by Andria Stone
Eva planted a kiss on Mark’s forehead. “You found religion, my friend. It might begin with faith in your fellow man, but give it time. It will grow.”
Malone’s agitated voice broke through over their comms. “We have incoming,”
Everyone crammed in behind Malone and Nguyen to stare at the flight console screens.
Kamryn shook her head, grumbling, “I knew we should’ve left right after Rayburn did.”
Malone grimaced. “Too late now.”
“Who is it?”
“An MMC shuttle,” Nguyen said. “We’re going to need a damn good reason to be here.”
“Leave it to me.” Eva ran off, shouting, “I’ll be right back!”
The ominous black shuttle bore large red letters on its tail and twin rail guns mounted on both stubby wings. The closer it advanced, the more portentous it became.
“This is Captain Justina James of the Martian Military Command Patrol out of Aurora. Identify yourself and state your business in this sector.” Her orders were spoken in a clipped, no-nonsense tone.
“Howdy,” Malone said, drawing out the pleasantries, stalling for time until Eva reappeared. “I’m Captain Richard Malone, of the Terran science vessel MAVREK-II. This is my copilot Alexis Nguyen.”
“Again, state your business in this sector,” she repeated, her tone edgy, agitated.
A breathless Eva squeezed between the pilots. “I’m afraid it was my idea, Captain. I’m Dr. Eva Jackson, a Molecular Nanotechnologist from Terra.” She held her ID badge and Visitor Credentials up to the screen. “I was invited here last week for the Martin Terraforming Symposium in the Aurora Habitat. We were leaving for home, but I couldn’t go without a little souvenir of Martian soil,” Eva gushed, holding up a clear container of pinkish dust and shaking it in front of the screen. “I know it’s probably against the law, you know, like not picking up arrowheads in Yosemite Park, but I just had to have some. I’m so sorry. Are we going to get a ticket?”
The Martian Captain verified Eva’s identification. She let out a lengthy sigh as a dumbfounded expression settled on her face. “You could have helped yourself to a whole bucketful, for all I care. Captain Malone, make all due haste to take your scientist home.”
“Aye, ma’am. MAVREK-II departing for Terra.”
Malone and Nguyen commenced takeoff procedures. All passengers rushed to harness up. The MMC shuttle moved away, hovering about 500 feet off their port wing. They became airborne in record time, maneuvering through the atmospheres with minimal turbulence.
***
An hour into the flight, with Mars a comfortable distance behind them, everyone gathered in the conference room. Fresh from the shower, having eaten and sufficiently rehydrated, Mark sat listening to the audio recording of his interrogation by Rushing. Most of it he remembered, some he didn’t, which bothered him. The brief episode of double vision he’d experienced might indicate a more substantial injury, perhaps a concussion. He’d make a point of visiting Dr. Torance at their old underground base in North Dakota, and while there, he’d complain of a headache. Torance wouldn’t be able to resist stuffing him into the MRI chamber for a quick exam.
Kamryn absently rubbed her sore shoulder. “Do you have any idea what Rushing intended to plant on our ship?”
“Not a clue. She only made that one remark. Never elaborated.” Mark turned to Ohashi. “Your new surveillance system didn’t alert you to any intruders before you left the station?”
She shook her head. “I cranked up the alarm loud enough to wake the dead if anything came with ten feet of the ship.”
“We should do a thorough search anyway. What if one of the soldiers left something and it’s not registering on their end because your system is canceling outgoing signals? Is that a possibility?”
Flabbergasted, beyond words, Ohashi’s jaw dropped open. She jumped up and bolted for the hatch. Crawling on her hands and knees, she scoured every inch of the entry area, the door seal, the hatch lever, under chairs, until she shouted, “Bingo! Nobody move, I need gloves.” Ohashi ran off to return with blue gloves, picking up a gray object the size of a data chip between her thumb and index finger for everyone to see. “How did you know?”
Mark shrugged. “I didn’t. In theory, if your system could keep things out, it might work in reverse.”
“Now I get to charge twice as much when I sell it to the TMD.”
