The Lost Intelligence (Lost Starship Series Book 12)

by Vaughn Heppner

Becker spun his chair around. “Enter,” he said.

  A lithesome beauty came through the open hatch. She wore a modified Star Watch uniform. The skirt was much too short, of course, and she didn’t wear any panties underneath. She was from the Sigma Draconis System just like Director Chom. The beauty wore outrageous high heels just like Becker appreciated.

  “Sir,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. “The Director is quite insistent. He wishes to meet with you immediately.”

  “Where?” asked Becker.

  She approached closer, handing him a sealed note.

  He took and weighed it in his hands. He was so damned tired. He’d been working like a mule for endless weeks, without any breaks—

  “Come here,” he told her. “Sit on my lap.”

  She complied, as she would do anything he told her, anything. Normally, that would be due to his newfound powers acquired on Jarnevon. At first, he’d loved coercing endless numbers of beautiful women. He’d ravaged hundreds of them. Over the many months, though, his desire had changed. He began yearning for gorgeous women that he didn’t need to mentally coerce to have sex with him.

  This little dish—Magyar Jondelle from Sigma Draconis—he’d met her in a bar in Monaco in Europe. There’d been instant attraction on both their parts. He hadn’t needed his coercive power upon her. She must have seen him for what he was: the coming conqueror of Human Space.

  It had been a small matter to recruit her into Political Intelligence, making her one of his attendants aboard the Shark, his new name for the corvette. Naturally, he’d scanned her mind once just to make sure about her. The love she had for him—it had startled Becker.

  She sat on his knee as he stroked one of her smooth bare legs. Wasn’t it strange that he should yearn for true love after he could have literally any woman he wanted? He wouldn’t have thought it would be like that. Bevies of willing sex-slaves had been his dream for…for as long as he could remember.

  “Lord,” Magyar said. “Shouldn’t you be going?”

  He laughed. “Did you read the note?”

  “Oh, no,” she said.

  Gently, he pushed her off his lap and tore open the note, reading Chom’s request. The ex-Lord High Admiral had escaped from the J.B. Center in Montana. The controlling unit there—destroyed! Oh. This was an emergency. So why did Chom wish to meet in the Ardennes Forest? It seemed like a strange location. Maybe the director was becoming too suspicious and security-minded.

  “Do you wish for a confirmation call?” Magyar asked him.

  Becker ran his hand up her left thigh, cupping one of her butt cheeks. The things Magyar and he did together night and day…it was intoxicating, almost as much as running circles around all the high and mighty who would have spit on him in the past. Soon, his enemies would bow down to him and proclaim him the Master of the Universe.

  “What’s so funny?” Magyar asked him.

  He looked up into her face, stood and grabbed the back of her head, pushing those gorgeous lips against his. He tongued her before letting go.

  The Master of the Universe had a childish ring to it, but Becker liked the title nonetheless.

  “Don’t bother with the confirmation,” Becker answered. “I’ll go see him. Make sure you’re wearing your see-through dress when I get back.”

  She batted her eyelashes at him again. “What do you have in mind?” she asked archly.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” he laughed. “Now, clean up in here. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Yes, Lord,” she said.

  Becker headed for the hatch. He’d take a shuttle down and see why Chom had posted the meeting in the Ardennes Forest. The man had a reason for everything. Soon, now, Becker believed he would have to eliminate Chom, as the only one working harder than him was the spymaster from Sigma Draconis.

  -6-

  Becker landed in the Ardennes at the coordinates Chom had given him. He stepped out of the shuttle—it was an hour past noon—and enjoyed the beautiful forest scenery. Birds sang. He saw a deer and its fawn and noticed that no one else was around in this green wonderland.

  It was so peaceful.

  Becker checked his chronometer, seeing that he was two minutes early. Chom was unbelievably punctual, so it wasn’t a surprise the director didn’t appear from behind a tree to greet him.

  Becker looked almost the same as that fateful day over four years ago already. He was still small with thin shoulders and had pallid skin. He wore a black Star Watch Political Intelligence uniform, and looked rather dashing in it, if he did say so himself.

