“Confirmed,” Charlie nodded as his navigation screen showed their approach path.
“Roger Vandar Control,” Glitter replied, “we have our vector. Starting our final approach.”
“Thank you for using Traffic-Net,” the synthesized voice spoke, “have a pleasant visit to Vandar Station.”
Glitter switched her displays to navigation and began flying toward Vandar Station. In flying down among the structures of Vandar Station, Glitter came to appreciate just how large and vast the station was. As she flew toward their assigned docking bay, she came to truly realize that Vandar Station was literally a city in space. Soon the docking bay loomed ahead of them. It was a door open to space in the side of a building. Red Kite Forty approached the docking bay and was grabbed by tractor beams. Glitter cut the ship's engines as the tractor beams guided her into the bay. Extending her landing struts, the craft was set down in the bay, and a docking tube extended to her starboard airlock. With the ship secured, Dr. Bowen turned to Dan.
“I'd like to keep the number of people to a minimum,” Dr. Bowen said, “no more than myself and one or two other people.”
“Okay,” Dan was ready to agreeable but prepared, “take Glitter and Whipple with you.”
“That's good,” Ed nodded, “but no uniforms. We're dealing with pirates; I don't want to spook them.”
“You heard him. Civvies only.”
“We're going into a pretty seedy place, so we're going in armed. The Star Whale's Roost won't search you, nor will they confiscate your weapons, so long as you keep them out of sight.”
“Understood,” Glitter pounded Whipple on the shoulder. “Come on, ya big ape. Let's go make ourselves look like normal people.”
“Okay, ears,” Whipple quipped as they exited the room.
“Hey,” Dan grabbed Dr. Bowen's arm, “that's my baby girl. Take care of her or I will space you out of the nearest airlock.”
“From what I've heard, Commander,” Dr. Bowen reassured, “that girl can take care of herself.” With that, Ed exited the bridge.
Dan glared at Charlie. “Post a guard at the airlock. I don't want anyone sneaking aboard.”
“Aye, Skipper.”
In the orbit of Simmal, Ranger-Three burst out of hyperspace leaving a dissipating ring of discharged energy. As the ship approached their destination, Too Much keyed his radio.
“Alya Space Central,” Too Much spoke into his headset pickup. “This is Ranger-Three on approach, requesting docking assignment and vectors.”
“Welcome to Simmal,” said a female air traffic controller, “we have you on our screens now, Ranger-Three. Please state the nature of your visit.”
“Transportation of a VIP on Fleet business with the Galactic Institute of Science,” Too Much replied into his headset pickup.
“Roger, Ranger-Three,” the female air traffic controller said, “your docking assignment is Dock 1138 in North Quadrant-C.”
“Understood, Space Central,” Too Much replied, “we are assigned to Dock 1138 in North Quadrant-C. We are starting our approach.”
“Enjoy your visit to Alya Station,” the female air traffic controller said.
At that moment, Major Nim entered the cockpit.
“Status?”
“We've got our dock assignment,” Too Much reported, “and we are on approach.”
“Outstanding,” Nim nodded, “I will inform Dr. Parker.” She exited the cockpit.
Bowen stepped out of a tram car that let him off near the port side fighter hangar. He marched stiffly to the hangar crew chief's office. Upon entering the crew chief's office, he saw Carmen Ramirez sitting in front of the desk. As before, she was wearing a strapless mini-dress. From the way she was sitting, she was only a single shift of her legs away from displaying her panties for all to see. Two Fleet Marines, acting in their capacity as ship security, stood, one on either side of her. They were armed with phaser carbines. Ham sat behind the desk, and Urko paced back and forth along one wall of the office. As he paced, he fingered his sidearm, a phaser pistol resting in a fast draw holster strapped to his right thigh.
“Report,” Bowen growled.
Urko stopped pacing, and glared at Carmen, and then at Bowen.
“This woman was caught in an area restricted to civilians,” Urko hissed.
