“Yvet. You and I are having a heart to heart,” Warlock stated as she closed the distance rapidly. Striker training dictated, when unsure of an opponent’s intentions, you got in attack range fast to prevent them from going on the offensive. But the security Corporal wasn’t going to attack. He lifted his head and with tears pouring down his face, he seemed as vicious as a puppy. “Relax. I didn’t tell the detective about you.”
He exhaled and he slumped back in the chair.
“Your transgressions are not my concern,” Warlock explained while lifting the goggle. She glanced at the sofa and globs of glowing DNA showed the activities of a happy couple. I have to figure out how to turn the UV sensor off, she thought. Then, getting back to the purpose for her visit. “The people paying you are my concern. I know your lady gets the Pesetas and from which firm. Tell me everything you know. And, please, don’t lie.”
“Or you’ll turn me in?” he guessed.
“No, Corporal Yvet,” Warlock promised as she pulled the baton. It extended and, with each click as it telescoped, Yvet flinched. “I’ll hurt you.”
“Honey. Who is she?” stammered his girlfriend storming across the room to stand in front of her man. “What does she want? She can’t just barge into our home.”
“You, sit,” ordered Warlock, pointing to the sofa. Again, her UV beam highlighted the invisible stains. “Gross.”
“Excuse me?” demanded the girl.
“Not you. Please sit down. I need to talk, in peace, with you man,” Warlock stated. Then looking at Yvet while tapping the baton in the palm of her hand, Diosa instructed. “Corporal Yvet, info dump, now.”
“I didn’t think people would die,” he confessed. “It was just looking away when a few packages came in each week. I thought it was contraband.”
“Who approached you?” inquired Warlock.
“It was a member of Klaas Luger’s organization,” Yvet replied. “Everybody does it. It’s dangerous not to go along with their suggestions. Are you sure you want to get involved with Luger?”
“Klaas and I have an agreement,” Warlock answered. “He doesn’t pee in my soup and I don’t remove his heart. A gentlemen’s agreement, if you know what I mean.”
Yvet’s eyes got large as did the girl’s. It seemed Klaas Luger had the entire Orbital Station living in fear. Walden was correct, he should be in jail.
“But Luger isn’t paying you in bundles of cash, is he?” prompted Warlock.
“That’s how they usually do it. But in this case, I was told to buy a stock, and every month, we’d get dividends,” he reported while looking at the girl. “But the cash isn’t coming from Luger.”
“Really? How do you know?” asked Warlock.
“I’m a Corporal with Station security,” Yvet said letting a little pride slipped into his voice. “I followed the thug to another office right after I agreed to the deal. Harris Real Estate is paying me.”
“How can you make that connection?” asked a puzzled Warlock.
“The payments come from Katrijn Financial and Harris Real Estate is a subsidy of Katrijn Industries,” Yvet announced with a smiled. “I researched it.”
The look on Warlock’s face must have confused the security Corporal.
“I guess you want me to turn myself in and help the authorities,” he offered. “Can we keep my fiancé out of this?”
The girlfriend reached over, took Yvet’s hand and squeezed it.
“How long do you think you or your girl will live if you become a witness?” inquired Warlock.
“Truthfully, not long,” he replied.
“Then, let me handle it,” Warlock advised as she moved towards the door. “Do not tell anyone about our conversation. Understand?”
Both nodded their agreement as the Striker walked out of the door.
‘New subject. Harris Real Estate,’ Warlock typed to Walden as she strolled down the hallway.
‘What no cleaners?’ he teased.
‘Not yet. Enyd Maraike?’ she sent back.
‘I’ve exhausted my search on Orbital,’ he replied. ‘Looking at shuttle departures.’
‘Keep me posted. I’m retiring for the night,’ she typed. ‘Please bother me if you find anything.’
‘Waiting for the appropriate time isn’t one of my strong points.’
‘I’ve noticed,’ Warlock sent as she stepped into the lift.