  Becker walked around the shuttle and felt a sudden premonition of danger. He’d had many clandestine meetings like this, so that wasn’t the problem. There was something weird about this place. He hurried back to the ladder, climbing aboard the shuttle, striding to the armory. He chose a Norton II Laser Pistol, the very best in personal armament. He thought about calling Chom’s office—Becker headed to the piloting chamber and panel, pressing a comm switch. Nothing happened. That was odd. He pressed the switch again. Once again, nothing happened, no beep, no light, nothing.

  Concerned now, he shifted to the pilot controls and tapped a different switch. Not one damn thing happened there, either. He turned and pressed an upper bulkhead switch. It was dead as well.

  At that moment, he heard an outside boom, and trees shook fifty meters from the front nosecone. The leaves rustled like crazy and—Becker’s eyes bulged outward. An upright circle shimmered into existence like a holoimage. It had sizzling edges and was perhaps five meters in diameter. He didn’t understand the circle’s significance, but realized it was real as sparks from the sizzling edges caused the nearest grass to smoke.

  Then, four armored men, one after another, walked through the shimmering circle from somewhere onto the carpet of grass in the forest. The armor was not of the Space Marine kind. This was medieval or even ancient style armor. Each man was big and tough, although not as big or tough as the largest Bosks. Each wore a Greek hoplite helmet with a Y-slot opening in front. Each helmet had sprouting antennas with sparks shooting from the tips. Each also gripped a long white lance.

  The upright circle in the air was clearly transportation technology. Becker had never heard of Star Watch possessing anything like that. The tech implied someone else entirely.

  Could the shuttle’s sudden lack of energy have anything to do with the explosion, the shimmering transport circle and these four museum warriors?

  Becker’s eyes narrowed. Maybe Akon Chom had discovered the exotic transportation tech. Maybe this was a power play against him. Chom had undergone a Nostradamus transformation, though. Thus, if Chom were making a power play, it would mean that Nostradamus was through with him, Captain Josef Becker.

  Becker gulped nervously as he noticed the four warriors eyeing the shuttle. They conferred with each other and began marching for the side entrance. Luckily, the polarized window kept him hidden from them.

  Enough already, Becker concentrated at the warriors. But the four must have been too far for his mental dominance to work against them just yet or those sparking antennas did something to block him.

  Becker sat, working the piloting panel, trying to start this thing. It would not respond.

  Snarling silently, Becker raced out of the piloting chamber and down a short corridor. It would be wisest to take as few risks as possible. This was a shocking turn of events—he headed for the rear emergency hatch. The four would likely try the main steps leading into the shuttle.

  The rear exit refused to open. The shuttle lacked all energy, including back here.

  Becker drew the laser pistol. How would it fare against medieval armor? He shook his head. That didn’t matter, as it would do wonders against their heads.

  “All righty then,” Becker said. His heart raced. He still didn’t like physical confrontations, but he had his mental dominance as backup.

  Puffing out his thin chest, Becker turned around, heading for the main hatch. He reached it jus
t as the lead warrior poked his helmeted head within the shuttle. Their eyes met. The warrior’s inside the Y-slot opening seemed strangely addled.

  “Who are you?” Becker asked. Even as he asked it, he reached out with his mental dominance, and felt an ice-cold block.

  The warrior spoke alien gibberish at him.

  Becker aimed and pressed the trigger switch. A gush of hot laser-power struck the warrior, melting the face, causing the warrior to crash back.

  In response, narrow, directed flames roared through the hatch. They licked at Becker, and he howled in agony at their touch. He released the pistol, stumbling back to hit a shuttle bulkhead.

  Things became hazy after that. Two of the armored warriors hurried into the shuttle. They grabbed Becker, picking him up, laughing as they spoke gibberish to each other. The warriors brought him out and headed for the front of the shuttle.