Bowen glared at Carmen. She batted her eyes and smiled prettily. She was obviously attempting to use her femininity to get out of the trouble she obviously knew she was in. A camera drone sat on the desk near Ham. He recognized it immediately. It was a media camera drone. Fleet members often called them flying eyeballs because they were audio/visual holographic recording systems in a compact spherical shell. He knew this flying eyeball would normally be floating around recording anything and everything.
“Okay, Carmen,” Bowen uttered with strained patience, “what in the hell were you doing?”
“Don't be cross with me, Pookie,” Carmen flirted, “I was just doing my job.”
“Do you know how long our last news media chief lasted?”
“Pookie, I was just...”
“Fourteen days,” Bowen interrupted, “and you're about to break his record. You entered a restricted area within twenty-four hours. Now, before I have these two strapping young marines haul your shapely ass down to the brig and hold you there until I have the Judge Advocate General press charges against you, explain yourself!”
“Okay, sweetie,” Carmen said, “The Fleet News Network keeps getting requests for a documentary on life aboard a tactical carrier, and they assigned me to film it, since I was assigned to this ship as your news media chief.”
“Did they bother to tell you that you had to inform the captain about this,” Bowen demanded, “and get permission to film this? Did they tell you that we had to know about this, so we could make sure you don't film anything that is....CLASSIFIED!”
“Oh, I didn't know I was going into a restricted area,” Carmen spoke in a mock pouty voice. “I guess I was a bad girl.”
“It’s not going to work, Carmen!” Bowen howled. “Quit the flirt my way out of trouble crap!”
“Okay, fine.” Carmen sighed. “I am fully aware that my reputation for tabloid journalism preceded me.”
“Yes, it did, Carmen,” Bowen hissed, “and each time I have to deal with you, I have to take time out for my busy schedule to take care of this.”
“So what are you going to do to me?” Carmen asked coyly, uncrossing her legs to afford Bowen a panty shot.
“I am sorely tempted to hold a man overboard drill,” Bowen smiled grimly, “that means we shoot a dummy out of a launch tube, and then send a shuttle crew to rescue it.”
“Why would that scare me?” Carmen asked, starting to get nervous.
“Nothing, unless YOU are the dummy.”
“You'd never do that,” Carmen was terrified.
“Not only would I do that, I'd post a Talon with a camera pod and broadcast it to the crew for morale day...complete with a recording of your happy ass screaming as we shoot you out of a launch tube.”
“That would kill me!” Carmen cried.
“No, it wouldn't,” Urko chuckled darkly, “we'd put you in the ugliest environment suit we can find. Oh, you'd definitely survive.”
“You wouldn't do that to a pretty girl like me,” Carmen whimpered.
“Unfortunately,” Bowen said, “I have something better for you.”
“What?”
“You're going to make a training film,” Bowen smiled. “One that Admiral O'Neil has been pestering me to have my news media department to make.”
“A training film,” Carmen whined. “I can't make a training film.”
“It's the only way you're going to avoid charges,” Bowen hissed. “You make a training film on information security, or you spend your remaining time on this ship in the brig...and I guarantee that your remaining time will be measured in hours, because I will have charges brought against you and have your happy ass on an outbound shuttle withi
n twelve hours.”
“Fine,” Carmen cried resolutely. “I'll make the damn training film.”
“Good girl,” Bowen patronized Carmen by patting her on the head, and then he turned to the marines, “Escort her back to the media department.”
“Aye, Sir,” the marines nodded.
As they dragged Carmen to her feet, Bowen picked up the camera drone and tossed it to Urko.
“Have this thing's memory erased and reformatted,” Bowen said, “I want anything it recorded eliminated.”
“You've got it, Boss,” Urko replied.
The marines prodded Carmen out of the room. Urko made a show of tossing the camera drone up in the air and caught it, and all as a way to annoy Carmen. Bowen face-palmed and looked at Ham.
“What was she filming?” The captain was thoroughly annoyed now.
“We actually caught her before she could film anything that was actually classified,” Ham snickered. “I just had the marines remove her the moment we saw her.”
