barely started to take the weight of the ship when Lashpa signaled she was aboard. Tom met her in the passageway just outside the control center.
“Expecting trouble?” Tom asked, eying the massive weapon she casually carried.
“When dealing with Purists, I always expect trouble,” she replied.
“Then you should have worn your armor.”
“I have a hard enough time moving around inside Terran buildings without my armor. If I wore it, I’d have to resort to walking through walls. I’ll be fine when the time comes,” she said, patting the weapon.
“May I?” Tom asked, extending his hand.
The servos in his arm whined as he hefted the rifle. It was heavier than he expected. Flipping it over, he examined the power cell as well as the large magazine. The status screen indicated the rifle was fully charged and loaded with 500 rounds of ballistic ammunition.
“I’ve never seen a railgun in rifle form,” Tom said. “It looks similar to what’s built into our combat armor.”
“Same basic design,” Lashpa replied, taking the weapon back. “It’s a modification of a smaller gun used by the Rouldian military. Very effective.”
“I’m impressed,” Tom said, leading the way to the conference room.
“What are your thoughts on how to proceed?” she asked, setting the gun down on the table.
“Orion seems to think Gen-Perfect is not the Purist research facility, Tom said. “It could just be a staging area for all we know; just another ruse to keep anyone from finding the real facility. I don’t want to go barging in without knowing we’ve found what we’re looking for.”
“Sorbith did say he had drones in the area. I suggest we try to get a few inside.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Tom replied. “If this is their secret facility, it will be equipped with every type of counter-espionage device known to Alliance science. I want to nab as many people as possible and that means doing our best not to tip them off before we’re ready to make our move. We need to be very careful.”
“You’re right. There’s also the risk that they’ll release the pathogen to the environment,” Lashpa pointed out.
“To be honest,” Tom began. “I’m not too worried about that. T11-N106 has proven to be relatively harmless. Granted, we’ve had a few cases of the disease but according to Flothir it only reproduces in a Mowry host.”
“Unless the Purists have found a way to trigger the pathogen to kill,” Lashpa said.
“Let’s hope they haven’t.”
“Have you considered what might happen if the Purists find the tracker? If they decide to do a full medical work-up on the king, they’re going to find it.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Tom admitted. “We should be ready to move in case that happens.”
Sorbith contacted Tom as the Orion was touching down at the Cleveland starport. “Are you sure we’re following the right signal?” Sorbith began as soon as the connection was established.
“What do you mean?” Tom asked, leaning forward in the command chair.
“A car registered to the Cleveland Zoo just arrived at Gen-Perfect.”
“Maybe the Purists have someone working there,” Tom suggested. “That would explain how they got the clearance.”
Tom checked his screen and noted the location of the latest tracking signal. “King Syan is being moved right now.”
“I see it,” Sorbith replied. “I’m patching you into our drone network.”
One of Tom’s screens flipped from showing the status of the Orion’s various power systems to a view of a truck moving along the access road from the starport. The drone continued to follow the truck as it made its way to the freeway running through downtown Cleveland. About 20 minutes later, it exited the freeway. A few minutes after that, it arrived at Gen-Perfect and backed into a garage. Ten minutes after the garage door closed, it reopened and the truck pulled out. The next tracking signal failed to arrive.
“Tom?” Lashpa said from just outside the ship’s control center. She’d been watching the action through Tom’s eyes.
“I know,” Tom replied. “Let’s give it a few minutes and see if it reappears.”
“Sorbith is on com-channel one,” the ship announced.
“Hold position and standby,” Tom told Sorbith as soon as the channel was open.
“Acknowledged,” Sorbith replied.
Six minutes—two missed tracking signal pings—passed. Tom kept a close eye on the tracker timer. It hit zero. A few seconds later, the display indicated that another tracking ping had been missed.
Turning to Sorbith, Tom said, “Keep an eye on that truck. As soon as it arrives back at the hangar, move in and arrest everyone for questioning. If it doesn’t return to the hangar, stop it. Position all other forces about a block from Gen-Perfect and get them geared up. I’m on my way.”
“Orion, bring the tricycle to the end of the ramp,” Tom ordered as he hastily left the control center.
“Acknowledged.”
“I can’t fit in your tricycle,” Lashpa said out in the passageway. “I’m starting off on foot.”
