by K. C. Sivils
Wandering alone in the large facility, Josephson made his way over to what appeared to be a large shipment of goods being readied for loading into shipping containers. Examining the manifest of the container that had just been loaded and sealed, he found nothing of note. It appeared it to be loaded with a shipment of small toys manufactured on Beta Prime for sale off world.
The manifest for the second container showed it was to be loaded with the remainder of the shipment and sent to the planet Hermes II, one of the Rim Worlds. He sat the manifest down and began moving toward the next set of containers being loaded for shipment.
After half an hour of searching, Josephson had found no trace of the missing drugs. Frustrated he sat down and leaned back against a loaded and sealed shipping container.
“I’m missing something obvious,” he muttered aloud. “It has to be right in front of me and I’m just not seeing it.”
Mentally, he reviewed everything he’d examined and the light emitting diode finally lit up. “Hermes II! It’s a Rim World.”
He gave the manifest of both containers a second, more thorough examination. “Something’s not right. Toys aren’t manufactured on Beta Prime.”
Opening one of the crates, Josephson found it neatly packed with small, plastic containers shaped like a box. Each had a brightly colored label with a picture of a small toy and a bar code. With great care, so as not to damage the contents if it was indeed actually a toy, he opened one of the boxes.
Josephson fished out his comm and began typing a message. His hand shook so badly from excitement he dropped his comm. It clattered across the floor and under a small table used to keep tablets for record keeping, forcing the detective to bend over to retrieve his comm.
A hissing sound startled him just before what seemed to be a large, blunt object slammed into his right hip, slamming Josephson to the floor on his left side. Feeling no pain, he glanced at his hip. Smoke curled upwards from the remains of his heavy weather pants, displaying a hole the size of his fist. Clearly visible through the gaping hole was melted body armor covering his hip.
Slowly, the realization he’d been shot filtered through his panicked mind as intense pain began to radiate out from his smoldering hip area. He tried to no avail to move his right leg. Doing so only caused agonizing pain to rip through his upper leg and lower back.
Looking down at his right hand, Josephson noticed he’d drawn his phase pistol. He’d done it reflexively, without thinking.
“You should have stayed by the entrance kid. I didn’t want to have to do this.”
Josephson looked up to see Captain Melancon staring down at him.
“I found the medicine,” he gasped.
“I know you did kid. It’s a shame too.”
A blinding flash of energy seared through the small table, striking Captain Melancon directly in his chest. He stumbled backward for a step or two, surprised by the energy blast. He looked down at the burned hole in his body armor protecting his chest, placing the palm of his hand on the damaged area. He winced as he did so as if the mere touch of the chest armor was painful.
Melancon looked at his palm and shook his head as his own blood ran down his hand to his wrist, soaking into the black fabric of his uniform.
"You shot me, kid! You actually shot me!"
Josephson looked down at his shaking hand. Grey, thick smoke curled around the end of the phase pistol. Dropping the weapon, Josephson looked back up at Melancon.
“I guess I did.”
Melancon looked at his hand a second time before fixing his gaze on Josephson a final time. The bent Captain stumbled backward again, regained his balance and then finally collapsed. Josephson listened for any sounds indicating the Captain was still alive. A deep, eerie rattling sound emanated from Melancon as he breathed his last and died.
Pain crashed over his body in waves with the strange effect of clearing his mind. Josephson looked at the two containers and the medicine yet to be loaded. The two containers represented a lot of lives, either saved or lost. As the pain began to overwhelm his senses, Josephson realized the medicine still was not safe.
His hand shook from the burning pain in his hip, making it nearly impossible for Josephson to type the number. Remembering it was in his contacts, he managed to pull it up. He hoped the message would be understandable enough. He hit send, opened the link and waited till the message was received.
There was nothing more he could do. Darkness came with the pain now. Josephson stopped struggling and simply slipped into the void.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I IGNORED THE FORMAL starting procedures. Given the fact I’d refused a rep and an attorney, much to the delight of the tribunal and I’m sure whoever is behind this farce, I was allowed to keep my comm. I claimed it contained evidence I planned to present to defend myself.
The simple fact it wasn’t confiscated and examined told me the fix was in. If I sat on any tribunal in judgment of a fellow officer, that’s what I would have done. In fact, I was surprised the Internal Affairs officer acting as the prosecutor hadn’t done just that.
In my years as a member of the Shore Patrol in the Space Marines as an Alliance police officer, I learned a lot of things. Two at the top of my list are never let anyone have a chance to surprise you. Another is never under estimate your opponent.
I got a strange message from Josephson and it was good news for a change. The garbled nature of the message wasn’t. He was hurt, of that much I was certain. What I wasn’t sure of was who the responsible party was.
I sent two messages, ignoring the proceedings around me. It was all I could do to help Josephson and the miners who needed the meds found during the raid.