***
Retired Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich tossed and turned. Her mind troubled by the appearance of Katrijn Industries at the bottom of every lead. Was it treason? The motivation for bombing Orbital Station seemed like pure terrorism. Yet the Pesetas thrown around far exceeded any benefit reaped by the Empress’ Royal Constabulary or her fanatics. Even the start of her investigation didn’t add up. The value of ships and cargo captured by pirates, whether they worked with the Empress or were freebooters, wasn’t enough to cover the setup cost.
With her mind circling the words Constabulary, pirates and Katrijn Industries, she finally dozed off. At zero three thirty hours, Diosa’s PID buzzed.
‘Make yourself decent Unrestricted Agent,’ Walden sent. ‘Breakfast in 5.’
A knock at the door sent her scrambling to pull on a pair of trousers and a tee shirt.
“That wasn’t five minutes,” Warlock observed as she opened the door.
“Good morning Warlock,” Walden announced as he wheeled in a cart. “I meant five seconds. Hope you’re hungry. I’ve brought eggs, ham, fried potatoes, an assortment of breads and lots of fresh fruit. Enjoy it while you can.”
“While I can?” inquired Diosa.
“I have news, reports and conjecture,” Walden explained. “We’ll discuss them as we eat. The Talon launches at eleven hundred hours.”
“Are we going somewhere?” inquired Warlock as she lifted the cover off a dish.
“I’ve tracked Enyd Maraike, although she is traveling under Enyd Kealan. We are going after her,” Walden exclaimed. “She must have used a fingerprint glove when she arrived at Orbital. Last month, she might have bribed someone to let her leave unregistered for a day excursion. Then she came back without the glove so Enyd Kealan could arrive. That’s when Kealan appeared in the Station’s records. And now, Kealan has departed and Maraike has vanished.”
“That’s not the moves of an amateur,” ventured Warlock. “And only local security is looking for Enyd Maraike. They’re not convinced she wasn’t swept into space with the wreckage.”
“Exactly. Not amateur moves. By the way, Special Agent Eiko is very happy with our reports on Katrijn Industries,” Walden added.
“That’s the direction I’d like to go in,” suggested Warlock.
“Eiko said stay on Enyd. However, I’m about to add fuel to your passion for the organization with two conjectures,” offered Walden. “At the time of the bombing there was a party on the level. A big bash for managers from several departments. They all died. Based on the timing, someone wanted to replace the heads of a number of divisions.”
“That’s a stretch. I assumed Enyd set the bomb because of our investigation,” Warlock said.
“Sorry to puncture your ego but Emil had been interviewed by agency investigators before,” Walden informed her. “Although none came away with as much information. Emil Maraike was a test case for you. The timing is also the reason for my second guess.”
“I was being tested?” Warlock pondered then stated. “It makes sense seeing as I’ve never had any training to be an agent. What’s your other observation about Katrijn Industries?”
“As I said, it concerns the timing. In this case, the post explosion timing,” Walden reported. “Three hours after, Harris Real Estate made offers to the survivors and the next of kin to purchase all the condos. And at a higher than market return.”
“It’s called taking advantage of a disaster. In the Strikers, if an enemy has a problem, we exploit it,” replied Warlock. “In war or business, you always look for an advantage. Why should this be any differen
t?”
“Because they have only offered the properties to a select number of people,” Walden said with a smirk. “It took a lot of research and hacking to uncover the names.”
“And who are the lucky owners of prime real estate on Orbital Station?” inquired Warlock.
“The new department heads being hired to replace those killed in the explosion,” Walden explained.
“Someone is spending a lot of Pesetas to garner favor with the new division managers,” ventured Warlock.
“Or taking care of important people loyal to Katrijn Industries,” suggested Walden. “By creating vacancies and offering housing.”
***
The Talon eased out of the dock and the sled moved to the launch tube.
“Orbital control, ready for launch,” Walden called as he poured power into the internal drive. The spaceship lifted from the sled.
