“None of this is logical,” Ponty said. “Worlds can't just disappear.”
“It's not unlike what the other woman said,” Beauregard said. “The one Grayson rescued. What was her name—”
“Keltie Sheffield,” Will said quickly.
“You're right,” Gregg said. “She did describe similar aliens. We've also received identical reports from a few Refugio survivors. But we don't know what we're up against, and it's easier if we leave this to the navy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Will and Beauregard said at the same time. Sims simply saluted.
“Speaking of the navy,” Ponty said, “the admiral’s going to tear me a new one for not letting his men talk to Miss Lins. I'm thinking it would provide some value to our search to have her readily available to confirm these aliens if we see them in person.”
Gregg was surprised by the comment. “We don't have the funds to support a transfer.”
“Yes, we do,” Ponty said. “It'll come out the joint military budget since this concerns all branches of the armed forces. We’ll find a way to justify it to Congress. It wasn't wise to let Miss Sheffield go. I haven't been able to connect with her ever since she left. Her testimony would help wonders right about now. Will, have you been in touch with Grayson? Isn't he with her?”
Will nodded. “No idea where they are, though,” he said, pulling out his phone and thumbing a text.
“That was a mistake,” Ponty said. “I should have never let her leave the headquarters by herself. She barely made it out of Regina VII Star Base alive, and it’s been eating at me ever since. Let's not make the same mistake with Miss Lins. I've ordered a medical transfer to Provenance. This way we’ll keep her close until she recovers. I've sent the request, but I need you three to enforce my order in person.”
“Yes, sir,” the three soldiers said, saluting.
“Um, sir?” Sims asked.
Will fought the temptation to sigh.
“I have a theory I'd like to discuss with you,” Sims said.
Will wanted to laugh. Was this guy seriously going to—
“I think it was a black hole,” Sims said.
“A black hole?” Ponty asked. “Sims, what are you talking about?”
The comment took Sims aback.
“Uh, I…”
He muttered a response that made no sense.
“I don't know what you're referring to or why you think you have the authority to direct my investigation, but why don't you take a second chance and learn from Will and Beau?”
“I agree,” Gregg said, her face hardening.
“Chain of command,” Ponty said, shaking his head. “Chain of command.”
Sims saluted fiercely, trying to hide his embarrassment.
“That is all, gentlemen,” Ponty said, signing off.
When the screen went dark, Will burst into laughter.
“What's so funny?” Sims asked.
“You don't say things like that,” Will said. “Not until you've earned their trust.”
Sims seethed and stormed away.
About time. Finally, this guy got what was coming to him.
“Oh, don't be such a baby,” Will said, rubbing in the insult. “Besides, we've got an order to enforce.”
They hurried toward the airlock.
24
The inside of the ship reminded Michiko of a luxury yacht—mahogany wood trim everywhere, marble floors in the airlock.
Several men and women in white suits greeted them. Everyone was so friendly and seemed to go out of their way to please Michiko and her parents.
Maybe they weren't so friendly. Maybe it was the medication Michiko was taking, distorting her reality. But around every corner was another smile.
Huxley wheeled Michiko down a brightly lit hallway to a circular door.
“Here's where I leave you,” he said, opening the door.
The room was a hospital shaped pod identical to the room that Michiko was in, with a space for the bed, a couch, and two chairs. A television played the Galactic News on mute.
Michiko thought the room looked bigger, but maybe it was the medicine playing tricks on her mind. All she wanted to do was sleep.
Huxley wheeled the bed into position, with the head facing the television. He pointed to the restroom, a door.
“That's your suite,” Huxley said. “It's a special pod add-on for your comfort.”
“Who?” Arthur asked.
“You two,” Huxley said, winking. “Don't want you sleeping on the couch.”
Reiko peeked into the room—a queen bed with white sheets, a porthole with shutters over the window, and a large, large bathroom.
“This is too much,” Reiko said.
“No, ma’am,” Huxley said, “it's not enough.”
Overhead, the intercom beeped. A female voice spoke.
“Welcome, Lins family,” Tatiana said. “If you need anything, just press the red button on the wall.”
“Thank you,” Reiko said.
“We are waiting on Florian to finish up some official business,” Tatiana said. “It shouldn't be long.”
Huxley handed Michiko a small, plastic cup with a white pill inside.
“In the meantime, the nurses recommended that you take this muscle relaxer,” Huxley said.
“Why?” Michiko asked.
“Your x-rays showed muscle weakness,” Huxley said. “And with the tests we’re going to perform, you will be in cramped spaces. It's recommended that you stay…limber. I'm not a doctor. I'm just the messenger.”
“Just take the pill,” Reiko said.
“I don't just take medicine because,” Michiko said.
“We wouldn't give you something if we didn't feel you needed it,” Huxley said.
Michiko hesitated. Her mother gave her a death stare.
With a quick motion, Michiko swallowed the pill.
Huxley gestured to the suite.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lins, might I recommend that you take a shower and then sit in our nice jacuzzi?” Huxley asked. “By the time you're finished, we’ll be well into our journey. We want you to be comfortable as well.”
