Slave Trade

by Craig Martelle

“Take down the traffickers. Kill the slave trade, and let’s see if the General can bring Corran into the Federation.” The screen went blank. Rivka hung her head, the weight of her fears taking its toll. She forced herself to stand, collecting her thoughts before going back to the rec room to face the others.

  When she opened the hatch and looked toward the rec room, her team was waiting without pushing her. Their patience warmed her heart. She stepped over the hatch’s knee-knocker, the lower structure that helped seal the bridge off from the rest of the ship, and joined her team.

  “We are staying on the case and following the leads while Grainger goes to Yoll to talk to the High Chancellor.”

  Red loosened his collar because of a sudden increase in heat.

  Or the perception that it was getting hotter. Jay started to cry, and Tyler was there instantly, draping an arm around her shoulders and helping her to sit down. Floyd raced in and almost knocked her down as she flew into Jay’s chest to nuzzle and comfort her.

  Lindy clenched her jaw and spoke through gritted teeth. “If he's involved in the slave trade, fuck him. If he has any role, I’ll be happy to drag him from his seat of power and throw him on the floor. But as you’ve taught us, Magistrate, we have to assume that he’s innocent. Did you see him take money from slavers or hand over a slave?”

  “I did not,” Rivka confirmed.

  “Then we protect him. Either he’s guilty or not. There is no in-between. We take him down or wish him well on his way.”

  Red looked like a proud father. “What she said,” he added.

  Rivka chuckled.

  “I remember a time not long ago where you said that you would protect me and all the legal stuff was my responsibility.”

  “Times change, but I think you are misremembering. You spoke those words. It was the ‘stay in your landing pattern’ speech,” Red replied. “But we don’t have the luxury of staying in one exhaust manifold. We all have to do each other’s jobs if that’s what it takes to complete the mission.”

  Rivka gave him the side-eye.

  “Mission,” Red enunciated slowly.

  Ankh took a step forward so everyone could hear him. “You get me the names and faces of those Yollin, and I will find where their paths have crossed the High Chancellor’s.”

  Rivka tried to recall their faces to transmit an image to the Crenellian, but too much time had passed. Their faces were no longer clear enough in her mind. “Chaz, take Peacekeeper back to Fenek, best possible speed. Set up a meeting with local law enforcement as soon as we arrive.”

  “I feel much more comfortable this way,” Red said to Lindy. She nodded in agreement as they checked each other over one last time before touchdown. They wore their full ballistic protection and carried railguns, and they were armed with grenades in addition to the maximum load of explosives and ammunition. The bodyguards were geared for war.

  Just in case the Yollins wanted to put up a fight.

  Rivka looked at Tyler and Jay. “Are you sure?”

  Tyler shook his head. “If I were to wait until I was certain, I’d still be back there.” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the rec room. “We’re a team, right?”

  “Don’t get killed,” she warned him.

  He laughed the nervous laugh of someone forced to listen to a tasteless joke. Jay slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll watch your back, Doc.”

  “What’s up with that disappearing?” he asked out of the blue, suddenly interested after forgetting about it with their rapid departure on their previous trip.

  “I can run really fast. You lose sight of me. But I’m not strong like them.” Jay nodded at the Magistrate and her bodyguards. “It’s the nanocytes. Ankh made me special. He wanted to give me something that would work best with my personality. I can’t imagine what I’d use extra strength for, but Ankh—he knows that I would prefer to run away from trouble than fight my way out.”

  “Fire in the hole!” Red called as he mashed the big red button. The hatch opened, and stairs extended. He walked into the daylight, head on a swivel as he took in their surroundings. He breathed deeply, as he always did once outside—a last check of the air before the Magistrate took in a lungful.

  As before, an aerial cab waited at the edge of the parking apron.

  Lindy followed Red and Rivka was close behind, happy to once again be wearing her Magistrate’s jacket. The bistok leather felt good against her skin. She vowed not to waste time going undercover again. Her position was a final arbiter of Justice in a galaxy where perps could disappear at a moment’s notice. And disappear forever.

