by C M Dancha
“JoJo, I’d like to go to my room and get a few hours of sleep. I could also use a deep-steam cleansing and some food. Can you arrange….”
Before Morg finished his question, JoJo grabbed the duffle bag and waddled toward the docking hangar door. Morg stood there admiring the little creature’s incredible strength. The duffle bag weighed over two hundred pounds. He was also captivated by his walk. How did he accomplish such forceful strides on legs which were no more than fifteen-inches in length?
JoJo led Morg to a wheel-less, two-seat tram which was powered by reverse magnetics. The little imp was just tall enough to reach the handles to open the wing doors. With an effortless toss, JoJo pitched Morg’s duffle bag to the storage bin on top of the tram.
When the doors shut, music flooded the inside of the cabin. It was quite a bit different than the blaring, hard-beat songs the Earthling played and danced to. This was soothing and easy on Morg’s sensitive ears. It was enjoyable to listen to. Morg found himself more relaxed and restful than he had been since leaving Yanda. He made a mental note to get some of this music after the mission to Earth was completed.
A pleasant female voice flooded the tram cabin. “What destination do you prefer, Comrade JoJo?”
“The Gracie, please.”
“What’s the Gracie, JoJo?”
“It’s an accommodation building used by special guests to Ziptowtheon. While you are sleeping, Officer Morg, is there anything you would like me to do?”
Rather than answer JoJo’s question, Morg thought about how he described the Gracie. “Why am I considered a special guest to Ziptowtheon, JoJo?”
JoJo turned his fury head toward Morg and with a sparkle in his eyes and a broad smile, he shrugged his shoulders. “Damn if I know. You look like a regular Yandan, to me.”
Morg didn’t know what to make of JoJo’s comment. Was the little creature fooling around or a willing pawn who did and said no more than what it was told to say? Whichever it was, there was little hope of getting more information out of the little fellow or gal.
“JoJo, while I’m resting would you reserve a spot for me at a communication center? I have a few contacts to make. Also, think about where I can get a good plate of Trimite intestines.”
8
“Hi, pops. What’s shaking?”
The kid sat in front of the communication screen and watched his father’s face turn crimson. The old man hated being called pops. He had told his son often to drop all references to their father-son relationship. He was to refer to him by his government title of Earth Prefect.
“How many times have I told you to call me Prefect? Is that so hard to remember?”
The kid started to reply but was cut off by his father. "You know, you’re going to blow our entire plan if you don’t quit screwing around. I see half the damn universe is looking for you." The old man flashed a Wanted Dead or Alive posting on the screen and continued to rant. “If you don’t recognize this, it’s a Wanted Bulletin for your stupid ass from Feltte Six. What the hell did you do there?”
“Pops, I mean Prefect, it wasn’t my fault. Some professional mercenaries were trying to kill me, so I decided to get them before they got me.”
“BS Feltte Six authorities don't give a rat’s behind about who kills who. You must have done something more hideous than kill a couple guests to their planet.”
“No, I’m telling you the truth. That’s all I did.”
The old man looked out of the corner of his eye at the Mentat standing outside the limits of the communication screen. A simple thumb down from the Mentat told the story. The kid was lying about the extent of his crimes on Feltte Six. The old man laughed to himself and thought how lucky the kid was to be several light years away. If he had been in the same room, a good, old-fashioned beating would have revealed the truth.
“Where are you now?”
“We just passed the Rings of Baccus. Morg landed us on a rogue planet to get some repairs done to the ship.”
“Knock off the terrestrial positioning lesson. Do you think I have the universe memorized? Tell me how many light years you are from Earth. And, by the way, do you know the people on the rogue planet, and can they keep their mouths shut?”
“I don’t know anyone on this planet, but we’re paying them a lot for their silence. I think we’re about five light years out from Earth.”
In his peripheral vision, the old man saw the Mentat give two thumbs down. Lies number two and three.
