~ ~ ∞ ~ ~
Letty slowed her pace to prolong their walk. She raised her voice above the din hoping to engage Alberto in conversation. “So, Alberto, you’re originally from Earth?”
“No, I was born and raised on Mars. I’ve never been to Earth. The funny thing is, I was on my way to Earth with a layover here when I learned that CoachStop was having a job fair. I extended my layover in case I got an offer out of it. As you can see, I’m still here. I’ve been saving my vacation time. Soon I’ll have three months accumulated. I can’t wait. I’ve heard so much about it.”
“Good for you. Do you think it’s strange that we don’t know where we are? I mean a wormhole just goes somewhere and, as long as our probes find a way back, we follow it. We have no idea how many light-years we are from Earth or any other developed planet. But after a string of hops we’ll be back, or at least close to where we want to be.”
Hernandez seemed to enjoy the conversation, and as eager as Letty to extend their walk. He slowed the pace even further. “You know what’s really strange? Wherever we are right now—and they think it’s really far from our home galaxy—I’m closer to Earth here, travel-wise, than I was on Mars.”
“It’s all so incomprehensible,” Letty said. “Incomprehensible but still commonplace—how does that work? Thinking about it is exhausting. Do you miss Mars?”
“Truthfully, no. My dad’s an impassioned separatist. Talk about exhausting. His rhetoric could put you into a coma, and he never stops.”
“Really? Mars separatists are a rare breed. I don’t understand their arguments.”
“You’re not alone. As a teenager I thought Dad was crazy. His constant campaigning embarrassed me. But I’ve come to realize he’s a futurist. He believes if the seeds are planted now, in a hundred years or so, when . . . if . . . the terraforming is successful and Mars becomes self-sustaining, the movement will have had time to take root. They want to smooth the path to independence for later generations. But, I still can’t take it twenty-four-seven.”
“Hmm, I—” Letty was jostled by someone passing on her left. She instinctively moved to one side, bumping shoulders with Alberto as she continued their conversation. “I’ll have to reconsider my position. Of course, that assumes one-hundred percent success with the terraforming projects, which seems unl—” She was looking directly at Alberto when he abruptly jerked to his right into a dimly lit side corridor. Letty followed him, perplexed by the sudden detour.
“Alberto?” He seemed to have lost his balance; he was falling backward. She took several steps into the corridor after him before realizing someone stood behind him, trying to prop him up—not propping him up—dragging him. Hernandez’ eyes filled with confusion and fear. He pulled at the arm around his neck. Letty lurched forward to help him. She was inches from him when there was a quick movement and the flash of light on metal. Unintelligible clamor from the outer corridor built to a roar. Warm liquid sprayed her face and down her front. It filled her eyes and mouth.
~ ~ ∞ ~ ~
Drew waited less than a minute for the conveyer. He shoved roughly through a boisterous group of people entering as he exited.
The inn lay less than fifty yards down the main corridor from the conveyer. The only passage intersecting it was a twenty-foot length of hallway, which led to a maintenance tube hatch. As Drew passed the opening, an almost imperceptible sound caused him to stop and look in. For the second time in forty-eight hours, he drew his blaster and pointed it at Letty Taleen.
Chapter 12: Smoking Knife
Hernandez lay on his back at the end of the passageway, his head bent to one side at an unnatural angle. He was beyond help. The wound to his throat gaped raggedly from one ear to the other. Drew recoiled at the sharp, metallic smell of blood. It was everywhere; much of it covered Letty, who stood frozen over his body. She stared down at Hernandez in apparent bewilderment.
In her right hand she held a security-issued combat knife with a ten-inch serrated blade. Drew thought it must have belonged to Hernandez, but why would he carry it on guard detail?
With his blaster pointed directly at her, he shouted an order, emphasizing each word carefully. “Put . . . the . . . knife . . . down!”
She stood motionless, still staring at Hernandez.