  She needed to wear the authority of her station. If Justice needed to be administered, she could do it right there. Even given the wisdom of allowing the small crimes that would lead to a kingpin, she still couldn’t do it.

  She would follow the leads generated through her gift, counting on the velocity of their engagements to follow the trail to those worth taking down. She would not just gut the organization, she would put away everyone associated with it.

  That was why she needed the local law enforcement. They would collect the bodies left in her wake.

  I hope you get to the bottom of it, Grainger, she prayed. The last thing the Magistrate wanted was to think of the man she looked up to as corrupt. It had already shaken her confidence in the system.

  Who watches the watchers?

  Why do we do what we do?

  The questions seemed to be linked.

  If they have to watch us, should we be doing what we do? If I didn’t have to answer to the High Chancellor, would I be attentive to the rules?

  Rivka missed the majority of the cab’s flight, snapping back into the moment when they landed.

  “Standard departure and approach,” Red ordered. When it came to the Magistrate’s security, he was in charge. “It’s showtime.”

  He stepped out and made a beeline for the entrance to the law enforcement station. As with most buildings on this part of Fenek Eudoxius, the cab had delivered them to one of a seemingly infinite number of landing pads attached to a massive complex centered on a main skyscraper.

  The others spread around, the dentist bringing up the rear since he wasn’t used to wearing a complete set of body armor and he was more out of shape than he wanted to admit. Jay smiled and motioned for him to catch up. He breathed heavily, willing himself to keep pace.

  Jay winked at him and turned her attention back to the door through which they’d enter. Red was already there and holding it for Lindy to make sure it was safe for the Magistrate to enter. Sounds of a struggle filtered through. Red held out his hand to stop Rivka and ran inside, letting the door close behind him. She turned to see if they could get back to the cab.

  The vehicle had already flown away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Royal City of Khn’Chik on Yoll

  Grainger wasn’t used to waiting in a long line of spaceships to enter the landing pattern. The megacity below was one of many on the system’s central planet. The Yollins had once led a vast empire.

  That was until they met Bethany Anne, the human who would defeat the emperor and unseat the upper class. The system she put in its place grew stronger with each passing day because of the loyalists, those who put honor and Justice before anything else. It was said that the leader only sets the stage. Those who surround them determine what is.

  Or what is not.

  The thought of corruption at the highest levels of the Etheric Federation’s leadership was unfathomable. Grainger had been on the inside before the Rangers were disbanded. He’d seen what it was like, and he’d agreed with their charter back then. He agreed with the Magistrates’ charter now.

  Like the Knights of the Round Table in their service to king and country, Grainger lived to serve, but he dedicated his life’s work to the Queen. As had the High Chancellor.

  “We are fourth in the pattern,” Beau announced. The Frigate’s artificial intelligence flew the ship in addition to handling t
he myriad research and planning tasks Grainger required. Theirs was a mutually beneficial arrangement since Beau liked to travel.

  Had he not liked it, there could have been serious issues because he was integrated with the frigate—a ship without a name, only a number. Lucky number 69 as Grainger would say to snickers and chortles.

  “Do we have what we need to get to the High Chancellor’s office?” Grainger asked.

  “Of course. Your vehicle will be waiting for you the second you disembark. There is room on the High Chancellor’s schedule fifteen minutes after that. Our delay has cut into your transit time, but you should make it.”

  “I should make it,” Grainger emphasized. “But I don’t want to show up completely unannounced. I just want to get this over with. Beau, connect me to the High Chancellor’s assistant.”

  A raspy voice answered almost immediately. “High Chancellor Wyatt’s office, this is Zai’den. How can I help you?”

  “Magistrate Grainger, and I’d like to meet with the High Chancellor as soon as possible.”

  “He is available now. May I share with him your topic?”

