She gagged and covered her mouth, depositing the ill-advised treat in the trash.
Red looked at her questioningly.
“They weren’t chocolate chips.”
Finally, Red lightened up as he continued to lean against the door, trying to hear what was happening beyond, but it was too stout. He could hear nothing.
“Welcome, Magistrate Anoa. I wish we would have known you were coming to avoid any unpleasantness. We apologize profusely for any discomfort we caused you.”
“We notified you. I have no idea what your people did with the notification once it was transmitted. I would have thought Mecca would be more efficient.” She let that rest with him, but he didn’t squirm. He sat stoically, as if it were business as usual.
“I didn’t see your request, so you’ll have to tell me what you are here for. I appreciate your patience and understanding,” he replied smoothly.
She was happy that he didn’t blame any of his people, especially since she hadn’t sent a request.
So much bluffing on this case, but if slave traders have their tentacles in the highest levels of the government, no one is above suspicion.
No one.
“We have evidence suggesting that traffickers are using Fenek Eudoxius as a hub through which to bring in sentient capital and then export those victims to Corran. There are a couple Yollins that I am particularly interested in finding.”
“We have a large population of Yollins, so much so that they have their own security element. If you give us the names of those under investigation, we’ll forward that information to the appropriate group.”
“I don’t have their names or pictures. I only have their faces in my mind. They were last seen in the Balurian sector of the city.”
“That’s not much to go on. What are you really after, Magistrate?” The commissioner leaned forward, elbows on his desk and fingers steepled before him.
“I want the kingpin, and I believe he or she is here.”
“That’s a bold claim, Magistrate, and it doesn’t sound like you have the evidence to support it. A hunch?”
“A good hunch. We’ve intercepted people coming here as well as leaving here. They suicided rather than talk to us. Forensic analysis of their ships provided us with almost no data.”
“Almost. What did you find?” he asked, appearing to take an interest.
“An entity named Ch'ta'ka,” Rivka revealed.
The commissioner accessed his system to input the name. A few moments later, he returned his attention to Rivka. “It appears this Ch'ta'ka is a person of interest to us as well.”
“I would love to talk to him.”
“It is in hiding, but rest assured, should it show its face, we’ll be there.” The commissioner didn’t sound convincing.
“I have the best digital analysts in the ‘verse on my ship. Please send me any details you have on this individual, and my guy will be able to find it. What race is it, by the way?”
“Ch'ta'ka is an Auroran, one of the exoskeleton-type species. Similar to a Yollin, but without the mandibles.”
The commissioner focused his attention on his screen. Rivka leaned forward as if trying to see, reaching under the desk to hold Ankh’s disc as close to the computer as possible. The screen flashed and returned to normal. The commissioner paused with his hands in the air.
Rivka froze, slowly palming the disc to secret it away.
“I swear, so much for newfangled electronics. If I touch it, it breaks. Maybe it’s a gift.” He chuckled and poked a few more commands into his computer.
“Let me look at my pad and see if the information has gone through.” The Magistrate dropped the disc into the inside pocket as she retrieved her datapad and tapped a quick note to Ankh.
I have it all, he replied.
“He’s on it now, Commissioner. I can’t thank you enough. I believe Klavin has been assigned to escort me?”
“So I hear,” the commissioner conceded. “Whatever you need, let him know, and he’ll take care of it. How many days are you going to be here?”
“I think hours is the right answer. I have an appointment on Corran that I cannot be late for. A human’s life hangs in the balance,” she noted, giving him extra information to earn his trust.
“Just one human?”
“She is the way through the barrier blocking us from a non-Federation planet. Through her, we can remove a major supplier of potential victims. All sentient species who have been sold into slavery will benefit from this one Federation citizen. The dominos will fall quickly when the correct first one is toppled.” Rivka leaned back in her seat.
Her datapad buzzed, notifying her that Ankh had two potential locations. “Shall we go talk to Ch’ta’ka?” she asked.
The commissioner was confused. He canted his head and gave her a blank look.
“We have two potential locations, both of which border the Yollin district within the Balurian sector. Data suggests both sites are active right now. The quicker we move, the quicker we’ll be able to get our answers and get out of your hair—I mean tentacles.”
“We call them ‘hair,’ for your reference.” The commissioner smiled. “Give me the addresses. Klavin, go with the Magistrate to the other. Take a couple of officers with you, and I’ll send an ORT to the second location.”
“ORT?” Rivka wondered, showing Klavin on her datapad which address had the higher probability of containing the Auroran and his Yollin lackeys.
“Outlaw Recovery Team,” Klavin said before giving the second address to the commissioner.
He tapped his interface and spoke softly toward his input device. “You better hurry. The ORT will deploy in less than two minutes. They are highly disciplined and well-trained.” The commissioner waved as Rivka jumped from her seat and headed for the door, opening it for Klavin to rush out.
“The game is afoot!” Rivka cried triumphantly before she ran after the officer. The others were up in an instant and sprinting behind her.
“I guess you have a lead?” the dentist asked, taking a breath after every two words. “You weren’t kidding. We are running!”