“What is it?”
“Let’s go see.”
In the lab, Ohashi used every possible safeguard before inserting the mini chip into the same old tablet she’d used for the drone data.
“I don’t think it will explode, but in the event there’s something toxic or organic in there, I need to use Eva’s terraforming vault.”
Eva produced the box for containing her terraforming specimens; a unique, twelve-inch square, tri-layered, glass-plastic-glass apparatus. She attached it to a small computer which showed readouts for every type of gas or toxic substance imaginable.
Ohashi placed the tablet inside, locked the lid, then sent a remote command to begin the download of data. Upon completion, the tablet rumbled to life with the same sound of an Old Earth racecar engine. The readout showed no evidence of anything harmful.
“Do you want to view it first?” Ohashi asked.
“No, why?” Mark replied. “Whatever’s on there is false. I’m no guiltier of treason than any of you.”
Ohashi removed the tablet, plugged it into a screen, and opened the files. Everyone stared at the vid as it played. A blond man and brunette woman, both naked, engaged in various consensual, though unusual, sexual acts. This suddenly changed to show the man beating the woman until she appeared to be dead. The next clip showed men’s hands exchanging a classified folder in exchange for cash.
Petra covered her mouth.
Eva blinked, brought a hand to her face, and began looking through her fingers as if she were afraid to view it head on.
Ohashi frowned and crossed her arms.
Kamryn leaned in closer to get a better look.
Axel was stone-faced.
Mark looked horrified. When he found his voice, he bellowed, “To hell with this!”
***
“That wasn’t me. I did not do any of that,” Mark said, wild-eyed, teetering on the brink of a full-blown meltdown.
“I believe you, brother,” Axel said, pushing him into a chair with two firm hands while Petra poured him a hefty drink.
“We know you didn’t,” Eva said. “First, you’d never abuse a woman. The male on that sex tape—if you can call it that—is not you. I’ve seen you—on Luna. His parts are not your parts.” She blushed in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “Second, you don’t need to sell Top Secret information. You gave it freely to Major Essex and General Dimitrios as soon as we found it. This is a last-ditch effort by a desperate woman with her back against the wall. Rushing has hundreds of soldiers on her ships that could pass for you in bad lighting. Knowing her to be heavy-handed, I’m positive she either promised a promotion to some poor doofus, or threatened him with the stockade to gain his cooperation. With her rank, ‘might makes right’.”
“Besides, there’s not a single view of your tattoo in those clips,” Kamryn noted. “It’s too intricate to duplicate, so they only recorded your imposter from one side.”
“That guy’s double-jointed,” Ohashi said. “Look at his thumbs, how they bend half way back.”
Petra squinted at her. “You were looking at his thumbs?”
“Well, I did when he was passing classified information.” Ohashi snorted. “It’s so bogus.”
“Everything on there is fake,” Petra agreed.
“No…wait.” Kamryn threw up both hands, halting the discussion. “Consider this: what if everything in these files is real? I don’t mean Mark or one of Rushing’s toadies doing them, but someone else. An actual bad guy. I’ve got a gut feeling these clips might be old—not from the last century, but not too recent either. Mayb
e Rushing had them pulled or duplicated from archived files.
“Ohashi, you focus on identifying the man and what city skyline was in the background of the last clip. Petra, you search for the woman, clothing, jewelry, anything that helps identify the time period. With your facial recognition programs, it shouldn’t be impossible, right?”
A brief silence gave way to a flurry of activity as the cybers attacked their screens.
“Excellent idea.” Mark nodded to Kamryn. “I’m beginning to see there’s a fine line separating cops from criminals.”
“My captain used to say, ‘To catch one, you must think like one.’ It’s proved a very useful tool.”
Eva left to make coffee, Axel and Kamryn followed to get beer while Mark nursed his drink. Trusting the cybers to do their jobs left him with nothing to keep his mind occupied—except for thoughts of Valerie Parker.
He turned to Petra and Ohashi, lowering his voice. “We just dropped a huge project on you, but am I correct in assuming the hunt is still on for Valerie Parker?”
