“And?”
“Well, we spoke with him last night, but this morning he didn’t contact us. Worse, he didn’t answer when we called him. That has never happened, Commander.”
McCracken wasn’t sure whether to be surprised that this GOD had missed an appointment or to be amazed at how important he really was to The Committee. Either way, it was curious. Whoever this GOD character was, the one thing that had made him somewhat palatable for McCracken over this past year was the consistency.
“Well,” McCracken said, “maybe he just got caught up doing a miracle or something.”
“You think so?” asked Beng, hopefully.
“Honestly, I couldn’t say, Delegate Beng. It’s your GOD, not mine.”
Nebby leaned out on the desk. “Does your God talk to you, Commander?”
“You mean like your GOD talks to you?” McCracken said with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“No, he does not.”
Nebby blew out a relieved breath. “Good thing we didn’t choose your God, then.”
“But my God doesn’t need an audio device for communications, either, sir.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Nebby said. “Why would he when he doesn’t bother talking to you?”
“No,” McCracken countered, “I mean he could talk to me if he wanted to and he wouldn’t need a device to do it.”
“But,” Beng said, scratching himself, “you said that he’s never talked to you before.”
“Correct.”
“Maybe he just needs to get a device, Commander,” suggested Clayzon.
McCracken pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. There was just no winning with these fools. At least not in a debate. Logic did not prevail with The Committee.
Soon, though, things would change.
Very soon.
Gotcha
“Still,” Trek said as he and Elf were zooming back along the transit to the GDA headquarters, “you could have at least interrupted me for a moment to say that you knew what the substance was.”
“Okay, okay, let it slide, will ya?” Elf said in his slang-based language. “I’ll interrupt you next time.”
“Fine. Before we get back to headquarters, though, how does one get their hands on this Krapofudgeinsin or whatever its called?”
“Kretizophomin,” corrected Elf. “Main way is to be rich. Like, big time.”
“I see,” said Trek while thinking. “Anyone on station rich enough to have the quantity needed to poison the entire water supply?”
Elf looked at Trek funny. “Wow, you really are good! I’ll check.” A few seconds later, Elf said, “Great news. Not only is there someone with the coin to proffer a batch, it’s the damn supplier of the stuff.”
“The supplier?”
“Yeah,” Elf said, his metal jaw flapping out of sync, “the company that makes the junk has a boat docked on station.”
“A boat…” Trek wondered why there would be a sea-faring vessel in space. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sorry, I mean a ship. It’s just slang.”
Trek sighed. “Why don’t you forgo the slang while you’re with me?”
“Are you trying to inhibit my personality, Captain?” Elf asked, sounding much like a normal person.
Trek sat back and crossed his arms. He wasn’t about to get into an argument with a robot about personalities and equal rights, but he was also getting tired of the constant “huh?” and “what?” questions because of the strange vernacular that Elf spat out.
“Of course not,” Trek said, diplomatically. “Look, you seem like a bright enough fellow.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I daresay one of the smartest on the team.”
“Aw, shucks.”
“It is why I put you as my second-in-command, after all.” That was a complete falsehood, but Elf didn’t know that.
“Seriously…stop.” Elf fanned himself with his hand. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“But if you want to be treated as a professional in this field, you have to act like a professional.” Trek gave that a moment to sink in. “That means you cut the slang, get into proper attire, and play the game. Once you have earned the respect of the detective community, you can slowly start reintegrating your normal speech choice into your conversations. You can speak freely outside of the office, obviously, but if you want to get ahead in this field—or any, for that matter—you really have to up your professionalism.”
“Wow,” Elf said, sitting back. “Nobody has ever spoken to me like that before. It’s like you’re mentoring me.”
Trek felt that too, all of the sudden. Maybe he was maturing. Of course he could have just been doing it out of necessity. Anything to keep his head away from Riggo’s gun, he thought.
“Right,” Trek said. “Back to work. Where is this ship that we’re after?”
“It’s at the luxury station uptown. I have already requested the transit redirect, so we should be changing direction at the next connection point.” Trek was glad to hear Elf speaking normally. “The ship is the Kretiz-11AC19. It looks like the son of Kretiz, Inc. is captaining the vessel.”
“What do we know about him?”
Elf’s eyes glowed for a second. “His name is Kurgon Kretiz and he’s quite wealthy.”
“Maybe he’s the head of The Rebellion?” Trek mused.
“You think so?”
“Not sure.” It honestly didn’t make sense for a rich kid to be running such a scheme. Why risk everything for some basic excitement? That’s when Trek remembered how he ended up as the chief of the GDA. “How long has he been on station?”
“About a week.”
“So he could have been here during the communications outage?” said Trek.
“He was here during that.”
“Then it kind of adds up, doesn’t it?” Trek asked, hoping that Elf would draw the same conclusion. It made logical sense, but this was where he always got tripped up. Rebben would point out various angles and Trek would walk away amazed at how he had not seen the same issues even after seeing the same evidence.