Extreme, stress-evoking situations often impaired the senses, particularly hearing. He ordered her again, this time using her name. “Letty . . . I said . . . put . . . the knife . . . down!”
She turned toward him in slow motion with a blank stare and then looked back at Hernandez—the knife still clutched in her hand. At least he’d gotten a response, though he wasn’t sure she’d consciously heard him. He called to her a third time. “Letty . . . Letty, look at me.”
When she turned toward him again, he saw a flicker of recognition.
“Letty, listen to me,” he said softly, as if speaking to a child. “Put the knife down, please.”
She raised her arm and looked at the knife, seemingly confused at how it got there or even what it was. Then, with a jerk of awakening, she cried out, dropping the weapon. She looked back at Drew in horror and ran the few feet between them and into his arms. She either didn’t see or chose to ignore his blaster. As he held her, the thought came fleetingly that, had it been anyone else running at him under the same circumstances, with or without the knife, he would have fired.
Two of his men stood directly behind him. He’d registered their arrival as he was trying to get Letty’s attention. He glanced back, realizing they hadn’t fired at her only because he was blocking the narrow passage entrance.
He wanted to keep her in his arms and shield her from hurt; but, for the second time, he was helpless to protect her. For a few brief seconds, he closed his eyes and surrendered to emotions from upheaval and apprehension to a new and indisputable allegiance to this woman.
With no other viable choice, he gave her over to his men who restrained her wrists behind her back. She looked at him pleadingly, but he couldn’t afford to show compassion.
He kept his voice steady and avoided returning her look while he instructed the men. “Take her back to her cell at headquarters. Have someone stay with her until I get there.”
“Yes, sir,” the two men answered in unison. They turned with Letty between them and headed for the conveyer.
One of them must have already tapped headquarters because others were arriving now, including Mattie and Curtis, with Doc and Fitz trailing them. Doc knelt next to Hernandez to check his pulse. She was wasting her time.
Other security staff closed off the corridor to keep gawkers at a distance and preserve evidence.
Fitz stood at the entrance to the passageway wringing his hands. Abstractedly, Drew wondered if Fitz’s distress stemmed more from an uncontrollable need to tidy up the station than from the horror that lay in front of him.
Both Mattie and Curtis seemed to recognize that Drew—usually assured and in command—was acting uncharacteristically preoccupied. They took charge of the scene in a rare display of teamwork. After issuing only a terse and unnecessary command in Mattie’s and Curtis’s direction to search the maintenance tube, Drew announced he was returning to HQ to question Letty. He ignored the glances of shared concern that passed between his command staff.
He went straight to his office, fighting his desire to go to Letty first. He wanted to look at the vids from the main corridor and maintenance passageway. Every foot of the common areas were monitored around the clock.
He pulled up a station blueprint and overlay it with a second plan showing surveillance lens positions and their asset numbers. He selected the two lenses with overlapping views of the main corridor and the lens aimed directly into the maintenance passageway between them.
From those three views he could see exactly what happened, leaving no room for doubt. He hesitated for only a moment staring at the form, then entered the information. Letty hadn’t killed Hernandez—of that he was sure. Even with her combat training, she couldn�
�t overpower him, take his knife, and slit his throat. More importantly, she wouldn’t have. He submitted the form with a verbal command and waited as a new and disturbing thought nagged at him.
Drew reviewed the vids twice. He selected three frames and attached them to general orders for a station-wide search, despite having little hope for positive results. Too much time had passed and, without facial ID, the search would be based solely on a description of the man’s clothing. The killer would be all kinds of stupid if he hadn’t at least ditched the jacket he’d been wearing. Waste chutes scattered throughout the station emptied into a chemical vat that disintegrated everything but metals.
In the detention area, he was relieved to find a female staffer, Teresa Zamora, standing guard at Letty’s cell. Letty was sitting on the cot, facing forward, legs together, feet flat on the floor. She stared at her hands resting in her lap, without acknowledging his arrival.
