by K. C. Sivils
Waiting for him in the terminal was a tall, impressive male who had the air of a professional soldier. If the man was not currently serving, Markeson concluded, he had either served in the past or was a mercenary. Without showing any emotion, the man approached the detective, stopped and bowed slightly.
“Captain Markeson?” he asked in a monotone.
“Yeah. In the flesh.”
“If you will follow me, please. My superior is waiting for you in the only restaurant in this town worthy of being called such. Do you have any luggage we need to retrieve?”
Markeson shook his head no, and the man turned without speaking, evidently expecting Markeson to follow. A short walk through the concourse and past security took them to the exit for ground craft. A long, black hovercar sat waiting. Markeson's escort approached the passenger door in the back, opened it and waited for Markeson to enter the car.
Curious, and always ready to enjoy luxury, Markeson climbed in and seated himself, fastening the safety restraints. The grim escort shut the door and walked around the front and opened the door to the driver’s compartment and climbed in. Separated from the front by what Markeson was certain had to be weapon proof glass of some sort, the escort turned driver did not speak as he pulled out and drove away from the airport.
As promised, the drive was short. Stopping in front of what indeed appeared to be a new, upscale establishment, the hovercar stopped, the escort exited, opened the door for Markeson and waited for the detective to climb out, shutting the door behind him.
“My superior awaits inside,” the escort informed Markeson, chilling him for some reason with the words.
Walking to the entrance quickly to escape the cold, Markeson stopped and looked back. The black luxury hovercar was already gone. He shrugged and took the last few steps to the entrance, which opened automatically.
Upon entering, he saw no one. The restaurant appeared to be empty. No hostess or maître de to greet customers, no waiters or for that matter, customers. He removed his coat and draped it across his left forearm and adjusted his jacket, giving himself a chance to make a quick, nonchalant check his sidearm was ready in its shoulder holster beneath his left arm.
“Captain Markeson, prompt I see. I like that in a man.”
Turning to identify the owner of the sultry voice from the commlink the day before, Markeson was surprised by the creature who stood in the entranceway to the dining room located on the right side of the entrance.
Long red hair cascading in perfect waves down past her shoulders, contrasting with perfect pale white skin the color of ivory was what first caught his eye. Being male, it didn’t take long for his gaze to descend downwards, noting the other desirable female attributes his mystery hostess possessed.
Dressed in an immaculately tailored black two-piece pants suit appropriate for the weather of Beta Prime while making a striking, albeit conservative, fashion statement. Razor sharp creases in the slacks caught Markeson's eye as he moved his gaze upwards from the black, pointed, high heel ankle boots. Pleats at the waist hid hips just wide enough to give the woman a pleasing shape, a shape complimented by a somewhat narrow waist and a chest the jacket could not completely hide.
He remained silent, watching the striking creature evidently responsible for his presence. She smiled, comfortable in the silence and allowed him to observe her, take in all that he wanted.
Markeson noted her makeup was minimal and well placed. Her slightly thicker than fashionable waist indicated a strong, well developed muscular core. The nature of the clothes was nothing most people would find too unusual, simply the dress of a conservative and successful businesswoman. To Markeson, it screamed of military background.
“I’m afraid you have the advantage on me,” Markeson opened with his first gambit, smiling his most charming smile.
“How so, Captain?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know your name, but you know mine.”
The red-headed creature smiled, a big smile, exposing a mouth full of perfect, white teeth.
“As I said before, a lady has to have her secrets.”
“Well, I don’t deal well with people who keep things from me, Ma’am. Or is it Colonel? General?”
Gone in a flash to be replaced by a scowl was the brilliant smile.
“It’s Colonel, or rather it was.”
“Very well, let’s compromise,” Markeson smiled, having scored a point. “I’ll settle for Colonel for now.”
He looked around the restaurant and gestured with his arms. “It would appear the establishment is not open for business.”
"I convinced the management to remain closed for the breakfast service. It was a light business for them, and I compensated the staff appropriately. We have some time to discuss business before the lunch service commences." She smiled dangerously at Markeson, as a wolf smiles at a lamb before it strikes.
“Then we can enjoy that meal I promised you.”
---
Father Nathan shivered as he crossed the street, looking for one of the charges he'd take under his wing. Spotting the young Jaliel spying from behind a parked hover truck making a delivery, the priest briskly approached the lad, striking from behind. Lifting him up by the collar of his new coat, the priest felt the boy relax as he dangled from the big man’s grasp.
“Father.”
“Jaliel.”
"I'm sorry. Payday is coming, and the Boss Man was angry last time. Says we aren't clippin' enough."
“Who is this Boss Man?”
“Father Nathan, there’s a lot o’ things I’d tell you, but that ain’t one of ‘em.”
“Wallets and the two watches.”
“Father Nathan, please.”
“Jaliel, what is the Eighth Commandment?”
“Thou shalt not steal,” the boy answered somberly, producing the purloined items and holding them up with his left hand. Father Nathan calmly took the things and released his grip, allowing the boy to drop to the ground. Without looking back, Jaliel sped away.