  “We’re in the landing pattern. I believe I can be there in about twenty minutes.” Beau flashed green lights to let Grainger know that his estimate was sound. “The topic is a private matter that I can’t discuss over an open channel.”

  “Very well, Master Grainger.”

  “Magistrate...” The line went dead before he could correct the Yollin assistant. Grainger didn’t know why he was uncomfortable dealing with a Yollin assistant to the High Chancellor. They were on Yoll, after all.

  69 touched down, and the door opened to a sunny day. Khn’Chik presented an impressive array of soaring spires and great buildings constructed in such a way as to appear carved from stone. The warmth of the day welcomed him, but he wished it were cooler. The heat bore down on his soul, encouraging the fire he fought to hold back.

  He walked with purpose to the waiting vehicle and climbed in. It took off the moment he was belted in. A quick twelve minutes later, it had parked and discharged its lone passenger. Grainger headed for the main door of the Etheric Federation administrative center, a building capable of housing a thousand personnel performing the necessary functions of running a group that claimed responsibility for a trillion lives.

  The number was nearly incomprehensible. The Magistrates had the inauspicious task of prosecuting criminals who wreaked havoc on the Federation’s ideals, like those who killed ambassadors. Or those who ran the slave trade.

  Once inside, an interactive screen gave Grainger directions to the High Chancellor’s office. He passed through a number of security checkpoints on his way, but when he arrived, he felt like it hadn’t been a burden or harassment. The Yollin guards were professional and polite.

  The executive assistant was the same, asking Grainger if he wanted a cup of tea or a Coke before seeing the High Chancellor. The Magistrate shook his head, the blood pounding in his ears as he prepared to engage his leader on an issue where the only evidence suggested he was corrupt.

  Zai’den opened the door, holding it for Grainger to walk woodenly through and closing it behind him with the finality of a funeral dirge.

  High Chancellor Wyatt smiled pleasantly upon the Magistrate’s arrival. He stood and walked around his desk, hand offered in greeting.

  Grainger shook it but didn’t speak.

  Wyatt assessed the expression on the Magistrate’s face. “What brings you here?” he asked bluntly.

  Grainger thought of ways to obfuscate, of small talk that would take time so he could think of something, but none of it made any sense. He needed it to be over. “Rivka found evidence of you in the company of Yollin slavers...” Grainger didn’t continue. He made no accusation and asked no question. He simply put a fact on the table where they could both look at it.

  The Magistrate smelled sandalwood and the must of old books, even though he could see none as he looked around, wondering about the scent and why it would attract his attention. He met the High Chancellor’s gaze. The older man was waiting for him to turn back so he could look Grainger in the eye.

  “I wondered when she would find out about that,” he started.

  Mecca, Planet Fenek Eudoxius

  Rivka rushed to the closed door and crouched behind it. Jay and Tyler hovered nearby, shielding her from view.

  “Oh, fuck no!” she declared, looking at who she was hiding behind. “Follow me.” She grabbed the door and yanked it open, jumping inside to find a standoff. Three uniformed officers were down, while six more had weapons trained on Lindy and Red, who were standing back to back, aiming their railguns.

  “All right, everyone calm down!” she stated loudly, holding her hands in up what she hoped was the universal gesture for peace.

  “Has anyone ever calmed down because you told them to?” Red mumbled.

  Rivka ignored him. “I’m going to reach into my pocket and pull out my credentials. I’m Magistrate Rivka Anoa, protected under Federation Laws, Appendix D, Chapter Seven, Section 1. I have diplomatic protection, and as such, I rate armed guards at all times. I’m glad no one was shot since I would hate to have to explain why all of you got yourselves killed.”

  “Is this how she defuses a situation?” Tyler whispered to Jay.

  “Pretty much,” the young woman replied out the side of her mouth. They both held their hands in the air, having conceded that they didn’t want to get shot.

  Rivka slowly removed her credentials let them drop open and walked toward the officer wearing the most slashes and badges, assuming him to be the ranking member of the welcoming committee.