She wore the same gray jacket and slacks she’d had on that morning, but now the front of both were stained with Hernandez’ blood, already dried to an ugly brownish-red.
Drew spoke quietly to Zamora, though he didn’t think it made a difference to Letty. She seemed oblivious to anything going on around her. “Take her to the showers and find something in the lockers for her to wear. Put her clothes in an evidence bag. When you’re done, bring her to my office.”
He turned to Letty and unlocked her cell door. “This is Teresa, she’s going to take you to clean up and find a change of clothes. We have vids of everything that happened, Letty. It’s all right, don’t worry. I know you didn’t do it. We’ll talk after you’ve cleaned up, okay?”
Letty looked up at him then, her face distorted. “It was horrible. It happened so f-fast. I didn’t even know—”
“I know, Letty; I saw it all. Go with Teresa now. We’ll talk when you come back. Everything will be okay, I promise.”
“How can it be okay? Dad’s dead. I’ll never see him again. I can’t do this alone. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“You’re not alone. I’m here, and we’ll figure it out together.”
Letty stood. Teresa took her arm gently and escorted her out of the cell and down the hallway.
When Drew returned to his office, he viewed the vids once more, isolating and enhancing several frames, looking for anything that identified the killer.
The man wore dark pants and a hooded jacket that obscured his facial features. The deep hood reminded Drew of those worn by the Praetorians, only it was attached to a short, dark blue jacket, not a robe.
Hernandez and Letty came into view from the direction of the inn, at an easy stroll. They were chatting as if they’d known each other for years. The man in the hood came up behind them and hurried past. He reached the side passage about twenty feet in front of them and turned in, flattening himself against the wall just inside the opening. To Drew, it looked as if he was holding something—certainly the knife—by his side, away from the lens.
Hernandez and Letty had shifted to one side as the man passed them, but otherwise continued chatting. Drew was enraged by Hernandez’ incompetence. That he was distracted and enchanted by Letty was obvious. He was supposed to be protecting her . . . guarding her. Either way, he’d failed in his duty and paid the ultimate price, nearly getting Letty killed as well.
Whether the man’s objective was to kill Letty, which Drew was certain was the case, or to free her, it would have worked if not for a group of seven people who came down the corridor forty-five seconds later. They were coming from a celebration. Several held opened packages with remnants of brightly colored paper and loose hanging ribbons.
As Hernandez and Letty drew even with the passage entrance, the man grabbed Hernandez from behind and dragged him several feet into the passage. He sliced Hernandez’ throat from one ear to the other with practiced expertise. Blood sprayed from the wound. Hernandez had no time to understand what was happening before it was done.
As if on auto-pilot, Letty had followed Hernandez into the passage. Seconds passed on the vid before she appeared to understand and react. Instead of turning and fleeing, she threw herself at Hernandez in what could only have been an attempt to pull him away from the attacker. The man continued to drag the now-dead Hernandez deeper into the passage with Letty tugging at the body.
At the maintenance hatch, the man dropped Hernandez and grabbed for Letty. He brandished the knife in a gloved hand. Clearly he intended to use it on her. Letty, evidently realizing his intent, took several steps backward beyond his grasp. Suddenly the man froze, looking past her into the main corridor. No part of his face was visible from the depth of the hood.
The group of partiers passed in front of the lens, blocking the view into the passage. They talked and laughed with animated gestures. They must have made quite a bit of noise. If any sound came from the passageway, they hadn’t heard it. Focused only on each other, not one of them looked into the opening.
In the next clear view, Letty stood alone over Hernandez’ body, but now she held the knife. The killer was nowhere in sight. The only exit was through the maintenance tube hatch. A minute later, Drew entered the frame, paused at the passage entrance, and drew his blaster.
Drew sent copies of the vid triptych to each of the command staff.
Though relieved at Letty’s obvious innocence, he was nonetheless deeply troubled. How did the killer know Letty would be coming down that passageway at that moment?