Shaking his head in frustration, the priest turned to find the owners of the stolen items.
He thought of his words to his injured friend, the Inspector Sullivan. If Sullivan did not find this boss, he would. Father Nathan’s face darkened at the prospect. He’d turned away from his violent past. But this, this he couldn’t let this continue.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Relieved at not having to fly back with Sullivan and the pouting Sarah, Josephson watched as the hovercraft took off to return the pair to Capital City. Making the trip with them was the body of the deceased SP and all the trace and forensic evidence. Sullivan had conducted the few interviews of possible witnesses himself.
Glancing at his chronometer, Josephson made his way to the greasy spoon eatery familiar to most hoverports to get something to eat. Hoping to find something to quell both his hunger and ease the turbulence in his stomach, Josephson slipped into line. Glancing about, Josephson decided to engage in one of Sullivan’s skill development games. He watched every person within visual range, trying to determine as much as he could by just observing.
Catching his eye was a tall man. Well dressed and neatly groomed, the man stood out. Not so much because of his height or dress. It was the man’s bearing. The quiet strength and intimidation the man projected as he waited. Josephson wished Sullivan were there so he could share what he observed, to learn if his conclusions were on the money.
Watching people take a wide path around the man, who made no physical signs of intending to harm anyone convinced the young detective there was something unique about the patiently waiting stranger.
Without warning the stranger turned and looked directly at Josephson, almost as if he was aware of being watched.
“Hey, you want somethin’ or not?”
Relieved to be called, Josephson hurriedly turned around and stepped up to the counter. “Muffin, bran with raisins.”
“Sheesh, a health nut,” the woman groaned, taking a fresh piece of
wrapping material and moving off to retrieve Josephson’s breakfast. Cautiously, he glanced over his shoulder for another peek at the stranger.
Marching toward the exit, matching the stranger step for step was Captain Markeson.
---
Sitting at his desk, Kilgore glanced out of the symbol of power and status awarded to the officer who commanded the Space Marine detachment at the base. He smiled at the silliness a simple window could cause. Two colonels, one Air Force and one regular Army, had protested when he'd arrived and assigned the office. Their noses out of joint because a lowly major had been billeted in one of the few offices with a window.
The seriousness of the situation he found himself in returned his usually grim expression to his face. He hoped he'd not signed Sullivan's death sentence by involving the Inspector. He just knew he needed someone he could trust with the skills required to find out what was going on.
A dead SP was always a serious matter. He’d taken heat in the past. Involving a civilian had infuriated the General in command of the base. Kilgore had let the woman vent before explaining his reasoning. He’d concluded with the excuse Sullivan wasn’t really a civilian. He was a Marine. A former SP and the best investigator Kilgore had ever known. Claiming to suspect the killer was military, he justified the need to bring Sully in.
Regular Army to the core, the general had given him her most hateful glare before sighing and laughing.
“You Marines are something. No longer on active duty is the phrase I think the Corps uses.”
“Yes, General. We never leave the Corps. The Inspector is simply no longer on active duty," Kilgore had responded, relieved interservice rivalry had raised its head, making his decision seem like more a case of not looking outside the boundaries of the Space Marines than breaking actual military protocol.
Kilgore leaned back and thought about what little he knew about his situation. Military Intelligence had sent him to find out what exactly was going on in the research facility. Now he had a dead clone on his hands. One with a fake military background so poorly done Kilgore wondered if it was meant to raise a red flag.
Sully had wounded somebody spying on them while they’d talked outside the perimeter. If it was the killer or not, Kilgore had no idea. Whoever it was, he was certain the individual was a professional. Nobody could move and not be seen, or take a wound like that in silence, without professional training and equipment.
Complicating matters was the fact Sullivan had not only found but also brought with him the one clone alive just about every military, mercenary and criminal organization in the galaxy wanted to get their hands on.
Another glance at his chronometer reminded him of the fact he'd been without sleep for nearly three days. Sleep was a weapon. Deny it to the enemy, and you gain an advantage. Make certain you get it when you can, and it can give you an advantage.
Nothing would change until Kilgore heard from Sullivan. He pulled the shade down over the weapon proof pane of glass embedded in the plastisteel wall with exterior armor appliqué. He secured his door, entered his encrypted code to secure the lock and pulled a chair up against the door.
Within minutes of lying down on the humble couch in his office, Kilgore was asleep.
---
My ticket was for the window seat. Sarah’s was for an aisle seat on the other side of the aisle. She hadn’t spoken a single word to me since I’d returned to the hotel. I’d found her sitting on the floor in the corner of our room, brandishing one of my knives. I replayed the strange events from early this morning, using the video from my cybernetic eye.
I started with entering the room and securing the door behind me. Noticing Sarah and not wanting to wake the boy wonder sleeping on the cot, I quietly walked over to where she sat and simply held my hand out. Sarah frowned, reversed the weapon, and gave it to me. Cold, exhausted and sore, I sat down on the end of the bed and pulled off my boots, setting them next to each other.