“Makes sense to me,” Elf said. “Rich guy, heir to the throne of the company that makes the chemical that tainted the water supply, and he’s been sitting at our docks for long enough.” The robot paused. “Of course it would beg the question why he would risk imprisonment when he has so much to lose.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Trek. “When’s he leaving?”
“Scheduled for now, actually,” Elf said. “Well, in fifteen minutes anyway.”
“Stop him,” Trek commanded. “I don’t care how…use slang if you have to. Just stop that damn ship!”
“Okay, okay!” Elf got on his datapad and started typing. A few moments later, he said, “Done.”
Trek guffawed. “Done?”
“Yeah, they’ve put the ship in lock down.”
“That was… fast.”
“It’s just a button,” Elf replied.
“What’s just a button?”
“Locking down a ship. You just press a button and it’s locked down. It’s not like they have to go out and tie ropes to it or anything.” Elf glanced away. “That wouldn’t work anyway, of course, but you know what I mean.”
Trek sighed.
When they arrived, the ship’s doors were all open and there was a rather unhappy looking fellow standing at its base. His arms were folded and his face was stern. He wore a nicely pressed suit with a white shirt and a red tie. His hair was black and slicked back, revealing a pale face that housed a couple of dark green eyes.
“Kurgone Kretiz?” Trek said, as he approached the man.
The young man kept his glare intact. “Who’s asking?”
“Captain Trek Gibbons of the Gordo Galaxy Detective Agency,” Trek replied, showing his badge. “We have some questions for you.”
“About what?”
“About the interruption of the communications system a few
days ago,” Trek answered, “and about the tainting of the water supply last night.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with either of them,” Kretiz said with a roll of his eyes. “You’re wasting my time.”
Trek wasn’t the best at reading people. They could lie to him without much fuss and he’d never know it. Alternately, they could tell him the truth and he’d think they were being deceitful. He’d tried reversing his polarity in the past, but even then his instincts proved incorrect more often than not.
Still, he had to push forward.
“So,” he said, “you’ll have me believe that you just happened to be on station when the water supply got tainted with your particular brand of super laxative?”
“We do sell other products, you know?” the young man replied with disdain. “Yes, Kretizophomin is our most lucrative seller, but the reason I’m here is because we just released a brand new line of powerful cross-dimensional vacuum cleaners that suck up the waste from our dimension and release it, well, somewhere else. They’re perfect for people who happen to have had an accident while taking one of our other products.”
“I could use one of those,” said Elf, to which Trek furrowed his brow.
“Listen, Kretiz,” Trek said, stepping up to the smaller man, “I don’t buy your story. It’s too convenient.” Trek paused. “Actually, it’s almost perfect because those new vacuum cleaners should be flying off the shelves with the mess your other product created! Regardless, you’re coming with us. Now, we can do this one of two ways. I can make a scene or you can come along nicely. If I make a scene, there will be handcuffs and rough play, and I will make sure that it’s known that you are the villain responsible for all the crap that’s been going on.”
“And if I play nice?” Kretiz said, dropping his arms to his sides.
“I’ll hold off on the cuffs until you’re in my vehicle.”
“This is ridiculous, you know?” Kretiz said as they walked over to Trek’s ride and slipped inside. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I have thousands of toilets containing evidence to the contrary,” Trek stated. “Let me ask you a question, Mr. Kretiz. What do you know of The Rebellion?”
Kretiz looked down at the cuffs that Elf had just finished clicking into place. “I want to speak to my attorney.”
“Of course you do.”
Give Me a Break
McCracken had just disconnected from talking with Gibbons.
“Unbelievable,” he said aloud. The imbecile had just arrested one of the wealthiest and most influential men in the universe. Well, he arrested that man’s son, anyway.
Kurgone Kretiz had been one of McCracken’s fraternity brothers at Craleska University. Kurgone went off into the family business and McCracken went on to join the cadet training program at Halanar. McCracken never did like Kurgone. He was a pompous ass, just like his father. But he was an invaluable contact when it had come to helping McCracken move forward in his career. On top of that, once McCracken had risen to the top of the heap, Kurgone’s father began donating large sums of money to the military effort.
To learn that his son had been arrested by a division that reported directly to McCracken would be a nightmare.
McCracken was starting to wonder whether bringing in Gibbons had been such a good idea after all.
He had to think… and that’s when he caught a glimpse of the PHD.
Snatching up his datapad, he put a call into the GDA’s main office.
“Thank you for calling the Gordo Galaxy Detective Agency. My name is Lelly. How may I assist you on this fine day?”
McCracken did not approve of the cheeriness he was hearing. “This is McCracken.”
“I’ll get Captain Gibbons...”
“No, no, no,” McCracken said. “No time for that. I’m sending Captain Broog to pick up your prisoner. You tell Gibbons to get back to the CTS and look for evidence against Kretiz. You getting this?”
“Yes, sir,” Lelly replied.
“Good. I want every able-bodied person in that unit out hunting for clues so we can put a wrap on Kretiz.”
“Including me, sir?” Lelly said with what sounded like a gelatinous gulp.
“Of course not you! We need somebody to deliver the prisoner to Broog, right?”
“Oh, yes, right.”
“McCracken out.”