“At least you're diligent about maintaining the security of your area, Chief.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Carry on, Chief,” Bowen left the room.
Chapter Five
Doctor Parker and Tina entered the Galactic Institute of Science. They were immediately greeted by the pretty human girl sitting at the reception desk.
“May I help you?” the receptionist asked.
“Yes, I'm Doctor Parker,” Parker gestured to his companion. “This is my daughter, Doctor Tina Parker. We're here to search your archives for information.”
“May I ask what information you seek?”
“The Kordam Party,” Parker intoned importantly.
“Okay,” the receptionist typed at her holographic computer terminal. “Please wait over there. One of our archivists will accommodate you.”
Parker and Tina sat down in chairs in the nearby waiting area. Presently, a small Gray approached them. He was four feet tall. His head was proportionately larger in relation to his body than a human was. His eyes were large, almond-shaped pools of inky black. His mouth was little more than a lipless slit. His nose consisted of only two nostrils. His ears were simple auditory canals on either side of his head. His head was entirely hairless. He wore a sort of metallic coverall that was more or less the same color as his skin. The only patch of color on his clothing was the logo of the Galactic Science Institute silk screened the left side of his coverall. He walked with a peculiar gliding grate that made him seem to be floating rather than walking. He glided up to them, and regarded them with a blank expression, though they somehow got the impression that he was looking at them with the equivalent of a pleasant smile.
“Greetings Dr. Parker,” the alien said, his words being conveyed to them telepathically. “I am Doctor Kwaka, the chief archivist for the Galactic Science Institute. I understand you are researching the Kordam Party.”
“Yes,” Parker nodded. “The Carrier Atlantis is investigating the Kordam Formation. Her captain has sent me to obtain what information I can on the Kordam Party.”
“It will be agreeable to accommodate you, Dr. Parker,” Kwaka gestured in a friendly manner, “if you will follow me.”
Kwaka turned and glided deeper into the institute.
On Vandar Station, Dr. Bowen led Glitter and Whipple through a decidedly disreputable area of the station. Glitter did not like the look of the people around them. She saw aliens of a wide variety of shapes and sizes and descriptions, many of which she had never seen before. She saw environmental suits, breathers, fluid helmets, and liquid breather collars for aliens with gills and robotic armatures and walkers of a staggering variety of descriptions used for smaller aliens enclosed in environmental containment cells (these were for those few aliens from environments so exotic that they absolutely could not survive outside their natural environment). Whipple was totally relaxed...or seemed that way, at least. Presently they saw the Space Whale's Roost. It was a door nestled among others in the area. Its name was a colorful hologram floating in the air above the door. An animated cartoon whale swam in and around the letters of the name. Above the name was a hologram of something female alien. She was naked and writhed and lounged in a comically large martini glass.
“Is this where we have to get in touch with Iron Claw?” Glitter asked grimly.
“Yes,” Ed shrugged. “This is where Too Far told us to meet the guy.”
“How will we know who works for Iron Claw?” Glitter grimaced at the prospect of going inside with such a garish display on the outside.
“Trust me,” Whipple hooted, “the Blood Claws only employ Shrive Fighters. We'll know him.”
“Well, let's get this over with.”
Without a further word, they entered the Star Whale's Roost.
“Keep your weapons out of sight,” shouted a bouncer, a rather large, muscular humanoid with green skin, an angry look on his face and a mop of dark hair on his head.
Glitter gazed around the bar room. Drinks were served by robot bartenders working circular satellite bars scattered throughout the room. A horse-shoe shaped main bar stood in the center of one of the long walls. A dance floor stood in one corner of the room. A number of satellite stages were scattered around the room, and each had a scantily clad female on it. Each of the dancers was of a different species, and each was presumably dazzlingly beautiful according to the standards of her species. They looked around the bar for Iron Claw's agent. They spotted a particularly gruff Shrive Fighter standing at the main bar. He was wearing light armor. He had the logo of the Blood Claws (a red silhouette of the Shrive Fighter's large toe claw) framing the top of his right eye. He alone of the patrons of the bar wore a weapon openly, and appeared like he would not give it up without blood being spilled. Doctor Bowen marched right up to him. Glitter and Whipple followed at a discreet distance. The Blood Claw sneered at Ed.