  “Put your railguns down, please,” Rivka encouraged Red & Lindy. They exhaled together and stood up straight, letting the business ends of their weapons drop to point at the floor.

  The officers relaxed but maintained their aim.

  “You can see the credentials, so it’s okay if you order your people to stand down. Otherwise, I’m going to have a serious conversation with your superiors. And I will start at the top. I believe you have a president on this planet. I’ll go to his office, and we’ll talk. Or, you could get your shit under control right now, and we’ll call this little misunderstanding concluded.”

  The older Fenek holstered his weapon, and the others followed suit. None of them looked happy, but Rivka couldn’t tell from their humanoid faces. They gave nothing away. She found the small tentacles they sported in lieu of facial hair to be disconcerting.

  “You could have sent a message that you were coming and we would have been expecting you,” the senior officer told her.

  “We did, but only about twenty minutes ago. We need to see your senior commissioner since we are on urgent business.”

  “You can’t see him armed like that.”

  “This again,” Rivka muttered looking over her shoulder at Red. He shook his head. She turned back to the Fenek. “Do you understand the authority of a Magistrate?”

  “I believe I do,” he replied.

  “Then point us in the direction of the commissioner, if you would be so kind. We’re all going. Don’t make me lodge a formal complaint.”

  “They can’t go.” He put his foot down, crossed his arms, and stood in the center of the hallway.

  Rivka removed her datapad. “Your name?”

  “Klavin,” he belted out boldly.

  “Klavin,” she said slowly as she typed it in, then activated the comm link. “Chaz, if you would be so kind, please transmit my disappointment to the president regarding my reception at Law Enforcement Central. Also, attach the name and face you see here as an individual who ordered weapons pointed at me and my security and is currently in violation of Appendix D, Chapter 7, Section 1. Federation agents will be taking him into custody shortly.”

  His expression showed mild amusement.

  The datapad vibrated a few moments later. Rivka looked at the screen. “Mister President,” she greeted with a smile.

  “Please a
ccept my personal apologies, Magistrate Anoa. You’ll be extended every courtesy due your station, and if there is anything I can do to assist in your current case, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you, Mister President. As a matter of fact, I have had no luck convincing Officer Klavin to let me through for my appointment with the commissioner. Maybe you could talk to him.”

  Rivka spun the datapad around and shoved it toward the officer’s face.

  “Mister President,” he stammered.

  “Klavin. You’re embarrassing me and all of Fenek Eudoxius. You will escort the Magistrate everywhere she needs to go to make sure they understand that she’s acting under my personal authority. Do you understand, or do I have to promote someone else in your place?”

  “No, sir!” the officer nearly shouted.

  “Good!” the president declared. Rivka cocked one eyebrow as Klavin, now shaken, handed the datapad over.

  “Please, follow me,” he said, bowing respectfully before angrily motioning for the other officers to go away.

  You’re a genius, Ankh, Rivka relayed using their internal comm. Did you even contact the president?

  No, the Crenellian replied.

  I expect we’ll be finished before anyone suspects anything. We have less than two days to wrap things up.

  My thoughts exactly. Please hurry, Magistrate, Ankh told her.

  Rivka looked troubled as she followed the officer through the corridors to the commissioner’s chamber, a grand and luxurious suite with a small buffet of snacks in the outer office.

  Red eyed the food with limited curiosity. He was still unsure if the locals were friendly or hostile, so he kept his finger alongside the trigger guard on his railgun, his muscles relaxed but ready. He met Lindy’s gaze; she was as taut as a piano wire. Something didn’t smell right, but they didn’t know what it was.

  The Magistrate followed Klavin past the snacks and into the office, motioning for the others to remain behind. Red gritted his teeth and chose to stand next to the door. The officer and the big bodyguard glared at each other until Klavin closed the door in Red’s face. Jay and Tyler sat down on an overstuffed couch and looked bored. Lindy grabbed a snack and stuffed it quickly into her mouth.