“I like jacuzzis,” Arthur said, grinning.
The ship shook. Somewhere, someone yelled. Then there was a giant clicking sound.
“Wonder what that was,” Michiko said.
Reiko stroked Michiko’s forehead. “Doesn't matter.”
“Just regular noises,” Huxley said. “Lot of activity going on right now, so excuse that. We’ll be off in no time.”
And soon enough, the ship began to move and the engines hummed to life.
25
Will, Beauregard, and Sims climbed off the rescue ship and jumped down onto the airlock of the hospital station.
There was a large black and white striped ship sitting on the far end of the airlock. Men and women in white suits were moving about the ship quickly and nervously.
“What's with them?” Will asked.
Beauregard shrugged. “Where might we find the executive director?”
Sims grabbed a passing female service clerk dressed in a blue hospital uniform.
“Where’s the person in charge?” Sims asked rudely.
“My boss or the big boss?” the clerk asked.
“The person who can approve a medical transfer,” Sims said.
The clerk pointed to the end of the airlock, where a long winding hallway began.
Sims let go of the man and walked briskly toward the hall.
“Come on, guys,” Sims said.
Will and Beauregard looked at each other.
“This guy needs sensitivity training,” Beauregard said.
“He's your responsibility, not mine,” Will said. “Like I said, he takes this job way too seriously. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but damn.”
Will and Beauregard followed Sims down the long, winding hallway that was lit overhead with blue fluorescent lights. As they hurried down the hallway, they passed a young man with blonde hair in a white
suit and black tie. He had a diagonal black stripe across his suit, and he was eating nuts from a big pile in his hand. Several men and women flanked him—from the looks of it, an entourage.
The man saw them and saluted.
“Evening, gentlemen,” the man said in mid-chew. With a sly grin, he said, “wherever you're off to, I hope you accomplish your mission.”
“Thanks,” Will said, not paying him much attention.
“You take care,” Beauregard said.
“Oh, I will,” the man said. And then the entourage was gone, walking quickly in the opposite direction.
“Who was that?” Sims asked.
“No idea,” Will said. “But he was a weird one.”
They entered a frosted glass door to a suite of offices.
A secretary sat at a front desk. The counter was covered by potted plants. She was typing.
Sims leaned on the front desk and stared at the secretary until she stopped typing. Upon seeing him, she jumped.
“Executive director,” Sims said. “Where is he?”
“She,” the secretary said.
“Where,” Sims said.
Will gently pushed Sims aside.
“Hello, ma’am, please pardon Tarzan, here,” Will said. “We’re with the Galactic Guard and we've got urgent business that can't wait.”
“I'll page her,” the secretary said, lightening a little at Will’s intervention.
“Sims,” Will whispered. “You can't act like this. Calm down.”
Sims frowned. “We've got to get Miss Lins out of here, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, but come on,” Will said. “We’re doing it diplomatically. We’re not doing a drug bust.”
And then Will remembered.
Sims came from the narcotics division. That was his experience. He was probably used to acting this way.
“Think about it,” Will said, “you wouldn't treat an innocent witness that way, would you?”
“I guess not,” Sims said.
Will shrugged. “Same difference.”
Sims’s shoulders, which had been tense, slouched slightly. He folded his arms.
“Maybe you're right,” Sims said.
“Lots to learn,” Will said. “We all make the same mistakes, buddy.”
The secretary stood and motioned for them to follow.
“Mrs. Bronson will see you now.”
MARIE BRONSON WAS a middle-aged woman in a red business suit whose office overlooked Reader IV. She was kind who didn't have time for much, especially crap. She sat at her desk with her fingers clasped, and a frown on her face. Bookshelves lined the walls, and on her desk sat photos of her with her children.
“What's so important it can't wait?” she asked. “No offense, gentlemen, but with all the disappearances, we don't have time for meaningless requests.”
“My commander sent a medical transfer request,” Beauregard said. “The hospital should have received it a few minutes ago.”
“We don't expedite governmental requests,” Marie said. “It doesn't work that way.”
“Today it does,” Beauregard said. “Michiko Lins is part of an ongoing investigation that involves all branches of the armed forces. We have orders to take her into our protective custody until further notice.”
Marie frowned again and looked through records on her computer.
“Oh, you're talking about the girl they brought in here a few hours ago. The Galaxy Corps volunteer.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Beauregard said. “I'm glad we understand each other now.”
“We understand each other all right,” Marie said. “But unfortunately I can't help you.”
“Why not?” Beauregard asked.
“Her parents signed over a medical release authorizing a private transfer a little while ago.”
“What?” Will asked incredulously.
“We had orders to transfer her. If she's not gone yet, she's probably close.”
“Who is taking her?” Beauregard asked.
“The Macalestern Corporation,” Marie said. “I'm sorry. This is out of my hands, unless you can get Mrs. Reiko Lins to reverse the paperwork. She has power of attorney over Michiko.”
“Damn it,” Beauregard said.
