Last Train To Nowhere

by K. C. Sivils

  “But of course, I know just the table. Wilhelm will be your waiter. I believe you will find his service to be exemplary.”

  Tightening his hold on the Colonel’s elbow by clinching his forearm tighter, the Sergeant gave her a sharp tug.

  “The mercenaries we hired did excellent work. Your poor planning for the first raid caused them to lose one of their number. It required a significant bonus to appease them.”

  “You were authorized to pay a bonus,” she muttered, confused by her servant’s attitude.

  “Yes, I was. But you were not authorized to engage in activity that would produce no intelligence or secure the property and safely deliver it to our superiors.”

  The maître de seated the Colonel. Smiled and departed.

  “You know when this is all over you’ll be the only man I want,” the Colonel told the Sergeant.

  “I would much rather be the only man you take into your bed, starting now,” he replied, his words, chilling the Colonel.

  “You informed on me,” she hissed in shocked anger.

  “I wouldn’t use that exact word. I simply filed a report with more truth to it than perhaps you would have liked.”

  His face clouded over. “From now on, you will be faithful to me and to the cause. There will be no more dalliances. Act like a general, Sandra, excuse me, Molly. Otherwise, the duration of time to enjoy your new rank will be short."

  ---

  It had been some time since I had planned an operation similar to the one we were about to mount. Markeson had explicit details regarding which freighters would be carrying the contraband. As luck would have it, they were all docked in pairs, but in three different locations on two different docking rings.

  I dislike having to divide forces. It only leads to problems.

  Even worse, we would have to rely on the police stationed on the space station. They were good at public relations and searching for wanted individuals trying to leave Beta Prime or sneak through Immigration and Customs to get down to the surface.

  Providing tactical support of the type potentially needed was not their strong suit. It made me wonder what went through Chief O’Brian’s head sometimes. Or rather, what Markeson talked the Chief into when it came to allocating resources.

  I didn’t ask Markeson how he came by his information. It could be legit. Every detective develops sources, snitches, whatever you want to call them. Or he could be trying to cover up his involvement in a smuggling scheme.

  I figured it was about fifty-fifty one way or another.

  Sarah sat quietly, watching Beta Prime rise up above us. Despite the horrors she’d experienced in her short life, Sarah still possessed such a childlike innocence at times. She smiled at the colors of the stars and the view of Beta Prime and its two moons. It did me good to watch Sarah let her guard down for a moment, to see her smile at the wonders of space travel.

  Josephson, on the other hand, looked like he would rather be anywhere else but strapped into his seat. Markeson had managed to talk Kilgore into having a military shuttle fly us to the space station. Military pilots, as Josephson had just learned, love to hear the words “get there as fast as you can.”

  The result was a rougher than normal ride as the pilot used maximum thrust to lift the shuttle out of Beta Prime's gravity well and atmosphere. We were now bouncing along on the very edge of the planet's atmosphere, making for an incredibly rough ride.

  “Get him to fly a little higher,” I demanded. “My Sergeant here won’t be able to function by the time we arrive at this rate.”

  Kilgore unstrapped and went forward. By the time he returned and strapped back in, the shuttle was cruising at maximum speed in the void of space. Kilgore made eye contact with me and shrugged.

  Navy pilots were notorious for giving civilians a rough ride when the opportunity presented itself. This trip was no exception.

  I looked back down at my plan and shook my head. I didn’t see any other way to deal with the situation with the resources available.

  “Okay,” I announced. “In hopes of getting as few of us killed as possible, this is the best approach for this raid. Feel free to offer suggestions.”

  Markeson turned his chair to see the hologram I’d created. Josephson just turned his head far enough he could see the image through the one eye he’d forced open. Kilgore, who had no real jurisdiction, was along in an “advisory capacity.” He was a badly needed gun in a situation I was certain would involve gunplay.

  “Captain Markeson, Major Kilgore will be with you. You will take this route to approach…”

  ---

  Sullivan and Markeson were going to be the death of him yet O’Brian thought. Either that or the end of his career, one or the other, possibly even both. A panicked Station Chief had just gotten off the comm with him. Markeson had just demanded the use of nearly every officer on duty in the station for a raid.

  O'Brian knew it was Sullivan's plan. Markeson would never launch a raid with this kind of risk. Too much could go wrong, and as the ranking officer, the Chief of Detectives would have to take the blame. Of course, if Sullivan’s plan worked, Markeson would be more than happy to take the credit.

  Whatever the cause was, the two had some explaining to do when they returned. Even Sullivan was not prone to committing career suicide on such short notice. O'Brian looked at his chronometer. There was nothing he could do until the raid was over. He'd be plenty busy afterward. Either running cover for his detectives or trying to leverage the success of the raid into more resources.

  Either way, it was going to be a long evening. O’Brian decided to take a break and eat somewhere besides his desk.

  If the raid went badly enough, it might not be his desk much longer.

