Peacekeeper 2

by Doug Farren

  They were in an adjacent room used to monitor the psychiatric patients the hospital occasionally dealt with. Monder, dressed in a totally white outfit, was visible on the main monitor. His vital signs, transmitted by the sensors built into his clothing, were displayed on a group of smaller screens to the left.

  “I’d like to try to talk to him,” Tom said.

  “Good luck. The psychologist said he could be that way for weeks. There’s a recorder running in the room in case he does say something.”

  Tom opened the door and stepped inside. Monder sat in a comfortable chair facing the window. A small bed occupied the far corner of the room with a bare writing desk positioned next to it. Tom pulled the chair out from under the desk and slid it over so he could sit down facing Monder. The survivor did not acknowledge his presence. Looking at Monder’s face, Tom could tell that his eyes were unfocused and his mind seemed to be somewhere else.

  “My name is Tom Wilks,” he introduced himself after a full minute of silence. “I was involved in your rescue. You’re very lucky to be alive.”

  Tom paused, hoping for some kind of a response. A tear formed in the corner of Monder’s left eye and rolled down his cheek following the path of others that had come before. It hung on his chin for a moment merging with another that had been hanging there then fell onto his shirt. Based on the size of the wet spot it had fallen into, he had been crying for a long time.

  Standing up, Tom put his hand on Monder’s shoulder. “You’re safe now,” he tried a different tact. “Someone will be watching this room around the clock. If you need anything, just ask.”

  Outside the room, Tom looked at Lashpa and shook his head. Lashpa’s tail was twitching and he could tell she must have received some bad news. “My supervisor just told me they pulled the ship’s manifest. Monder’s wife and newborn son were on that ship. They were coming here for a vacation.”

  “And now they’re dead,” Tom said, his heart reaching out for the man in the other room. “Who the hell attacked that ship?”

  “I would like to know the answer to that question as well,” Lashpa replied. Turning her great head so she could look him in the eye, she asked, “Would you like to cancel our trip?”

  As much as he wanted to become involved in the investigation, Tom knew that canceling the trip to Fanish would devastate Lashpa. Scratching the side of her jaw, he shook his head and said, “No. An investigation team has already been assigned and we have very important business to conduct on Fanish.”

  Chapter 10

  Shandarian: Nearly identical to Terrans except the nose and mouth are considerably smaller. They are double jointed at the elbows and knees. Their eyelids move horizontally. Many Terrans have a hard time figuring out Shandarian social customs because they appear to be in conflict with one another. They value each other’s personal space and privacy yet they don’t like to be alone. Shandarian men and women do not form marriages and romantic love does not seem to be part of their psychological makeup. Both sexes are free to mate with whoever fancies them. But, while rearing a child, both parents become so attached to each other that being separated for any length of time is almost painful. Shandarians enjoy sex for the pleasure it brings and actively seek out encounters with each other. Because they do not form romantic attachments, jealousy is an unknown emotion in Shandarian society. Shandarians and Terrans are sexually compatible but cannot produce children together.

  “My supervisor has granted me an unrestricted leave of absence,” Lashpa announced.

  Tom finished chewing his fried rice before replying, “Since your supervisor is Rouldian I didn’t expect that to be an issue. If she had been from another race I’m not sure she would have understood.”

  “I agree,” she replied. She grabbed a large, wriggling fish out of a shallow bowl and dropped the entire thing in her mouth. There was a dull pop and a crunching sound as she bit down and chewed.

  They were sitting in a private booth inside a restaurant not far from the starport. Most establishments that served multiple species had such booths out of respect for their clients. Many people found the eating habits of other species to be disgusting. Lashpa had once told Tom that the smell of cooked meat was nearly enough to make her gag.

  Tom maneuvered his vegetable fried rice into a more compact pile then scooped it up with his fork. After swallowing, he asked, “Did you know that over the past two years, three other ships have disappeared within 50 light years of here?”

  “That’s an interesting statistic,” Lashpa replied. “My ship tells me they were all civilian ships.”

  Tom nodded. “Cargo ships. No passengers,” Tom clarified. “The Spirondak is apparently the first cargoliner to be lost.”

  Lashpa had been about to grab another fish but changed her mind. Putting her wet hand on the table she said, “A team of peacekeepers has been assigned to investigate this incident and are on their way here. They’re aware of the other disappearances. My ship has all the data that has been compiled so far. Would you like to see it?”

  Tom set his fork down. “Certainly.”

  Responding to a command via her biolink, Lashpa’s ship—the Krish—established a tight link with the Orion. Working together, the two AIs created something only peacekeepers could experience. Taking control of their cybernetic eyes, the two ships simultaneously generated the image of a star map causing it to appear as if it was floating over the table. If anyone else had been in the room, they would have seen nothing. Four blue lines appeared along with descriptive icons identifying the different courses followed by the four missing vessels.

  Reaching across the table, Lashpa grabbed the image and rotated it. Her ship provided tactile feedback allowing her to feel as if she was manipulating an actual physical object.

  “I don’t see any pattern,” she said.