“Talon, move to the second air curtain,” a voice directed.
Once in the dark, they waited for flight control to scan the ship for loose parts and the launch tube for foreign objects.
“Talon, you are cleared for launch,” control radioed.
“Orbital flight control, The Talon is entering the pattern,” Walden replied.
“Talon is entering the pattern,” control confirmed.
The internal ion cannons rattled up and the ship eased towards the third air curtain.
“Buckled in?” the pilot asked.
“Buckled in, Poet,” Warlock said from the deck beside the raised pilot seat.
“Internal drive,” he announced while applying power to the ion wall.
Through a forward-facing view screen, Warlock watched as the third curtain parted and a small dot of light appeared directly ahead of them. As if looking down a long cone, the circle of light looked too small to allow passage of the spaceship. Walden slammed power to the ion wall, the rattling reached a crescendo, and they shot up the launch tube and through the circle.
“Flight control, The Talon reporting a good launch,” Walden announced keeping the power levels high. Minutes later, he advised. “Leaving Orbital Station flight pattern.”
“Talon leaving flight pattern,” flight control repeated then added. “Safe travels.”
A short time later, Walden brought the internal drive to maximum and engaged the exterior. Yellow ions burst from the nose and wrapped back until the entire ship was enveloped. Then the half patrol boat became a yellow comet that shot away from Orbital Stations.
“Most pilots need to adjust for their heading before going to external drive,” commented Warlock.
“I’m not most pilots,” Walden said looking down from the pilot seat with a smile on his face. “I’ve prepared a dossier on Enyd Kealan but you have plenty of time to study it.”
“What’s out destination?”
“Next stop, Salvage Moon.”
Chapter – 12 Salvage Moon
As the Great Schism ratcheted down to the Empress’ fort on Planet Tres, most of her Navy ships surrendered. A few didn’t. Captain Chulpan of the Royal Constabulary took his ship and crew and began a new mission. Rather than fight for the Empress’ glory, they fought for themselves. Pesetas, ransoms, seized cargo and prize vessels became their calling.
After a few months of sloops and small transports, they came upon a convoy with two Galactic Council Navy escorts and three Clipper Ships with merchandise laden cargo sleeves. The convoy was hauling some of the first goods to cross the sector since the war receded.
“Torpedoes on the first GCN and guns only on GCN Two,” Captain Chulpan directed from the bridge of his light cruiser.
“Only two torpedoes left in our stores,” his weapon’s officer announced. “Are you sure?”
“We need the number two Galactic Council Navy ship intact,” Chulpan replied. “With one gone, we’ll have time to cripple the other. Once we take a transport or two, we’ll return and relieve him of his weapons.”
“Aye, Captain. On your command,” the weapon’s officer reported.
“Navigation. Five minutes on external drive,” Chulpan directed. “Put us beside GCN Two.”
“All hands stand by for exterior evaluation in thirty seconds,” the announcement went out ship wide.
A figure jogged onto the bridge, his uniform wrinkled and stained with grease.
“You have three healthy patrol boats, Captain,” Commander Datu Maricor stated as he walked to stand beside his Captain.
“Excellent news, XO,” Chulpan acknowledged. “We’ve some business ahead. I had planned on one transport but, with the assets repaired, we might as well take all three.”
“We’ll be spread mighty slim,” commented the ship’s Executive Officer. “We’re down to half the ship’s compliment.”
“More profit for each of us,” Chulpan said.
Then the Constabulary light cruiser became surrounded with blue ions and they were blind. Five minutes later, as the ions cleared, the Captain began issuing orders.
“Torpedoes away. Guns, I need that ship stopped but not undamaged,” Chulpan commanded. “Launch the patrol boats.”
As the bridge bristled with activity, the Captain sat quietly keeping an eye on the two Galactic Council escort ships.
“Two missiles inbound,” Combat Control Center reported.