  ---

  Molly O'Toole fumed in silence. Her last day on Beta Prime ruined by the arrogance of the man Molly had believed was loyal to her. Not only that, she hadn't been able to enjoy the exquisite meal he had ordered for the two of them. As soon as she arrived at her destination, she planned to set things straight about the operation on Beta Prime.

  Primarily, Molly O'Toole intended to point out the fact if she had been promoted and placed in command of the base at Brownstown, the stream of clones, body parts and technology would have been constant. None of this stealing and sneaking about to get the “packages” off world would have been necessary.

  The dead SP was the Sergeant’s fault too. The man had simply lost his mind and shot a perfectly good clone dead. That had led to the need to rush things. She could hardly be held responsible for that fool Savier agreeing to Kilgore’s request to bring in this nuisance of an Inspector.

  No, she decided. None of it was her fault. Her Sergeant had betrayed her. Molly O’Toole planned to make him pay for it. She had grown weary of his professions of love anyhow.

  The man whose demise she was contemplating interrupted her pity party.

  “We have a problem,” he said in disgust, pocketing his comm device. “We need to get you on the St. Gabriel.”

  She made a face indicating disgust before protesting snidely, “I’m not done with my dessert.”

  The Sergeant stood abruptly, throwing his linen napkin on the table. “You will go now. The Marines and the Planetary Police raided the facility. It’s all over. Savier is dead. As second in command, the police will be looking for you."

  "This is not possible," she protested, shaking as she stood up. The Sergeant took her by the arm, guiding her from the restaurant toward the concourse.

  "It's not only possible, but it was also inevitable. You cannot draw attention to anything you do on operations of this nature."

  “I told you we should have just killed that Inspector, what was his name? Sullivan? Then this would have never happened.”

  Despite the need to hurry, he stopped abruptly; grabbed the red head by both arms and gave her a hard shake. “My source informed me not only was Sullivan and Kilgore present, but your newest conquest, Captain Markeson. Just what did you tell him?
What secrets did he pry from you during pillow talk?”

  For the first time, it dawned on the Colonel the degree of danger she was in. “I didn’t tell him anything!”

  “No, but you bribed him. If we go down, he goes down. He’ll do everything he can to make sure we don’t get off this ball of ice alive.”

  “Why would he do that,” she protested. “He was well compensated. There is nothing linking him to our operation.”

  “You make me sick with how simple minded you are.” Taking her by the arm again, he began dragging the Colonel toward the boarding area for the St. Gabriel. “Somebody will talk if they catch us. My money says it will be you.”

  ---

  “Trouble Captain!”

  Looking up from his tablet, the leader of the mercenaries frowned.

  “What is it sergeant?”

  “Police are prepping for a raid.”

  “The containers?”

  “I think so sir,” the NCO replied, slipping the headgear back on both ears. “I’m picking up orders for the police to slow boarding on the two starliners docked and for the rest of the officers to report to Rings Four and Six on the freight portals.”

  “Great,” the Captain complained. “Just when this job is about to wind down and we’re getting off this miserable planet.”

  He motioned to the Sergeant to come over to where he was sitting. The two quickly began planning the best method to deploy their soldiers to allow the freighters to escape.

  Angry at the turn of events, the bad luck of it all, the Captain made a mental note to himself. If he survived, he was demanding bigger bonuses for the men and himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I watched as the pilot approached the space station above Capital City at a speed that would cost a civilian pilot his license and docking privileges for a year. I decided Markeson could add that to his list of things to clean up with the station administrators when this was over.

  I had to say though, the pilot knew his business and had the shuttle docked in seconds. There was no impact of note, just a gentle hiss of the air pressures equalizing.

  Everyone checked his weapons as we waited for the hatch to open. Sarah didn't carry any side arms, but I was certain she had bladed weapons hidden somewhere on her person. I made her promise me again, for the third time, she would stay out of harm’s way.

  Waiting for us were the assembled police officers that would participate in the raid. Their Station Commander had divided them into three groups and given them a rough briefing of the plan. Markeson would take one group to search the two docked starliners for the individuals he believed were in charge of the operation. Kilgore would accompany him. Immigration and Security had already taken steps to dramatically slow the boarding process, giving Markeson and his men time to arrive and start the search.

  Josephson would command the second group. Going with him would be the Station Commander. The pup's team was going to try to take the two pairs of freighters on the outermost ring, Ring Six. I assigned him the bulk of the experienced officers and the Station Commander.

  I took command of the last group. Our target was the two freighters docked on Ring Four.

  I addressed the assembled group who was drawing the attention of tourists, locals who worked on the space station and anyone who happened to be passing by.

  “These people may or may not know what they are transporting. If they do know, they will be extremely dangerous. Shoot to kill if they open fire. If they do not know what the cargo is, in all likelihood, they will dump the containers and leave. If that happens, just let them and we’ll retrieve the containers.”

  A hand went up.

  I waited for the obvious question.

  “What is in the containers Inspector?”

  “It’s classified. Trust me. You don’t want to know. Any more questions?”

  I looked at the scared faces staring back at me. I hoped they would all be going home at the end of their duty shift.