He snarled to himself as he closed up his office and headed down to the transit station. Hopping into the pod, he pulled up the transponder signatures on each of the GDA members. They were flowing out of the building a little slower than McCracken would have liked, but at least they were leaving. The last thing he needed was to have a stop-and-chat with any of them while wearing Broog’s persona.
That thought gave McCracken pause. He did a quick trace on Broog’s position and found him on level 4 working another domestic dispute issue. It seemed to be the only types of disputes the brute was interested in.
By the time he had arrived at the GDA, everyone was long gone except for Lelly and Kurgone. As per instructions, Lelly was waiting just outside of the GDA’s main doors when McCracken—disguised as Broog—stepped off the lift. Lelly was holding onto Kurgone’s arm, imparting a fair amount of stench-coated gel with it.
“Is this…” McCracken-disguised-as-Broog coughed. “Erm, I mean, this the moron I’m taking in?”
“Yes, Captain Broog,” Lelly replied.
“And who the hell are you?” Kretiz asked with a snap.
“Uh…I’m Captain Broog.”
“I know that, moron,” Kretiz said. “I have ears!”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“I meant what division are you with? I want to make sure I have the details for the report that I’m going to send to my father. He’ll be very interested in hearing about this, I can assure you.”
“I’m with Internal Security.”
“Well, let me tell you something, you big oaf,” said Kretiz with a grunt, “when my father is done with you and this big gelatinous ape, and this entire damn Quarn station, you’ll all be wishing you’d taken jobs on different planets!”
“Okay, tough guy,” McCracken-disguised-as-Broog said. “Let’s go.”
He got into the vehicle behind the prisoner, ignoring the verbal onslaught. Once they were safely back in the main military lanes, McCracken-disguised-as-Broog darkened the windows and spoke again.
“Kurgone Kretiz,” he said with a laugh, “you’ve just been had!”
“What?” Kretiz said with a squint.
McCracken clicked the PHD and shimmered back into his normal look.
Kretiz sat back, jaw hanging open. “Monty?”
McCracken bellowed a pretend laugh. “You should have seen your face,” he said between heaves. “Priceless!”
“You’re telling me this was all a practical joke?” Kretiz did not seem amused.
“Now, now, now, Kurgone,” McCracken said as he wiped his eyes and then unhinged Kurgone’s restraints, “if you’ll recall, I warned you back at university that one day I would get you back for that pig incident.”
Kretiz’s features softened a bit and his eyes twinkled slightly. “That was a hell of a prank,” he said after a moment.
“As was this one,” McCracken retorted.
Kretiz began shaking his head as a small grin began to form. “I have to admit that I had no idea I was being played, Monty.”
“That’s what makes for the best pranks, no?”
“Much like you waking up next to that pig,” Kretiz answered with a chuckle. “That thing was licking your face for hours because of all the peanut butter we’d put on you. Taught you never to get that drunk again, too, I’ll bet!”
“That’s a morning I’ll not soon forget.” McCracken looked off into the distance and shook his head. “At first I thought maybe I’d accidentally slept with your girlfriend.”
“Watch yourself, old man,” warned Kretiz playfully. “She’s my wife now.”
“No! You marr
ied Voogla?”
“Yes, and to her credit she’s taken off a fair bit of weight.”
“Hard to do for a Moxoyarian.”
Kretiz nodded. “She works at the theater, so that helps a lot.”
“That’s good to hear,” McCracken said and then slapped Kretiz on the shoulder. “So, no hard feelings?”
Kretiz gave a tiny snort and said, “Of course not, but now it’s your turn to watch your back, Monty.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt. Fortunately, I have the full military behind me to watch out for people like you, Kurgone.” The two laughed and McCracken said, “Say, I don’t suppose you could stay on Quarn for a few days? Would be great to catch up.” That wasn’t true at all. McCracken would much prefer to just take Kretiz to the nearest portal and dump the man into the vacuum of space.
“I was actually heading off for a short vacation on Moxo before heading home.”
That wasn’t so bad, thought McCracken. As long as Kretiz was out of the way and not in a position to cause any trouble it would be fine. Just in case though, he wanted to clarify things.
“Ah, meeting up with Voogla then?”
“No,” Kretiz answered, sitting back. “She’s got a play running through the rest of the year. No time for the likes of me right now.”
“Just a little rest and relaxation then, eh?”
Kretiz leaned in. “Actually, I’ve been setting up a military getaway. Something to sharpen the eyes and get myself back in a bit of shape.”
Not good, thought McCracken. Knowing Kretiz, the fool would be returning to Quarn within a week trying to “chip in” and help the effort against The Rebellion. This kind of thing happened with Kretiz all the time.
“I’ll do you one better,” McCracken offered, kicking back and crossing his arms. “You stay here and I’ll get you into the basic training unit on level 3 of my department. We’ll whip you into shape in no time.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure. I kind of owe you one after that scare anyway, right?”
“You hook me in on a basic training stint, Monty,” Kretiz declared with much enthusiasm, “and I’ll call us even.”
The Rebellion Hyperbole Page 8