  There was another explosion somewhere, and the circle shimmered into existence once again. Had it disappeared for a time? Becker peered through the circle to the other side. It looked like a lab of some kind with experimental equipment and naked people floating in large aquariums.

  Becker started struggling. He wanted no part of that place. His struggles didn’t help him any, though.

  Fortunately, Larick and several of his bullyboys crashed through the forest to confront the three armored warriors.

  “Set him down,” Larick shouted. He aimed a heavy rifle at the chief warrior.

  The warriors dropped Becker, unlimbered the lances from their backs and aimed at Larick and his men.

  Heavy rifle fire ended it right there, the slugs punching through the armor and the bodies of the three. As the warriors struck the ground, each began shaking violently.

  Becker was already crawling away. It was a good thing he did. Each warrior burst into blue fire, the fire causing his uniform to smolder. The heat was exquisitely hot and painful.

  Larick rushed in, grabbed an arm and dragged Becker farther away from the burning warriors.

  The captain twisted around, watching them burn into ashes. Then, he looked up at Larick. “Why are you here?”

  “Nostradamus sent us an emergency message,” Larick said.

  “He sent it directly?” asked Becker.

  Larick nodded.

  That was a first. “What did Nostradamus say?”

  “Only that you needed help.” Larick became reluctant to say more.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Larick hesitated before saying, “Some of Nostradamus’s Lunar-stationed servants took Magyar Jondelle from your corvette.”

  “What?” Becker shouted. “Why?”

  Larick stared down at the ground.

  “Spit it out, man,” Becker said wearily.

  “Nostradamus wishes to speak to you,” Larick said.

  “He told you that?”

  Larick nodded.

  A thrill of fear touched Becker in the middle of his gut. He didn’t like that one bit. Nostradamus had always worked through him. It had been a sign of his strength.

  Becker climbed to his feet and stared at the black ash of the four dead warriors. The glimmering circle was no longer there. Just what in the hell was going on here?

  “Thanks,” Becker told Larick. “I’ll join you in your shuttle. Mine’s not working.”

  Larick stepped aside and indicated they head west. Becker did so. A direct meeting with Nostradamus—that meant he’d have to go to the Moon. Oh, this did not sound good in the least.

  -7-

  Some hours later, two giant Bosks in thick leather garments escorted Becker through a subterranean lunar corridor. The two held him by the arms. They did so for his own protection, so he couldn’t jump too high and dash his head against the rock ceiling. There was little gravity here, and the captain wasn’t used to that.

  Becker had traveled in Larick’s shuttle, reaching a Strikefighter Moon base. From there, Becker had gone by monorail to a Political Intelligence installation on the dark side of the Moon. The installation was the main path to the subterranean chambers holding what Star Watch personnel thought of as a vast computer complex.

  Instead, the complex held the Liss Nostradamus and his many Bosk and Draegar attendants. What exactly went on inside the complex was known only to a few. Becker was not one of those so privileged.

  The two Bosks and Becker reached a large hatch. It opened on its own accord. The Bosks released him.

  Becker rubbed one biceps and then the other. They had held him with cruel strength. Had that been on purpose?

  Yes, a voice said in his mind.

  “Nostradamus?” Becker asked.

  Wait to speak. I am not yet ready for you. Proceed alone into the chamber and wait on the bench. I will attend to you shortly. And walk gently. While I have increased the gravity in here, it is much less than you’re used to.

  Becker did as bidden. The large hatch shut behind him. He was alone in the dim rocky chamber. He looked around and noticed that it was lunar rock with a huge membrane wall-screen. Before the screen was a stone bench sized for a man.

  Becker shuffled to it and sat down. The bench was cold, the air chilly. He was only wearing his PI uniform and soon began rubbing his shoulders in order to keep warm.

  It didn’t help enough, as Becker shivered after a time. Finally, he stood and did some jumping jacks. That reminded him of bullying coaches in high school. He did the jumping jacks anyway and then did deep knee bends. They were much easier to do than normally. He stopped at one hundred and ten, finding that he no longer felt cold.