  “If that’s all, let’s get this done.”

  ---

  Markeson hurried along with his group, pushing his way through the growing crowds of irritated passengers wanting to board their starliner. The faster he pushed his way through the throngs of angry humanity, the greater the distance he put between himself and the officers assigned to him.

  He’d provided vague descriptions of the Sergeant and the red head. Vague enough it could be any male traveler with a red headed female companion. It would slow the officer’s search down considerably. He hoped it would give him time to find the pair and do what he had to do.

  Stopping to catch his breath, Markeson spotted a tall, dark headed man with military bearing stepping into the concourse leading to the docking ring the St. Gabriel was berthed at. On the man’s elbow was a tall, stunning red headed creature.

  He’d found them.

  ---

  Josephson let the Station Commander lead the way to the service elevators that would allow the group to rush to the Sixth Ring. Everything moved in a blur for him. The fear of being in space meshed with the adrenaline rush of the impending raid had alternately sped things up and then slowed them down. He wished it was all over and he was back home, safe in his apartment in Capital City.

  The door to the service elevator opened and the officers began to deploy. Before the entire group was able to exit the elevator, the first blasts from phase rifles tore through the officers, knocking several men down. To Josephson’s horror, among the wounded was the Station Commander.

  He had no choice. Shaking violently from sheer terror, Josephson froze. Seconds passed as the fire continued to rip through the ring. His comm device buzzed, the familiar sound pulling his mind together long enough to answer the link.

  “What is going on up there,” Sullivan bellowed. “I can see flashes from down here.”

  “Phase fire,” Josephson managed to mumble. “Station Commander down.”

  “Get the men under cover, return fire and secure those ships,” Sullivan bellowed through the static filled link.

  He closed the link and pocketed the comm. A quick glance around the area showed the officers who'd not been hit had all taken cover. The rate of fire had slowed to a steady rhythm. No additional officers were hit, and despite lying exposed and in the open, none of the wounded officers had been targeted.

  Looking back down the ring corridor behind them, Josephson realized they had walked into an ambush. The lack of attackers behind them puzzled him. In the strategic games he liked to play, double envelopment, surrounding an enemy and pinning them down in a crossfire was a tactic he used many times to win games.

  The attackers were smart enough to establish the ambush but had not done so in a decisive manner. An officer tried to break across the open corridor to reach one of the wounded and was hit by a phase blast. The woman fell and rolled toward Josephson. He darted out and grabbed the screaming woman by the arms and pulled her behind the small freight container he’d taken cover behind.

  “You’re okay, I promise,” he told the terrified officer, a female of Earth African descent. He examined the wound and discovered it was a severe burn. Nothing like the wound he received in the ill-fated warehouse raid he’d led.

  “You’re gonna be okay, I promise. Their weapons are set on stun. It’s okay.”

  The woman looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. She stopped screaming and caught her breath.

  “It hurts so bad.”

  “I know it does. But you’re going to be okay, I promise.”

  He took another peek around the container. Whoever it was, they were not intent on killing any of the officers. A few well-placed grenades would be devastating. The phase weapons were set on stun, not kill. There was no crossfire.

  Josephson pulled off his greatcoat and shirt, leaving on only his white undershirt. He tore it off and tied it to the end of a scrap of metal conduit lying along the ring wall. Slowly he extended the makeshift white flag into the view of the attac
kers.

  “Cease fire.”

  Josephson peeked out and then jumped back.

  “We won’t shoot,” a strong, commanding voice shouted. “Don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be okay.”

  ---

  I watched flashes of hot orange light fill the windows of Ring Six. Josephson had walked right into an ambush. There was nothing I could do. It would be over by the time I reached the action.

  A quick glance around proved the station officers had all taken cover. There was no sign of anyone ahead where the two freighters were docked.

  There was a limit to how much of what went wrong on this raid I could, heck, was even willing, to hang around Markeson’s neck.

  I adjusted my right eye for optimum combat conditions. My targeting system was on as was my movement detector and infrared vision. If it moved or had a pulse, I’d see it.

  Given my mood, I was going to shoot first, maybe ask questions later.

  I drew my revolver and stepped out from behind the portable 3-D printer used to create one-of-a-kind parts for some of the old junkers that stopped at Beta Prime. Freighters so old spare parts weren’t manufactured for them anymore.

  Frightened station police stared at me as I slowly moved toward the two docking bays. I stopped and scanned the area. The two freighters were relatively new container carriers. Instead of an enclosed hold, a long keel ran the length of the ship. The bridge and crew quarters were all located in the bow. Engines and repair facilities were located aft with a long corridor connecting the two sections. Located in each of the primary habitable sections were escape pods. In between, on the exposed keep was a skeleton framework that allowed freight containers to be stacked, exposed to the open vacuum of space.

  The design allowed for ease of unloading and loading. Sealed containers that had been searched by Customs sped up the process of clearing Security and Customs. A process I was not too thrilled about. It was too easy to bribe a Customs official to look the other way and seal a container loaded with contraband.