The three of them ran out of the office.
“That conversation we had earlier,” Will said, looking at Sims, “you know, about your demeanor?”
Sims nodded.
“Forget it,” Will said as they ran. “Forget all of it.”
WHEN THEY REACHED THE AIRLOCK, the bay doors on the black and white ship were already closed, and the ship floated in a holding bay, waiting for the airlock doors to open.
“Stop that ship,” Beauregard said. He waved to the airlock command center, a large square window on the second floor.
“Hey, stop!” Beauregard shouted.
The controllers in the command center looked at Beauregard strangely.
“Stop that ship!” Beauregard yelled.
An intercom beeped and one of the controllers replied.
“What do you want?” the man asked.
“Stop that ship,” Beauregard said. “We've got an order to take one of the passengers onboard.”
“We can't stop them,” the controller said. “They've got legal clearance for departure.”
“We have Galactic Guard orders,” Beauregard said. “If you open that airlock, you and all of your controllers will be investigated to the fullest extent of the law.”
The controller shrugged.
“That's what the last guy said if I didn't open the airlock.”
“Who?” Beauregard asked.
“The owner of the ship you're after. He flashed some clearance papers, said he had orders, too. Who am I suppose to believe? First come, first served, buddy.”
Beauregard cursed.
The airlock doors opened, and the black and white ship's engines fired as it blasted into space. Then the airlock doors closed.
“If you aren't going to listen to us, then standby and open the airlock,” Beauregard said.
“You just told me to keep it closed,” the controller said.
“If you aren't going to assist, we’ll go after the ship ourselves,” Beauregard said.
“THIS IS Petty Officer Romeo Beauregard with the Galactic Guard onboard the GGC Horizon,” Beauregard said into the radio.
They launched into space and pursued the black and white ship. Slowly, the ship decreased its speed.
“You are no longer permitted to leave the hospital airspace,” Beauregard said. “Turn off your engines and make ready for our boarding. If you have any weapons onboard, now’s the time to let us know. Please acknowledge that you accept our demand.”
Silence.
Beauregard took his finger off the radio button.
Will was at the instrument panel and he scanned the ship.
“Weapons are inactive,” Will said.
His heart was pumping. Not since the Argus invasion on Provenance had he seen action like this. He had a bad feeling, like something wasn't quite right. He pressed a button and did a thermal scan. Moving heat signatures appeared throughout a wireframe diagram of the ship.
“We've got thermal images for about twelve people onboard,” Will said. “Four in the bridge, the remainder scattered about the ship.”
Sims rose from his seat.
“Should I board?” he asked.
“All of us are going aboard,” Beauregard said.
“You sure?” Will asked. “I'm not opposed to an extra set of hands, but—”
“They need to be reasoned with,” Beauregard said.
It was true.
Muscle would only get you so far.
Beau was a better negotiator than Will or Sims. Or Grayson. Will was going to need Beau’s way with words.
The radio beeped. A raspy voice spoke.
“And to what occasion do we owe the pleasure of speaking with you fine gentlemen?”
That voice.
It was
the weird guy from earlier.
Will groaned.
Beauregard pressed the button with a stern look on his face.
“Identify yourself,” he said.
“You don't recognize me?” the man asked. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment, or proof that my celebrity is waning…”
“Identify yourself,” Beauregard said more harshly. “We do not play games. You're meddling in intergalactic affairs.”
“Meddling?” the man asked with an air of offense. “I wouldn't call myself a meddler so much as a key player, Mr. Beauregard. That's a hell of a name, by the way. Romeo Beauregard. I just love the way that flows off the tongue.”
Beauregard was about to issue an order when the man spoke again.
“This is Florian Macalestern, and this is luxury ship operated and charted by my company.”
“Shit,” Will said. “That is him, isn't it?”
No wonder the guy rubbed Will the wrong way.
Spoiled brat. Rich kid. Ingratiated himself so good with his aunt that she couldn't see his flaws. Future freaking CEO for doing nothing but having the same last name.
“Tread carefully,” Will said. “I don't trust this guy.”
Beauregard nodded.
“Mr. Macalestern, it is our pleasure,” Beauregard said. “And it’s unfortunate that we’re meeting under these circumstances. But you are transporting a passenger that is a key witness in a government investigation.”
“So?” Florian asked.
“You do not have the right,” Beauregard said. “We have a signed medical transfer letter. You must return her to us.”
“Signed medical transfer,” Florian said. “Now that’s something. Last I checked, the patient, if fully conscious, has to approve that transfer, do they not?”
Beauregard muted the radio.
“Will, what the hell is he talking about?”
Will scrambled to a screen at the edge of his instrument panel. He started a frantic Internet search.
“Ah,” Florian said. “I can hear the papers scrambled all the way over here, Mr. Beauregard. Do you have a signed letter from Miss Lins agreeing with your transfer? You know, in today's environment, it's very clear that a patient always, always, always has a choice in the healthcare they receive, even if the government intervenes…”
Rogue Colony (Galaxy Mavericks Book 6) Page 9