“I’ll catch up to you,” Tom said, heading for the armory.
Tom slipped a fully-charged blaster into his holster and grabbed a close-quarters combat rifle off the rack. He was about to leave when he turned around and grabbed a belt of grenades off another rack. He wrapped it around his waist and clicked the latches into the matching receptacles on his body armor.
On his way down the ramp, Tom noticed that Lashpa was already half-way across the tarmac. After stowing the rifle, he climbed into the tricycle and took off, siren and lights blaring a warning to all others. Lashpa slowed down and allowed Tom to move out in front of her then sped back up, keeping pace with him as he moved into the city streets. The lights and sirens would warn any pedestrians and the few people driving manual-only vehicles. Everything in front of them quickly moved aside as the peacekeepers approached. The only time Tom had to slow down was when he took a sharp corner.
People stopped and stared as the tricycle sped by and many did a double-take as they caught sight of Lashpa running behind. Although Rouldians have very strong legs, they are not designed for running. Evolution had shaped their legs to support their weight in a gravitational field almost twice that of Earth’s and were not designed for running. But Lashpa was no ordinary Rouldian; she was a peacekeeper. Her cybernetic legs were designed to look very much like the ones she had been born with, but were far more capable. Weeks of training had taught her how to use her enhanced legs to run far faster than any Rouldian would have thought possible allowing her to easily keep up with Tom’s speeding tricycle.
Tom slowed and pulled over next to the large black truck being used as a mobile command center used by the police. The back was open allowing him to see the 25 heavily armored police officers waiting inside. Sorbith was standing at the bottom of the ramp.
“Keep your men here,” Tom ordered. “I’m going inside first to assess the situation.”
“Are you sure about that?” Sorbith asked. “Why not use the element of surprise and storm the building?”
“Because I’m not 100 percent sure we haven’t been tricked. On the way here, I got to thinking. What if the Purists discovered the tracking device back on Gwon-Go? They could have removed it and implanted it in an animal that was being shipped here. We could be barging in on a bunch of totally innocent civilians.”
“That’s a possibility I’ve not considered,” Sorbith admitted. “ Even so, I think we need to treat this as if we’ve found the Purist biolab.”
“Then position your men and drones to keep anyone from leaving,” Tom said.
Sorbith took a step back and waved a hand toward the building. “Your call. I’ll be watching though. At the first sign of trouble, we’re coming in with weapons hot.”
“Understood,” Tom said.
“I’ll stay here,” Lashpa said, before Tom could make the same suggestion.
Tom slung his rifle over his back, locking it into place, then started walking down the deserted sidewalk. Thirty-seconds later, he walked into the front office of Gen-Perfect. Although the startled receptionist, a young woman of about 20 years of age, couldn’t tell, Tom’s sensors were scanning every inch of the interior. Nothing out the ordinary was identified.
“Ca- - -Can I help you?” she asked.
“A short time ago, you received a shipment from Allied Cargo,” Tom said. “I need to verify that it’s being properly decontaminated.”
“I … Certainly! Let me call- - -”
“Please take me there yourself,” Tom said, causing the receptionist to stop as she was reaching for the phone.
“Um … Sure,” she replied, getting up from her chair. “Right this way.”
Alert to even the slightest hint of deception, Tom followed her through a door and into the back offices. They walked down a deserted hallway until they came to a door marked ‘Clean-Lab’. She started to reach for the handle but Tom’s hand shot forward and beat her to it.
“Please return to your desk,” he said.
Keeping his hand on the handle, Tom waited until the receptionist had hurried back down the hall. Drawing his pistol, he opened the door and stepped inside. A man and a woman, their arms inside the gloves of a large containment box turned around and stared at him.
“What the hell!” the woman said.
“Please remain as you are,” Tom ordered, keeping his gun visible but not pointing directly at the two employees.
Taking two steps to the left, Tom glanced around the corner to verify nobody else was in the room. He then took a few steps closer to the transparent containment box so he could see inside. A brown and white striped animal about the size of a large dog lay in the cage. His ship immediately identified it as being a mornita.
Using the reflection off the containment box, Tom was able to see the woman’s badge. Zooming in, he quickly read it. Karen Cunningham, Cleveland Zoo, Senior veterinarian. The Orion queried the peacekeeper network and confirmed her identity as well as the fact that she had been an employee of the Cleveland Zoo for the past eight years.