Petra nodded. “We reinstated the facial recognition program after Ohashi thwarted the Savant’s hacking attempts because we figured she might cut and run. The MPLE program failed to identify her when she entered Dome 2, so there’s either a glitch, or she paid someone off. We both think she left for Terra. If the Martian program didn’t tag her leaving, for sure the TMD will ID her entering.”
Mark swirled the liquor in his glass. “If she left before we did, how soon could she be on Terra?”
“Hard to say. Since the attacks on the Martian government began, Terra’s rigidly monitoring its air space. All incoming ships are directed to a Security Checkpoint on the space station. General Dimitrios says Terra has too many criminals already, he doesn’t need any Martian mercenaries sneaking in. He called it a ‘Cordon Sanitaire’, and was quoted as saying the criminals should find an ‘ass-troid’ to live on because they weren’t getting onto Terra. It’s on the webnews. I can play it for you.”
Mark grinned at the general’s efforts to quarantine the spread of criminal activity by establishing a cordon around Terra, yet doubted it could keep every undesirable from reaching the planet. Mercenaries were only part of the problem. By far, gunrunning was the main issue, with most of the weapons being military grade. The culprits were either a faction at the manufacturer’s plant, or in the TMD, since the military didn’t trust anyone else to transport their munitions. The weapons pipeline led straight to Argus, who’d supplied the Parker’s with the means to overthrow the Martian government.
If Valerie weren't caught and arrested on the Terran Space Station, she’d likely seek refuge among Coulter’s business acquaintances in Germany, Malaysia, the South American continent, or India. As the embodiment of Coulter, she’d be hell-bent on some new maniacal plan to retaliate against the first person who got in her way.
Mark believed Valerie still had no idea that her plans had been foiled by the MAVREK team, but if she suspected he was the cause of her downfall, everyone around him would be marked for death. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
Chapter 22
Valerie retched in front of everyone. People scattered, as if they’d been exposed to radiation poisoning. She was so tickled with her performance it was difficult not to smile as she lay helpless, waiting for someone to call a doctor or medivac.
Standing next to the entry hatch, the ship’s captain demanded, “Santiago, get Miss Graves to the infirmary, immediately.”
Within seconds, the Spaniard had Valerie on a hover gurney. He guided it through every security checkpoint on the station without being detained. A small voice inside her head warned that getting off the station might be twice as hard getting on, but Valerie ignored it, immersing herself in the role of poor, sick, widowed grandmother.
In the MedBay, Santiago handed a purse and bag to a blue-uniformed nurse. “She threw up and passed out as we docked. Miss Graves has been spacesick the whole trip. These are her personal items. I have to go. I’m needed back at the ship.”
“Okay, dear, let’s make you comfortable.” The young nurse guided Valerie’s gurney to an open bay near the back wall. After connecting a tube to the air supply, she hooked it to an oxygen mask, then placed it on Valerie’s face. “You’ll feel better soon. I’ll be back in a little while.” She left, drawing the curtain closed.
Valerie pulled the mask down, letting it dangle. She slipped off the gurney to prowl around the area, searching for any means of escape. Get on the station, get off, leave as little evidence as possible; harder to track her that way.
Behind the last curtain on the row, a transport coffin sat on a gurney.
Her eyes lit up. She tugged on the lid. It opened, exposing a deceased elderly man, frail and shriveled with age. Valerie scanned the shipping manifest dangling from the handle. Mr. Nigel Hampton’s final destination was Devonshire Mortuary in London, scheduled for today on the LaRégence-FR, departing in—30 minutes?!
She forced herself to concentrate despite her panic, and spotted a trash chute on the wall. In a burst of energy, she hauled the withered man out, trading clothes with him before chucking his body down the chute. Valerie climbed into the casket, sweating, thirsty, and starving. She removed a few things from her bag, tucked them into the sides, then stuffed the bag under her knees. After repositioning the oxygen mask, she checked the time remaining on the air supply.
Five hours.