Chapter 13: Suspended
Drew tapped for Mattie. “You about done down there?”
“We’re finishing up now. Doc’s accompanying Hernandez to med-lab, and Fitz and Curtis are back-tracking Hernandez’ and Miss Taleen’s movements, interviewing anyone they might have seen on the way. We’re dotting all the ‘i’s.”
“I’m counting on it, Mattie. I need you and Curtis back in HQ as soon as possible. We have a killer loose.”
“From the images you attached to the search order there’s not much to go on,” Mattie said.
“No, but it’s possible someone saw something. A group of people came down the corridor just after Letty and Hernandez. We need to identify them for questioning. I want Curtis to coordinate the search teams while you help me file reports with Earth authorities and CoachStop.”
“On my way. Jones is here; I’ll have him deal with the final touches.”
“You thoroughly searched the maintenance tube?” Drew knew she had, but couldn’t stop from asking.
“Just a preliminary search. The forensics team is going back over it with glasses and a sweeper now. I don’t think there’s much to find. I also have three, two-man teams tracking all exits out of the maintenance tube from this point. Drew, you know as well as I do, maintenance hatches require a code and palm print for entry. You don’t think it’s possible our killer’s an employee?” Concern was evident in her voice and from the use of his given name. Her suspicions headed in the same direction as Drew’s, but she hadn’t thought it through fully.
“He must have used Hernandez’ palm on the reader,” Drew offered. “If he were an employee, he wouldn’t want his own print logged. It’s the only reason Letty’s still alive. If he suspected he’d been seen by someone in the passing group, he only had a few seconds to wrestle Hernandez’ body up, place his palm on the reader, and enter the code to make his getaway. Any blood on the hatch controls?”
“He still had to have the code, but yeah, there’s blood on the hatch controls and everything else. You’d think the guy would be covered in it himself, but he didn’t leave any in the maintenance tube that we could see. Maybe the sweep will turn up something.”
“Let’s hope so. We’re going to be slammed for the next couple of hours. Get up here as soon as you can.”
Drew had no sooner ended his conversation with Mattie when Kyle tapped him. “Quadrant Representative Wellington is on a live feed from the Golden Tracer.”
Albert Wellington—a name adopted for Earth’s convenience, his Bahdane name being
unpronounceable for humans—was the MCTT Enforcement Representative for Dark Landing’s quadrant of space. Drew had made a special effort to become Bertie’s friend. He thought it wise to stay on the good side of Muck and, besides, Drew genuinely liked the Bahdaneian.
Wellington visited the station every ninety days to inspect the docks and warehouse level and to audit traffic records. He always scheduled his visits over a Saturday evening so he could sit in on the weekly poker game.
While several of the known alien races appeared humanoid—not surprising considering the efficiency of the design—Bahdane’s environment and the Bahdaneian physiology were closer to Earth’s than any other planet supporting intelligent life. Because of this, the two races interacted more with each other than with the other Alliance races. Wellington had last visited three weeks earlier. Drew couldn’t imagine what he wanted now.
Bahdaneians made excellent administrators and civil servants. They were natural-born linguists who needed little exposure to a new language to become fluent. They held positions of authority throughout the K.U. and were a particular favorite of Muck. It helped that their appearance was non-threatening in the extreme.
Drew had Kyle patch him through. Wellington’s image resolved on the large panel above his credenza. Short, velvety facial fur, bright, liquid-brown eyes, and a snout protruding between luxurious whiskered cheeks, if it ended there, might have given him the appearance of a charming stuffed seal one might win at an arcade game. But the long, spindly ears that folded forward and hung on each side of his head, resembling an English counselor’s wig, added a comical element. Drew always thought Bahdaneians looked like a seal had hooked up with a bunny rabbit.
Wellington wore his uniform jacket, with MCTT patches on each sleeve, and as stern a look as he could pull off given his furry facade.
Transmuted (Dark Landing Series Book 1) Page 8