The old man wondered why the kid would go to such an extreme to hide their present location. There must be something about this rogue planet he didn’t want his father to know.
The old man didn't say anything for a couple minutes to see how the kid would react. Would his son add any more information or make body movements which might betray what he was hiding? The kid remained stoic and stared ahead at his father. The old man gave the kid credit. He was a trained and accomplished liar.
“For your information, I read the Yandans the riot act about finding you. I told them if they didn’t have you contact me, it could mean the end of the CASETA agreement. So, whatever you do, don’t communicate with anyone on Yanda.”
“That’s brilliant, pops, I mean, Prefect. We have the Yandans exactly where we want them. If we break the CASETA agreement, it will hasten the downfall of Yanda and its empire.”
“I agree. When they can't produce you, it will give me a good reason to move against the Agreement. I should be able to convince the few Assembly member hold-outs to vote against the Agreement. There’s not much they can complain about when I show them how unreliable and untrustworthy the Yandans are.”
The old man paused and thought a moment before continuing. “Son, to be on the safe side, you better take out the beings you’re dealing with on the rogue planet. Get rid of them before you leave so they don’t report you to the Yandans.”
“Ah…yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll do that.”
The Mentat flashed another thumb down for lie number four.
“What about that Yandan you’re with? Will he be communicating with his superiors, the Trifect? What did you call him? Morg something-or-other. What a doofus name.”
As much as the kid despised his father, he laughed when he called the alien a doofus. “You’re right. The alien is a doofus. Don’t worry about him, I’ve got him right where I want him. He’s totally confused and hasn’t a clue about what I’m up to...”
As the kid rambled on, the old man thought, “Yeah, I don’t have a clue about what you’re up to, either.”
“…and besides, the alien is on a communications quarantine. He’s under strict orders not to contact the Trifect or anyone else on Yanda. Oh, one other thing. I destroyed the transport’s communications sub-panel.”
The old man shook his head up and down as a silent confirmation of what the kid did. Finally, he said, “That’s good. That’s really good. Then there’s no way for the alien to reach anyone from the ship?”
The kid liked the old man’s praise even though it was long overdue. Even after twenty years of belittlement and ridicule, it felt good.
The kid intentionally forgot to give the old man details about the transport refurbishment. He would only worry and give orders if he knew about the new equipment. It was best he did not know about the new communications sub-panel and the redundant, eavesdropping bugs.
“Right, he won’t be able to contact anyone while we’re in flight.”
Once again, the Mentat gave a thumb down. The old man admired his son’s ability to hide the truth. He was truly a chip-off-the-old-block. Yet he couldn't help wondering if the kid ever told the truth about anything. Or, did he reserve his outrageous lying strictly for his father?
The old man reached his limit. It was time to give the kid a wake-up call and bring him back to reality. He needed to know he was dealing with the master of deceit, double-dealing, and espionage.
“Son, I have a surprise for you. I needed another personal assistant, so I hir
ed a former friend of yours.” The old man looked off-screen and held out an inviting hand. “Darling, come over here so Joseph can see you.”
The kid hadn’t heard the old man use his full, Christian name in years. If he had been thinking quick, he would have turned off the communicator immediately. Every rotten trick the old man played on the kid throughout his childhood and teenage years started with the name, Joseph.
Into the screen walked a petite, blonde woman in her late-twenties. Her hairstyle and business clothes were very conservative. Neither could hide her outer beauty. She had a simple yet alluring face. Her skin was flawless like porcelain and adorned with huge blue-green eyes that possessed whoever she looked at. Every move she made was unintentionally graceful. She was shy and meek at the same time she was forceful and domineering. And, she was the only human the kid ever loved.
“Son, you remember Beth, don’t you?”
The kid’s face flushed, and his normal, egotistic overconfidence drained from his body. He went numb each time he saw the love of his life. He thought an extended period away from Earth would make him forget this lovely creature. He was wrong. He was in love with her this day as much as he was when he left Earth as a pawn in his father’s scheme to rule the universe.