“What do you want, human?” the Blood Claw growled.
“I want to speak to Iron Claw,” Dr. Bowen spoke quite plainly with both hands visibly empty held out before him.
“You don't speak to Iron Claw,” the Blood Claw gruffed. “Unless he wishes to speak to you!”
“I'm looking for information on Black Claw.”
The Blood Claw glared at them in shock, nervously tapping his right toe claw on the floor.
“I will tell Iron Claw of your request,” the Blood Claw sneered, “return here this time tomorrow.”
“Why can't we see Iron Claw today?” Glitter demanded.
“You will see Iron Claw when and if he wishes to see you,” the Blood Claw growled. “You do not demand to see him!”
“Apologies,” Dr. Bowen said, “we will be glad to wait.”
“Good.”
Without further word, the Blood Claw turned and stomped off. When he was gone, Dr. Bowen looked at Glitter and Whipple.
“Since we're here,” Ed shrugged, “let's get a drink.”
Glitter shook her head as she and Whipple took places at the bar next to Dr. Bowen.
At the Galactic Science Institute, Dr. Kwaka glided into a vast, warehouse sized room. It featured row after row after row of metal shelving units. Parker and Tina stood with Kwaka as he took a tablet computer from a podium near the door. Kwaka tapped a command into the tablet computer. Presently, a cargo handler robot emerged from a cabinet in the wall and rolled down the main aisle that ran the length of the warehouse. It suddenly turned down a particular aisle and vanished. It reappeared a few minutes later bearing a large crate with it. It deposited the crate near them. Kwaka looked at a reference number stenciled on the top. He then entered the number into his tablet computer.
“This is what we have on the Kordam Party. A copy of Doctor Otmar Kordam's journal, a collection of artifacts of mostly destroyed equipment and a data packet from the rescue expedition that followed the Kordam Party. I am temporarily transferring possession of this evidence to your custody.”
Kwaka held the tablet so Parker could let
it scan his thumb print. Parker let it scan his thumb. Kwaka put his own thumb print on it; he had six fingers on each hand.
“Very good,” the grey figure sounded happy. “This crate will be delivered to your ship by the time you return to it.”
“Thank you, very much, Dr. Kwaka.”
“I'm sure it will prove very helpful,” Tina added.
“I hope you are able to learn more about the fate of the Kordam Party than we did. After all these centuries, it would be nice to know what happened to them.”
“We shall endeavor to do our best,” Parker beamed, “good day to you.”
“And to you, Dr. Parker. However, I must endeavor to warn you.”
“Warn us?” Tina was concerned.
“Yes,” Kwaka frowned. “I am of Zeta Reticuli, and my people are not given to superstition, however, the Kordam Formation has a foul reputation. It is said to be the residence of some nameless evil. Few have ever gone there and returned. I would advise you against going there.”
“Thank you,” Parker tried to sound cheerful. “We are there with an entire battle group from the Galactic Fleet. I am certain we shall be adequately protected from any evil that resides there.”
“One can hope so. I would find it most distressing to learn of your death or disappearance.”
Parker and Tina turned and left. And as they exited, the cargo robot returned, picked up the crate and hauled it away.
Back aboard the Atlantis, Bowen entered CIC. It was the middle of the night, thus Bowen was bleary eyed as he entered. His uniform was rumpled and appeared like he had thrown it on after being awakened. He noticed Commander Teek Plumbar standing at the hologram tank. The old ape was just as bleary eyed. The ragged scar across his right eye subtly twitched as he glared at the hologram tank. The twitching made his cybernetic eye look even more unnatural than it already did.
“Teek,” Bowen said, “How the hell did you pull the mid-watch?”
The Atlantis Chronicles- The Kordam Party Page 8