  Both of their biolinks responded, providing them with additional information. In a matter of moments, both Tom and Lashpa learned that a weak pattern had indeed been discovered. The first three cargo ships had last stopped at one of two planets, both known primarily for being exporters of food. The cargoliner bound for Glish didn’t fit this pattern. However, Glish is a major importer of food and the cargoliner was carrying a significant load of perishable items from its last port of call.

  “They think someone’s attacking ships to get food?” Tom asked. “That’s nuts! Who would do such a thing?”

  “It’s not a strong correlation,” Lashpa replied. “But it is an interesting statistical result of the analysis that’s been completed to date.”

  Tom shook his head. “It just doesn’t make any sense though. Food is plentiful. You can buy a hell of a lot of it for what you would pay for a ship. If you can afford to buy a ship, you damn well can afford to buy food! They must be missing something.”

  “That’s why the team is on the way here. Hopefully, they’ll be able to get some information from Elith Monder.”

  Tom reached into the star field, hooked his fingers and pulled, expanding the view. Using a finger, he traced the path of one of the ships. “There has to be some logical explanation.”

  “None of the ships have ever been found,” Lashpa repeated aloud information that Tom already knew. “With no debris to examine, it’s difficult to postulate a cause. I would assume the investigative team will consider all possibilities. There’s even a reference to the possibility of piracy.”

  Tom swept his arm through the star map causing it to vanish. “Piracy! Now you’re really going out on a limb.”

  “It was only one of several ideas that have been proposed. You should review the information.”

  “I’m not as adept as you are when it comes to doing two things at once,” Tom admitted. “You’ve probably been digesting the contents of their research while we’ve been talking–haven’t you?”

  Lashpa’s head tilted. “Of course I have. Elith Monder is the only known person to have been found following a disappearance. He’s a vital link into establishing a cause for these
attacks.”

  “I asked the Orion about that on the way here. Shandarians who’ve experienced a severe traumatic shock often develop a sort of mental block against the memory. Odds are that he will never be able to remember anything about his experience.”

  “But the memory is still there,” Lashpa argued. She pushed her bowl of fish to the side and dipped her hands into another filled with water. She continued as she dried them with a towel. “There must be a way of getting him to remember.”

  “It might also cause permanent psychological damage.”

  “I’m sure they will be- - -” Lashpa’s final word was lost in the sound of dishes crashing to the floor.

  “Dammit Dan!” someone yelled loud enough to be heard throughout most of the restaurant.

  “Not again,” Lashpa said, throwing her towel on the table and exiting their booth.

  Curious, Tom followed her into the restaurant. A server stood in the middle of the main dining area, the front of his shirt covered in a greenish sauce. A pile of broken dishes and spilled food littered the floor. A large plate of steaming meat had landed on a table occupied by a Shandarian woman and a Terran male.

  The woman, dressed in a bikini that revealed more than it covered, was holding her hands in the air and looking down at her lap. Her shirtless companion had grabbed a napkin and was in the process of wiping something off her exposed stomach. A second server was sitting on the floor, his pants covered in green sauce and a stunned look on his face. The man sitting at the table stood up so fast his chair toppled to the floor behind him. His face was red with rage.

  “I’m going to kick- - -”

  “Sit down!” Lashpa’s vocoder, set to high volume, interrupted.

  The man looked at Laspha, then back at Dan, then turned back to Lashpa and said, “I want him arrested for assault. He- - -”

  “Thish-my-table,” Dan yelled, nearly falling over with the effort, his words running together as if his brain was unable to separate them. Putting his hand out in order to maintain his balance he ended up grabbing the top of the server’s hair.

  “Ow! You son of a- - -” the server lashed out at Dan’s arm, knocking it away along with some of his hair.

  Tom quickly made his way to the scene and wrapped his arms around Dan. “Hey!” he yelled as he struggled to free himself. “I own this place and that’s my table.”

  The chemical sensors built into Tom’s nose identified several types of intoxicants, most notably alcohol. Lashpa approached and positioned her head until it was less than a centimeter from Dan’s face. A low, rumbling growl came from deep within her throat.

  Dan immediately stopped struggling, looked down at the floor, and said, “Oh. Hi Lashpa. I’m sh…I’m sh…sorry.”

  A pair of uniformed officers walked through the door as Dan let out a loud belch causing Lashpa to jerk her head away from the foul stench.

  “I’m not feeling so good,” Dan said, suddenly going limp in Tom’s arms.

  The officers glanced around, then quickly approached. “We’ll take him,” one of them said, the tone of his voice indicating they had dealt with this person before.

  Tom released his grip and Dan practically collapsed into the arms of the officers. “Come on Dammit Dan,” the other officer said as they started for the door.

  Tom helped the food-covered server up off the floor while Lashpa turned her attention to the couple at the table. A single thought to her biolink triggered a scan of the couple’s identicards sending the information to Tom as well.

  The man was identified as Johnathan Walters, an accountant residing in Southern Russia on Earth. He had arrived on Glish accompanied by his wife who, according to the city’s central security computer, was currently in a nearby hotel room with another man. The woman at the table was a local who enjoyed passing herself off as a tourist looking for a good time.