I took my .50 caliber revolver from its holster and set it carefully on the bedside table between the two beds. I patted my pockets, checking for my other weapons and decided to sleep in my clothes, great coat and all. Pulling my comm from my pocket, I set the alarm, giving myself two hours to sleep. I set it next to my pistol and turned the light on the table off.
The digital images flickered for a moment causing me to squint to improve the image. A habit, not that it would help. The image cleared and I was rewarded with a view of the ceiling of our room. A hazy darkness filled the image as I fell asleep and my eye stopped recording.
Minutes before the alarm went off I’d awakened, as oft was my habit. Still on my back, I rolled on to my left side and started in surprise. Lying next to me on her right side was Sarah. Both eyes wide open, two brown gems surrounded by pools of transparent white. She blinked once, making me notice the frown she still wore on her face. Arms folded across her chest, she was completely dressed, including I noticed upon looking, her boots.
Without speaking, she’d gotten up and vanished into the bathroom. After a few minutes the sound of water running filtered into our room, waking the still slumbering Josephson.
"Once Sara's done, however long that is, I'm gonna take a shower," I told Josephson. "Fifteen minutes max. Then you have twenty. I'm going to check on our tickets. Kilgore said they’d be at the desk. You’re going back via mixed train.”
My young charge had simply nodded and laid his head back down, waiting for his turn to clean up.
Airborne and homeward bound, I glanced over at Sarah, sitting in my window seat. I was okay with that. At my size, I hated window seats. In fact, I hated flying in tubs as small as this one.
Maybe I'd been too hard on Josephson. Traveling by train had been more comfortable and civilized. I decided to tell him in the future, if time were not an issue, we'd travel by train.
I thought about the day ahead. We'd deliver the body as soon as we arrived. Bones would be waiting with a bus, and I'd requested some uniforms as well. He hadn't asked why, but I'd have to have a few words with Bones in private. He was too smart not to realize what he had in his morgue.
The Chief would have to settle for a phone call.
The evidence was going to stay with me. The uniforms could take the equipment back with them.
Then whether or not she wanted, Sarah was going with me to get something to eat at Joe’s and then we were having a talk. Once that was done, however long it took, I was going to get some sleep.
Depending on how our conversation went, Sarah was coming back with me to be kept under lock and key in my apartment, or I'd let her do whatever she wanted. Knowing Sarah, slipping away into the mist and fog of Capital City and vanishing for a day or so would be high on her agenda.
My military days harkened. The flight would be short. I needed sleep, and none of the few passengers on the aircraft looked like a threat. Sarah had made it more than clear she had no intention of talking.
Sleep when you can.
CHAPTER NINE
Born and raised on Beta Prime, Josephson loved the planet’s perpetually cold weather. Rather than wait inside the depot with the handful of other passengers who would be traveling on the late morning mixed train, the detective stood on the platform. He watched with interest as the train crew eased the long line of freight cars back toward the two passenger coaches sitting at the boarding platform.
Harkening back to his youth, Josephson counted the freight cars and identified each car by the cargo it hauled. Mainly made up of loaded ore cars, the string included several container flats carrying unsealed containers, indicating they were empty and being returned to Capital City. A pair of tank cars between the ore cars and containers flats completed the train.
Standing as close as he dared, Josephson watched with fascination as the brakeman checked the automatic couplers between the last freight car and the first passenger coach before connecting the brake controls and communication lines. Fascinated by old technology, the trains on his home planet were among on
e of his favorite subjects of study.
The train’s conductor appeared and glanced about nervously before talking to the brakeman who whispered his response. Odd behavior for men who worked in a heavy industry under dangerous conditions Josephson thought. Clear communication would be critical when operating with masses the size of what they handled.
Nodding after the conductor whispered a reply, the brakeman climbed the steps to the first coach and disappeared. Noticing Josephson, the conductor smiled and approached in a friendly manner.
“Will you be traveling with us today, sir?”
“Yeah. Going back to Capital City.”
His response elicited a short laugh from the conductor.
“Picked the slowest way to make the trip. This is a mixed train. Basically a freight train with a pair of coaches coupled on the end to squeeze out a bit more revenue for the stockholders.”
"That's okay. I find trains like this to be fascinating. It's a curious form of technology."
Glancing at his watch the conductor nodded his understanding. “Except for the weather and the pay, this is the greatest job in the universe.”
Passengers began to filter out of the depot, and the conductor greeted them with a smile.
“All aboard,” he called, indicating it was time to board the train. Taking the opportunity, Josephson stepped back and allowed the dozen fellow travelers to board before him, providing an opportunity to observe each passenger. None looked particularly impressive, let alone any type of threat.
Finished observing, he picked up his heavy suitcase and recalled Sullivan's rather pointed lecture about traveling light when on a case. Waiting until the passenger before him finished boarding the last coach, Josephson hoisted his baggage up and placed it on the floor of the coach’s vestibule and climbed up the steps. Wanting to see as much of the train as possible, he picked a seat toward the rear of the coach and stored the heavy suitcase in the luggage rack overhead.