“Ms. Cunningham,” Tom began, “What can you tell me about that animal?”
Karen looked down at her arms which were still inside the gloves attached to the wall of the containment, then replied, “It’s called a mornita. We’ve been trying to get our hands on one ever since we saw a picture of it. Did we do something wrong? Are we in trouble?”
“No,” Tom replied. “Is that the containment box used to transport the animal?”
“Of course it is!” the man answered. “We’re not allowed to open it until the resident biomaster at the clinic checks the samples we haven’t had a chance to take. They’re worried about some sort of disease that’s broken out on Gwon-Go.”
“The truck has returned to the hangar,” the Orion informed Tom. “The arrest team is moving in now.”
“Did we do something wrong?” Karen asked again, enunciating each word as if she was talking to someone who did not completely understand English.
Tom holstered his gun and relaxed his stance. “No. Where are the two handlers who brought the mornita from Gwon-Go?”
Karen carefully pulled her arms out of the containment gloves then turned and faced Tom. “I’m assuming they went back with the truck,” she replied, rubbing her hands together.
The sound of a vacuum caused Tom to jerk his head towards the containment. Karen raised her hands and held them at shoulder level, palms out. “It’s okay!” she practically shouted. “Jamal’s just vacuuming the mornita’s fur. We just anesthetized it and we’re not sure how long it will be out. The vacuum has a HEPA filter to collect anything in it’s fur. We’re supposed to send it to the clinic so biomaster Tienic can analyze it for us. If it comes back clean, then we can open the containment.”
“Did you see the handlers?” Tom asked.
“Sure did,” Karen replied. “They don’t get paid until I sign off on receiving the animals they bring us.”
“Did you watch them unload the containment?”
“I met them in the loading dock. The mornita’s containment was inside a larger box. I thought it was just how they transported animals these days.”
“Did you see anything else?”
Karen’s eyes squinted. “Nothing unusual. You’re not here because of the mornita, are you?”
“No,” Tom replied. Turning around, he grabbed the door handle. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” he said, pulling the door open.
Chapter 23
Tom slowly walked down the hallway. “Lashpa, Sorbith, any ideas?” Tom asked, knowing that they had been listening and watching everything that happened since parting company.
“The signal quit shortly after the truck arrive
d at Gen-Perfect,” Lashpa replied. “Either the Purists found the tracker and have been using it to distract us or King Syan is still inside the building.”
Tom reversed direction and walked back down the hallway. “I’m going to check out the loading dock. Sorbith?”
“I’m here Tom,” Sorbith replied.
“Have your men at the hangar look inside the truck to see if there’s anything inside. Also, see if the two handlers were in the truck when it returned.”
“Acknowledged, standby.”
“I’m heading to the dock from the outside,” Lashpa said. “I’ll meet you there.”
Tom opened the door to the lab and stuck his head inside. “Excuse me again,” he said, raising his voice so he could be heard over the whine of the vacuum. “Can you point out how to get to the loading dock?”
“Straight down the hall,” Jamal yelled.
Tom closed the door and headed down the hallway. Pushing open the double doors at the end brought him into the enclosed loading dock. Looking around, he found the button that operated the door. A moment later, it was open and Lashpa walked in. Both peacekeepers scanned the area with every available sensor.
“I don’t see anything unusual,” Lashpa announced.
“Same here,” Tom reported. He stood on the edge of the loading platform scratching the back of his neck.
“Tom,” Sorbith said. “There was nothing in the truck. The driver reports that a large shipping container was unloaded at your location. He was told to leave. The handlers remained behind.”
“Acknowledged. Standby while we sort this out,” Tom replied.
One of the double doors swung open and a man dressed in a business suit stepped into the room. Tom and Lashpa swung around. The man’s eyes went wide when he saw the massive weapon Lashpa was cradling in her right arm. He slowly raised his hands and said, “I’m Darrel Putter, Director of this facility. I’d like to know what’s going on in my building.”
“We’re conducting a peacekeeper investigation,” Tom replied. “If we need your assistance, we’ll ask. Please return to your office.”
Darrel slowly lowered his hands. “This building and everyone in it is my responsibility,” he said. “I need to know what’s going on.”