“Hello, Joe. How are you?”
The kid didn’t respond immediately. He was too busy examining every minuscule feature of her face and hair on her head.
“Joe, did you hear me?”
“Yes… ah, yeah, I heard you, Beth. I’m fine. How about you?”
“I’ve been good, Joe. Your father was kind enough to give me a job. The extra income is going to help my family a lot.”
“That’s …. that’s great, Beth. What exactly are you doing for him?”
Before she could answer, the old man interrupted with, “Joe, she just started. She’ll do whatever I need her to do. Just the way you carry out my orders, Joseph.”
The kid wanted to jump through the screen and strangle the old man. The snicker on the old man’s face was shameful and the message was clear. Stay in line son and follow my instructions or your sweetheart is going to have an accident.
The rest of their conversation was a blur to the kid. The old man babbled on and on about what he wanted the kid to do, or else. And, the kid kept thinking, “I can’t wait to slit your throat, old man.”
9
“JoJo, you can stay in the tram. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“No worries, Officer Morg. Take as much time as you need.” The lavender fur-ball was under instructions to keep a close eye on the Yandan. He was to watch and record everything he did. But, following him into a communications center reeked of obvious snooping. If the Yandan stayed too long in the center, JoJo could wander in and see what he was up to. He could also stay on the tram and rely on his friends to get the number Morg contacted. And, if he wanted to listen to the Yandan's conversation a threat or payola would produce the recording. That is if the center's antiquated system worked properly.
Morg entered a private cubicle and took out the note with Jimmy Washington’s private contact number on it. On the third pulse, a young, attractive woman with tan skin, black hair, and alluring eyes, answered.
“Miss, my name is Morg. I’m a friend of Jimmy Washington’s. He drove me around….”
“Oh, thank God. I’m so happy you called, Officer Morg. I’ve been trying to figure out how to get ahold of you for days. Jimmy is…is….” That’s all the woman could say before she broke down sobbing. Even with her eye makeup running and hair tossed every which way, there was something very appealing about her. She was the perfect match for a taxi cab driver who was as debonair as any being from wealth, fame, or royalty.
It took over two minutes for the woman to compose herself. “Forgive me, Officer Morg. I’m so sorry. You didn’t call to watch me wail like an old woman at a funeral.”
Morg started to worry when she mentioned funeral. Was Jimmy dead?
“That’s okay, miss. But, please tell me if Jimmy is alive.”
“Yes, Office Morg, he’s still alive, but not in good shape. Let me take you to his bedside. He’s been asking for you.” The young woman took the miniature transceiver to another room where Jimmy was sprawled on a bed. He was bandaged from head to toe. Many of the bandages were soaked in the blood and fluids which oozed from a badly beaten human body.
The girlfriend moved the transceiver close to Jimmy’s face so Morg could hear his weak voice and read his lips. Jimmy was a mess. Both eyes were swollen almost shut and there were several large bumps on his cheeks and forehead. His lips were split in numerous spots. The dried-over scabs threatened to re-open whenever he spoke.
“Jimmy, what happened?”
“Beat up by…by….”
Jimmy’s voice faded out before Morg could understand what he said. The girlfriend guessed his last words hadn’t broadcast, so she completed the sentence. “Officer Morg, he said that he was beat up by enforcement agents.”
“Why? What did he do to deserve such a beating?”
The girlfriend leaned over Jimmy’s face and put her ear to his mouth. She listened for a couple minutes before relaying his answer to Morg.
“He said the agents wanted to know everything about you and the young Earthling. They demanded to know where the two of you went and why the Earthling didn’t leave with you. They wanted to know where he’s hiding on Feltte Six. Oh, they also wanted to know who the redhead, female human was that got on your transport before departure.”