  That was strange, he thought. The temperature in here hadn’t shifted. His body still sensed the chill air, but now it liked it, cooling him down. He would be hungry sooner now, needing fuel to keep his body going—

  “Becker,” a bizarre insectoid voice said from the stretched membrane wall-screen.

  The human started, looked around and quickly sat on the bench, facing the membrane screen.

  An image appeared, showing a naked Magyar Jondelle manacled to a steel floor. Beside her were several long, low, off-color white machines. They had exoskeleton sides and open slots. Narrow bony tentacles slid out, poking poor Magyar here and there, making her writhe in agony.

  “I have stimulated her with nu-pain,” the insectoid voice said. “She is most anxious to avoid my prickly touch.”

  “Why are you doing that to her?” Becker demanded.

  “You dare to question me?”

  Becker opened his mouth, hesitating. “I’m curious,” he finally said.

  “In essence, you have questioned me. I will remember that, Becker.”

  “Are you Nostradamus?”

  “Ah. A second question. You are quite inquisitive, aren’t you?”

  Becker used his mind, reaching out at the imagines on the membrane. He felt something and then mind-connected with Magyar.

  My darling, why are they doing this to you? Becker asked.

  On the screen, the bony points pricked Magyar again. She howled in misery.

  So did Becker. He howled and writhed on the stony floor. The pricks continued until he jerked his consciousness from her mind.

  At that point, the membrane screen went blank.

  Becker panted. What a terrifying experience. Besides the pain, he’d sensed one long sequence of thoughts repeated over and over. Startled, he realized the sequence indicated a woman other than Magyar.

  Do you begin to comprehend, Becker? Nostradamus spoke to him the usual way.

  Becker considered the question and realized he understood the sequence of thoughts. They meant, “Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers,” he whispered.

  Good, good, there is still a use for you.

  Becker frowned, trying to understand the implications. He heart suddenly went cold. “Does Magyar works for Lisa Meyers?”

  You are questioning me again. Haven’t you learned how painful that can prove?

  “I beg for your forgiveness, Nostradamus.”

  For a time, there was
no communication.

  Becker sat on the lunar bench thinking. If Magyar was an agent for Lisa Meyers, then Magyar had never loved him. If she hadn’t loved him, she’d used him. Yet, how had she managed to fool him when he’d entered her mind?

  That is exactly the right question, Nostradamus told him. We have a mystery. In truth, we have several.

  “Haven’t you already deciphered Lisa Meyers’ next move?”

  I sense bitterness and disillusionment in you, Becker. It turns out that you are quite the emotional creature. But you are still useful to me so I will answer the question. It is true that I can predict many, many avenues. First, however, I need enough data to make the correlations. I lack pertinent data on Lisa Meyers to know with precision what she shall attempt next. However, I do know several useful points concerning her. In that sense, you are lucky.

  Becker concentrated on saying and thinking nothing to upset Nostradamus.

  Did you know that Brigadier Stokes has successfully rescued the ex-Lord High Admiral?

  “I’d heard about it.”

  That was cleverly done and will upset my scheduled events. Even so, the latest episode with Lisa Meyers shows me several useful facets. At least to an extent, Meyers knows about me. She thus kept you—a prime agent—under surveillance with her sexual wanton. This tells me many things. If I combine it with Cook’s rescue—

  Becker breathed slowly as Nostradamus cut the connection. He had to think this through. The revelations, the betrayal—Becker concentrated. If ever he needed his wits, it was down here inside the Moon. Magyar had used him—he shook his head, grinding his teeth. It was time to think!

  And that’s what Josef Becker began to do. If Magyar worked for Lisa Meyers, and if Magyar had sent him to the Ardennes Forest…Had the four warriors using the strange transportation tech worked for the Methuselah Woman? That meant Meyers had tried to kidnap him.

  Becker’s shoulders slumped. Nostradamus had given him great powers, but he’d fallen for an elementary ploy. He wanted to become the Master of the Universe. Would he even become the Lord of the Commonwealth after this?

  Is that what you truly desire, to become the Universal Master?