Jay laughed and hooked an arm under the dentist’s to help him pick up the pace.
“We might get the Yollins and Ch’ta’ka all at one time,” Rivka called over her shoulder.
Chapter Fourteen
The Royal City of Khn’Chik on Yoll
Grainger nervously chewed the inside of his lip. He was in no hurry to push the High Chancellor. The older man sat down in his chair, dignity intact, shoulders back and head held high.
“There was a time not long ago that I fancied myself the equal of Magistrates.” He stopped to fix Grainger with his piercing eyes. To Grainger’s credit, he didn’t flinch or succumb to the pressure. He simply waited. Behind his calm exterior, his mind raced. He came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do besides ask questions to understand.
“The slave trade didn’t start here, but Yoll sure as hell didn’t discourage it. But I believed that there was a hierarchy. I thought I would work my way to the top and take it down. You know how you do that?”
Grainger wasn’t comfortable speaking since he didn’t know where the High Chancellor was going, so he simply shook his head.
“You start at the bottom and get cozy with the lackeys, but I’m High Chancellor Wyatt! I don’t start at the bottom.” The older man hammered his fist into his hand and gritted his teeth. “They played me for the fool I was. I backed out, but not before they’d already gotten plenty of pictures. They laughed at me—and I deserved it.”
“I can’t believe you let them blackmail you,” Grainger blurted before he could catch himself. He took a deep breath and forced himself to sit back. Somewhere outside the window, a siren blared.
“They never played that card. I sensed it was coming, which was why Rivka got handed this case. Only through serendipity did she find that human woman on Corran. That opened the gates through which we can pour resources.�
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“I didn’t see any additional resources allocated to this case.” Grainger groaned and stared at the wall.
“Don’t feel bad, Magistrate Grainger. Verify what I’m telling you. General Reynolds has increased his engagement to get Corran to join the Federation. He’s going to kill the slave trade from that side, while Rivka kills it on our side.”
“Then you’ll be free, and no one will know what you did?” Grainger didn’t want to accuse the High Chancellor, but he did it anyway.
Wyatt didn’t answer. He mirrored Grainger’s expression, an interrogation technique to put the opposite party at ease.
“Did any of your actions result in the illegal detention and transport of an unwilling party?”
“Did I break the law?” the High Chancellor clarified. “Not as far as I know.”
Grainger relaxed, sighing in relief.
“What do they have on you? Are you compromised?”
High Chancellor Wyatt stood, straightened his jacket, and strolled to the window with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked out for a long while. Grainger considered joining him so they could look outside while talking instead of at each other.
Grainger was used to questioning suspects, but he couldn’t look at the High Chancellor as a suspect or a victim.
“I am an old man who has done this job for too many years to count. But I still love it. I love the effect that good laws have on a society. A better understanding of the boundaries means fewer people inadvertently violate them. We only want to invest our time dealing with real criminals. Those who refuse to be constrained by societal norms. Those we would call psychopaths. They are the ones we need to address. The traffickers? The ones we see are the mules—the hired muscle. We want the ones paying their salaries. Those are the ones we don’t see, and we have to go in after them and dig them out.”
Wyatt turned, his expression grimly determined.
“Those are the ones we must judge and sanction. They cannot be allowed to breathe the same air as free men.”
Grainger nodded slowly. “What’s next, High Chancellor?”
“I’m going back in as their lackey, but this time you’ll be watching, and with our trusty security force, rolling up everyone in the organization. We’ll flush the bastards into the open because we’ll eliminate their workers. They’ll have to come into the light to recruit new hands. If we chase them off Yoll, all the better.”
“What’s going to make this time different?” Grainger wondered.
“This time there won’t be hesitation or pandering. This time I’m going to clean house.” The High Chancellor cracked his knuckles.
“We,” Grainger corrected.
Balurian Sector, Mecca, Planet Fenek Eudoxius
Peacekeeper raced in, flaring in a stomach-lurching maneuver before touching down with the door open and stairs extending in a single motion. Klavin ran off first, with Rivka and her team following closely behind.
All the buildings were massive structures. Residences were apartments within them. Some had gardens and greenery integrated into the buildings, making it appear as if they were more than a building. Artistic illusion; a designer’s sleight of hand.
It was a concrete jungle, a massive city designed to be convenient for those who lived within it. Gardens and parks gave the appearance of being one with nature, and the residents were happy. It gave them what they needed. Work. Fulfillment. Entertainment. Friends a short ride away. The like-minded congregated in certain areas, and those sections of the city became known for the alien majorities who lived there.
Like where they were headed. Klavin referred to it as Yollin Town. Specialty shops catered to those from Yoll. Housing was made to look like that in the megacities of the home planet.
Aliens gravitated toward their own to ease the transition from their homeworlds to a new planet. After being in Mecca for a while, many moved into higher-class areas, integrating with the general population. No one cared if a Yollin lived next to a Fenek, who lived next to a human.
Everyone lived for the opportunity to better the lives of their families.