Morg wasn’t sure he heard the girlfriend correctly. Did she say the agents wanted to know where the Earthling was hiding on Feltte Six? He started to ask her to repeat that part of the answer when it hit him. The agents hadn’t put two and two together. They didn’t realize the kid was the redhead they saw get on the transport. The kid outfoxed the Feltte Six authorities by dressing in drag. They thought he was still hiding out on their planet. At least, that’s what they believed when they beat the hell out of Jimmy. Since then, they may have figured it out.
“Jimmy doesn’t know anything about a redhead, Officer Morg. What were those agents talking about?”
“Miss, what’s your name?”
“Samantha, Sam for short.”
“Sam did the agents say if they were coming back to question Jimmy again?”
“They were supposed to be back this morning, but never showed up.”
“That’s a good sign they aren’t coming back. Something has happened to make them back off, so I don’t think you’ll need to know who the redhead is. If they do show, keep playing dumb about the redhead and deny knowing where the Earthling is hiding. Believe me, it's best you don’t know who the redhead is.” It would have been easy for Morg to explain the connection to Sam. But, if she tried to convince the agents that the redhead and kid were one in the same person, it would be disastrous. It would only lead to more unanswerable questions and needless beatings.
“What else did they want to know, Sam?”
“They asked Jimmy and me all sorts of questions. We had no idea what the hell they were talking about. They wanted to know where you were going after departure and what was your cargo. They made a big deal out of some type of connection between you and three mercenaries. Like I said, we didn’t have any idea what they were talking about. Do you, Officer Morg?”
“Yeah, unfortunately, I do. But, right now, it’s not important. The only thing that is important is getting Jimmy healthy again. Do you have a safe house you can move Jimmy to?”
“I can’t think of any, Officer Morg. We don’t have any relatives here and I wouldn’t trust our so-called friends.”
Morg thought a moment and then said, “Sam, get ahold of Luna at the blind pig on Gratiot Avenue. She’s a Landan waitress working there, and I know she’s a close friend of Jimmy’s. I’m sure she’ll help you.”
“Thank you, officer Morg.”
Morg saw Sam start to tear up again, so he quickly asked another question to divert her
attention.
“Is there anything else I should know?”
Sam stared off into space for a minute, collecting her emotions, before answering. “Yes, there was one thing I overheard which I thought was kinda strange. One agent said the Earthling was wanted for non-disposal of corpses and killing a couple foot-fetish prostitutes. He also set fire to the brothels they worked in. Another agent mentioned that the Earthling was suspected of killing an enforcement agent. The agent was patrolling the brothel neighborhood when he was ambushed."
All Morg could say was, “No wonder they came after us and beat up Jimmy.”
Any doubts Morg had about the Earthling’s sanity were cast aside. He was riding across the universe in a small space vehicle, no larger than a Yandan abode, with a psychotic killer. Morg had dealt with many killers during his career, but none so crafty as the kid. He wondered if it would be better to slit the kid’s throat now and eject him into space? But, once again, he came to the same decision. The kid had to stay alive for the safety and security of Yanda and his offspring. And, there was the nagging belief the kid was withholding information about the murder of his mate.
Out of the corner of his eye, Morg saw JoJo enter the communications center and waddle over to the manager’s office. From the way, the manager responded when he saw the little guy, there was no doubt they knew each other. Morg turned his head so that his left ear was directly lined up with the manager’s office. With his parabolic dish-like ear, Morg could pick up most of what was being said.
“Tookie, do you see that Yandan over there?”
Morg used the mirror-like finish on the communications panel to see the manager look his way.
“Yeah, JoJo. What’s up?”
“How many comms has he made?”
The manager looked at this master panel and responded. “He’s only made one communication, JoJo. He’s been talking with someone with a private comm number.”
“What does that mean, Tookie?”
“Basically, it’s a number that can't be found. When the communication is sent it's diverted, scrubbed, and scrambled hundreds of times. It only takes a few seconds but the comm is untraceable. The being on the other end could be anywhere in the universe. A private comm number is very expensive."