Good. More than enough, she hoped. Valerie closed the lid.
No sooner had she gotten situated when the sound of heavy footsteps approached. Someone locked the coffin’s lid with a spine-chilling metallic clunk-thud. Although not the type to freak-out or be claustrophobic, she’d also never been put to a test quite like this. She focused on breathing into the mask at a normal rate while sensing movement; turns, stops, starts, then a while later an abrupt drop to a solid surface.
Nothing to do except stay hydrated, nibble on a snack, maybe take a nap until she reached London.
But her mind refused to cooperate, with thoughts of Mark Warren taking precedence over all others. Everything had been progressing as planned until the day his ship docked on the Space Station. He should have died. The fact he still lived was unacceptable. Twenty-four hours after accessing her funds in Luxembourg and she’d have his head in a box. She had a score to settle for her mother, but mostly for herself, because he’d escaped, and no one had ever gotten away from Valerie Parker.
When those thoughts settled, she began plotting how Nigel Hampton would be arising from the dead. She’d blow the lock off the coffin, sneak out the back door, and be hours away by the time anyone at the mortuary noticed the deceased was missing.
Valerie chuckled to herself. Let them explain that to a constable.
***
No one objected when Axel ordered the team to catch up on their sleep for the duration of the trip. Injuries, exhaustion, and stress all faded away as they yielded to an extended siesta. The ship raced toward Terra while the search for Valerie Parker continued unrestricted on Hercules, their biggest and fastest computer. Axel’s search would only end once they found her and she was dead.
While his friends dreamt of sandy beaches and sunshine, deep sleep evaded Axel. He awoke to wander the ship several times, checking on the pilots, stretching out in his favorite blue chair near the hatch. After a couple cat naps, he settled in the conference room behind a screen to do some private sleuthing. He had one fragment of withheld information which pinpointed someone named Samar tied to a manufacturing plant in Mumbai. Valerie had no idea anyone else knew of this connection.
He tapped at the screen, engrossed in searching for any leads to Mumbai.
Over the course of the next few hours, he dozed off twice, then awoke with a start when a surprise nugget of data popped up on the screen.
Oh. Hell. No.
Samar Padhi owned BIOT, a plant which specialized in nuclear genetic cloning of plants and animals.
Clones. As Axel read the co
mpany’s specs, his gut told him if Valerie hadn’t been up to her neck in business with this guy, she would be soon. Valerie was nothing if not as maniacal as her adopted mother. What she lacked in intellect, she made up for in ambition. She craved power, and would employ any means necessary to achieve it.
From their past investigations into BioKlon, Axel remembered what to search for in the way of peripheral supplies ordered by BIOT, such as cryopods and stasis chemicals. Within seconds, he found them.
Gotcha!
He transferred this data to his tablet before deleting it from the conference room’s screen. Padding barefoot through the ship back to his favorite chair near the hatch, he stretched out to think. The next hurdle was devising a plan allowing him to leave the group for travel to India without arousing any suspicion. Valerie Parker’s days were numbered—with any luck, in the single digits. He dozed off again while his subconscious formulated a scheme to get him where he wanted to go.
“Sir?”
Axel heard the word whispered, but not from anywhere nearby. Opening one eye, he found Petra standing out of reach; his reputation for attacking people who woke him was legendary. He opened both eyes, straightened up, and scrubbed his face with both hands.
“I have news.” Still whispering, she held the cup of coffee out to him. “I found out how Valerie left Mars. I think she also found a way off our Space Station.”
Axel jumped up, took the cup, then followed her to the Science Lab. Back against the wall, a screen tethered to their heavy-duty computer, Hercules, projected the frozen image of an elderly woman. Underneath the wig, makeup, and wrinkled skin, Axel recognized the unmistakable features of Valerie Parker. Inches from the screen, he committed every pixel to memory. “When? On what ship?”
“She’s three hours ahead of us, on a ship named Hyperion.”
Axel inhaled the coffee’s aroma, then downed two big gulps, steadily bringing himself toward 100 percent awake. “What’s our ETA to the Space Station?”