Until someone like Ch’ta’ka tore someone away and sold them into slavery. The unwitting believed that their service would relieve the burden on their family. They didn’t know that the burden was created by those who would exploit them.
“This individual has a lot to answer for,” Rivka mumbled. Klavin entered the main door and took a hard turn into one of four corridors. He acted like he knew where he was going.
Red was immediately on high alert, scanning the walls for any kind of sign that would indicate where the target residence was located. He found nothing. Two more sharp turns later, Klavin pointed. Rivka closed with him and grabbed his arm.
“How did you know where this place was?” she demanded.
“All buildings have the same numbering design, right to left, small to large, fractions of the total units within a building. First number is the floor,” he explained with a shrug, looking pointedly at her hand.
She sensed no deception. “I’m sorry. This whole thing has me on edge.” She let go and held her hands up. She nodded to Red and Lindy to let them know it was okay. They visibly relaxed but maintained vigil with their railguns pointed at the walls.
Officer Klavin saw Rivka look at the bodyguards. “You probably shouldn’t fire those in here. No matter which way you fire, there will always be someone behind them. This is a rather large city, and we are surrounded by millions of beings,” he explained, not sounding demeaning. He didn’t want any collateral damage. No one wanted to hurt an innocent.
Red and Lindy slung their railguns and hoisted their hand blasters. The entire process took no more than two seconds.
Rivka appreciated the professionals on her team. Jay and the dentist stood farther back, choosing to stay out of the way but being there in case they needed Jay’s speed or Tyler’s medical skill. The Magistrate carried Reaper in her hand. She wasn’t going to let anyone get away. Better for her to lose the ability to interrogate them than let a trafficker run free.
The lawyer in her was appalled. She had no evidence that Ch’ta’ka was a slaver. She knew the two Yollins were players in the game. She needed to know where they stood, and wanted to talk to anyone in their company.
Ankh had given this address a higher than ninety percent probability that they would find Ch’ta’ka. She hadn’t shared that tidbit with the commissioner, but it didn’t matter. They would bracket the suspects and bring them in.
Then she would do her thing.
Klavin stood outside the door with an officer’s master pass in his hand. With it, he could open any door in the city. When the team nodded that they were ready, he waved it in front of the keypad.
Nothing happened. He tapped it and pushed. The door remained closed. “That’s illegal!” he stated as he looked dumbly at the pad.
Red fired one round into the locking mechanism and followed by lunging forward and driving his foot into the door. It squealed and twisted, but it didn’t burst open. It took a second kick to widen the gap enough for Klavin to squeeze through, with Rivka close behind him. Lindy squirmed after them, almost getting stuck. Red attacked the door with his shoulder, but it would open no farther.
“Halt!” Klavin bellowed at the Aurorans within. “In the name of Meccan Law Enforcement, you will freeze!”
That only energized those inside to step up their efforts to be in any other room than where they were. Rivka sprinted across the open space toward the one who looked to be in charge. Someone fired a weapon, and two quick rounds cracked past Rivka’s head and slammed into the chest carapace of an Auroran with a hand blaster. One round thudded hard against a heavy ridge in the shell, while the other found a softer spot. Black ichor spilled from the hole as the shooter fell. More shots thundered within the confines of the apartment.
Klavin never drew his weapon. He dodged and seized two who were trying to squeeze through a door at the same time. He smashed their hea
ds together, demonstrating an uncanny, nearly nanocyte-driven power.
Rivka dragged her target to the deck. He struggled for only a moment, but he had landed on his face and the Magistrate had his arms pinned. “Where’s Ch’ta’ka?”
She was rewarded by the image of the Auroran on the floor.
“Got him,” she announced, ducking to stay out of the line of fire, but one, two, and then a third round slammed into her body armor. With an adrenaline-fueled fury, she lifted Ch’ta’ka and threw him to the side, following him to pin him in a corner, away from the lines of fire.
Klavin was against the opposite wall, holding his side where the light red blood of his species covered his hand and dripped to the floor. Lindy was crouched behind a chair and fired regularly to throw off their attackers’ aim.
With a primal scream, Red burst through the door, rolled his railgun off his shoulder, and standing in the open, snapped three shots at the figures trying to hide. The hypervelocity darts exploded through the Aurorans’ natural armor, spraying clouds of black lifeblood on the far wall. The darts embedded, not having enough remaining energy to penetrate. Red slung his weapon while he bolted forward. Pointing at the right door, he plunged through the one on the left.
Lindy followed him and his signal, cutting through the doorway on the right.
“Clear!” Red called.
“Runners! And they’re Yollins,” Lindy yelled back as her footsteps pounded away.
“Mine,” Jay said, and disappeared. Tyler hurried to Klavin’s side and urged him to sit.
“I don’t know your anatomy. Do you have any organs in this area?” the dentist asked.
“Only important ones,” he gasped, his breathing growing more ragged with each passing heartbeat.
“How do I call for emergency help?”
“I’m linked to the station. They should already know I’m in distress,” he answered, despite the pain it caused him to speak. The doc put pressure on the wound, but the bleeding didn’t slow. “Cauterize.”
Slave Trade Page 13