“What’s the status on our torpedoes?” he asked.
“On target, Captain. GCN One took time to launch instead of dodging,” the weapons’ officer observed.
“Evasive maneuvers, sir?” asked the helm requesting permission to move away from the Galactic Council Navy escort.
“No. We’ll take the hits. Guns, stay on GCN Two,” Chulpan reminded his battery crews. The light cruiser shook from the explosions. “Commander Maricor. Go see if you can keep us flight worthy, one more time.”
“On it, Captain,” the XO said as he ran off the bridge.
“Sir, all three transports have dropped power. They are yours, Captain,” Combat Control reported. “And GCN Two has asked for terms of surrender.”
“A clean sweep, sir,” navigation congratulated the former Constabulary officer.
“We are cursed with an abundance of riches,” Chulpan whispered. Then out loud, “Have the gunships turn the transports and head them the other way. Be sure GCN Two has a good look at the direction.”
“You want them to track us?” inquired the weapon’s officer.
“The best way to throw the Galactic Council Navy off our trail is to give them a false heading,” Chulpan explained. “Get me prize crews to the launch tubes. Have the gunships fly them to the transports while the Clippers are under our missiles and torpedoes.”
“Need I remind you, we don’t have any missiles or torpedoes, sir,” weapons commented.
“I know that. You know that. But they don’t,” replied Captain Chulpan. “Send the patrol boats to the Galactic Council Navy ship after they drop the prize crews. Our terms are simple. We want their munitions in exchange for their lives.”
“They’ve already begun sending a distress signal,” Combat Control reported.
“Then we had better find a way to hurry them up,” Chulpan said. “Put a few rounds in their bridge to encourage their cooperation.”
***
The three Clipper Ships and the damaged Constabulary cruiser maintained a heading away from the crippled Galactic Council Navy vessel. They even did a timed exterior evaluation before dropping out of it to make turns taking them off the track and into the Uno sector.
“We’ve scavenged everything we can to make repairs,” Commander Maricor reported two weeks later. “But our port aft, where the missiles hit, is as thin as a serving tray. Anything coming from that direction will punch through and you’ll lose the ion wall. We need more material and access to the exterior plating.”
“I’ll keep the enemy on our starboard side,” Chulpan assured his XO. “But you’re correct, we do need a place to lay low and make repairs.”
“There’s a big moon far out of
the shipping lanes, Captain,” navigation informed him. “We’ll need to adjust our course, but there’s nothing around it for almost four million kilometers.”
“At our next evaluation, alert the clippers and set a heading for the moon,” Chulpan ordered. Then to the XO asked, “How about we strip plating from a clipper? Will that work for our hull repairs?”
“We’ll have to skin it to create layers of plating. If you don’t care about the prize vessel, it’ll work, sir,” Datu Maricor explained. “She wouldn’t be livable or flight worthy enough to hold orbit.”
“Land the shell of the clipper and the cargo sleeve on the moon,” Chulpan suggested. “We’ll use a shuttle to retrieve the cargo later.”
“That may work,” Datu agreed.
***
The large moon blocked off a section of space. As an early warning system, Chulpan stationed a patrol boat far out on that side and another at the pole of the moon to relay messages. Then he launched three shuttles to begin stripping one of the clippers. Commander Datu Maricor accompanied the crews so he could direct the work.
Chulpan relaxed in his quarters going over the merchandise in the three captured cargo sleeves. It was a good haul and would please the crew. Most were still loyal to the Empress but were sensible enough not to want to join their brothers and sisters in her fortress. The Pesetas would help alleviate their guilt.
“Captain to the bridge,” Combat Control called.
Chulpan maintained his calm on the outside, but inside his gut turned over.
“Report,” he ordered as he marched onto the bridge.
“Our sentry gunboat has spotted a Galactic Council Navy signature, a big one, sir” communications replied.
“How big?” Chulpan inquired as he settled into his captain’s chair.
Op File Treason Page 8