  Walters crossed his arms over his hairy chest, and said, “I would like to press charges.”

  “Your request is noted, Mr. Walters although it’s not necessary. Everything that occurred was recorded and is admissible as evidence. Mr. Kunzman will be charged with disorderly conduct and will, as a minimum, spend the night in jail. He will also be subject to fines as deemed appropriate by the court.”

  The man looked at the woman sitting at his table. She nodded ever so slightly. “I guess that’ll be fine,” he said. He righted his chair and sat down.

  A Shandarian dressed in a formal business suit appeared from the kitchen area. Two others carrying a mop and a bucket followed him. “The restaurant will be picking up the charge for everyone’s dinners,” he announced in a loud voice. He then focused his attention on Mr. Walters and his companion. “You may eat here free of charge for as long as you are visiting us,” he said. With a fanciful wave of his hand he pointed toward one of the private booths. “If you would accompany me, you and your companion can resume your meal in privacy.”

  “Come on,” Lashpa told Tom, motioning toward the door with her head.

  Outside the restaurant, Tom asked, “Would you care to explain what that was all about?”

  “I eat there often,” she replied as they walked down the sidewalk. “Believe it or not, Dammit Dan is a respected businessman. He- - -”

  “That’s his name?”

  “His real name is Dan Kunzman but he’s known around here as Dammit Dan. He likes to party, but every so often gets carried away. When he sobers up he’ll make amends; the man that wanted to press charges will most likely be going home a little richer than when he arrived.”

  “Frankly, I’m surprised the authorities put up with his behavior.”

  “Violence is not tolerated,” Lashpa explained. “Glish is a world where people come to party. An occasional lapse of self-control is not sufficient cause to revoke their permission to be here. The fines are stiff to discourage such behavior but no one was injured and no criminal charges will be filed.”

  “This place takes some getting used to,” Tom said, shaking his head in wonderment.

  Lashpa turned and started down the sidewalk. “You should see it from my perspective.”

  “I can imagine,” Tom laughed out loud. He knew exactly where she was coming from. Rouldians did not engage in sex for pleasure. To Lashpa, an entire planet devoted to partying, gambling, freely exchanged sex, and other similar activities was an enigma.

  “What time will you be ready to leave in the morning?” she asked.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Tom replied, still smiling. “I’ll be staying in my ship tonight.”

  Lashpa’s car arrived, the vehicle’s auto-pilot pulling up to the curb and opening its doors. It was a short ten-minute ride to the starport. While in the car, Tom received a suggestion from his ship.

  As they approached the Orion, he said: “I have instructed my ship to make suggestions based on Rouldian cultural beliefs associated with gragrakch. He thinks it would be a good idea if we travel to Fanish together in one ship.”

  Lashpa spun her head around and laughed. “It is tradition for gragrakch to spend a considerable amount of time together to get to know each other as much as possible. I considered asking you to join me aboard the Krish but decided against it. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and I didn’t know if the request would be culturally inappropriate.”

  “Well, you certainly can’t stay aboard the Orion,” Tom replied, stepping out of the car. “My ship would be much too cramped and the only food I have is cooked. Can your ship accommodate a Terran passenger for several weeks?”

  “I will have my guest room modified to account for your physiology,” Lashpa replied. “It will be ready in the morning.”

  “Great! Then I’ll pack up a few things and move aboard your ship in the morning.”

  “I suggest you bring along enough of your own food to last the entire trip. Unless of course you don’t mind eating uncooked fish.”

  “Don’t you mean still living and squirming? No thanks!”

  “Good night T
om. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Night.”

  Halfway up his ship’s ramp, Tom broke into uncontrollable laughter.

  “May I ask what you have found to be so amusing?” the ship inquired.

  “I was just thinking about what Cassandra would think if she knew Lashpa and I were going to ride together in the same ship all the way to Fanish.”

  Chapter 11

  Choback had been unable to sleep all night. The rest of the base would begin to stir in only a few hours. He stood staring at the screen where a slowly rotating ship was displayed. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, yet it was hauntingly familiar. It was a nightmare brought to life–an impossibility. But it was real and every time he thought about what he was looking at he could feel the fur on his neck rising in fear.

  He tapped his wrist-com. “Operations center,” a voice answered.

  “This is Choback, call the senior staff to the conference room,” he ordered, turning off the screen.

  Fifteen minutes later, Choback stood in front of the tired and annoyed senior officers. He started as soon as he had their attention. “Not long ago, the drone scanning the ship we discovered hidden inside this planetoid, finished its task. Until now, I’ve been the only one able to view the images. Brace yourself for a shock because what I am about to show you is nothing less than amazing.”

  Choback took a few steps toward the wall and turned a knob causing the lights in the room to dim. Had this been a modern conference room instead of one carved out of rock, the lights would have been remotely controlled. He returned to the head of the table and pressed a key. The large screen hanging on the wall came to life with the same rotating image he’d been observing earlier. The reaction was as he had anticipated.

  Varku, one of the ship captains and Zathkra both shot to their feet, their fur standing on end and their claws extended. The others in the room remained in their seats but also showed signs of having recognized the ship. A chorus of low growls filled the room.