Sitting back in my chair, I made myself focus on the testimony being given against me. Old stuff, things I had done in the past. I stayed silent. There was no point in objecting. I’d done all of those things.
HE SAT WATCHING FROM the alleyway. So much prey and no time to enjoy a quick hunt. Only twenty hours remained in his self-imposed deadline. Then he would have to depart and make good his escape from Beta Prime. He could come back the Cowboy thought. Leave now and not risk getting caught.
Someone else might find the special one. Someone else might hunt her. Claim the prize as his own. Prey this unique would always attract super predators. He had seen her first. She was his.
He rubbed his temple as a headache began. It was not how he'd envisioned the hunt, rushed, undisciplined and with an uncertain ending. He had progressed beyond hunts of that nature. It angered the Cowboy that he would not have time alone with her. She deserved the special attention he would pay to the prey if only the time were available.
Brushing snowflakes from the shoulder of his coat, he stepped out of the alleyway and joined the pedestrians walking down the walkways. He smiled as his new boots gripped the surface beneath his feet. It was fitting his last hunt on Beta Prime would see him wear an ancient symbol of the long abandoned profession that the media drew his name from. Custom made by hand with the latest anti-ice technology for shoes, his cowboy boots were even made of expensive synthetic snakeskin.
A frail, older woman bumped into him. He had caught her before she fell. She apologized for not paying attention to where she was going. The Cowboy simply smiled and nodded. Today was the woman's lucky day. Her rudeness would be forgiven out of hand. He had other prey to hunt. He could afford to be magnanimous this one time.
Turning his back on the frail prey, the Cowboy didn't notice as the slender woman pulled back the hood of the light jacket she wore beneath her heavier coat. He didn't see her shake her head, allowing the long, brown hair to cascade down her shoulders to her back. Standing up to her full height, she wiped her face with the back of her gloved hands, removing a strange material. The effect was as if she'd rubbed the skin off her face and in doing so, removed nearly thirty years of age in the process.
She watched the Cowboy vanish around the corner, a long, cold finger of fog chasing him as he disapp
eared from her view.
The predator was not aware the prey planned to become the hunter.
PAULO STARED AT THE hard plastisteel table top. Sitting across from him was Father Nathan and the nice Miss Alice. He'd always wanted to lead the gang, but now that Toby and Anna were dead and he found himself thrust into the position of leader, Paulo wished things could go back to the way they were before.
“Paulo, answer me,” Father Nathan said firmly.
Uncertain of how to respond, Paulo shook his head no.
“Paulo, I am friends with a policeman, an Inspector no less. If you don’t tell me, I will find out anyhow.”
“Father Nathan, I can’t. I just can’t.”
"You owe this individual nothing. In fact, this person is responsible for the deaths of Toby, Anna, and Lucy. Do you understand me? If each of you had been someplace safe, in school and well cared for, they would be alive. This individual is just as responsible for their deaths as the man who murdered them."
Having lived a life that morally was shades of gray and not black and white, Paulo was torn. Loyalty was the only positive certainty he'd known as a member of their little band of thieves. Hunger, cold, beatings and misery were constant. Failure to bring enough loot to the boss meant a beating. Bringing a special prize might mean a new piece of clothing, some extra food.
Disloyalty meant death.
Loyalty meant protection from other gangs. Bail if arrested. A group he could belong to. It wasn’t much, but it was the closest thing to family Paulo had. For as long as he could remember, he’d been a member of the little pack of thieves.
As he’d grown older, some had disappeared. Two older girls had been sold and taken off planet to work at a pleasure resort. It wasn’t until recently Paulo had learned what that meant. It had been a source of concern for Toby. Anna had been changing. Everyone noticed how her clothes fit differently.
Two boys had kept back some jewelry to buy food. The boss had found their stash on payday. He’d beaten the older boy to death in front of them. The other boy vanished but they all knew he was dead.
To betray the boss meant death. Loyalty was everything.
“I can’t Father Nathan. I want to, but I can’t.”
"You can trust me, Paulo, I will take care of the entire group. Each one of you will see a doctor, a dentist, be given a place to stay and you’ll go to school. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The priest’s eyes told Paulo he was telling the truth as the priest believed it.
“I believe you Father Nathan, but I can’t tell you. The boss will beat us as it is for not having anything for payday this week.”
Paulo watched as the priest’s eyes changed. Anger and a promise to do violence filled the man’s eyes to take the place of kindness and sincerity.
Noticing a change in Paulo’s expression, Father Nathan reached across the table and touched the boy’s hand. “I am not angry with you. I understand far more than you think I do.”
Father Nathan’s eyes softened again, the gentle gaze returning to his face. The priest looked knowingly at Miss Alice who simply nodded and got up. Without a word, she left the eating area. Paulo relaxed. Miss Alice had gone to work and Father Nathan would have to go about his duties as priest soon as well.
“Stay with the others one more night. It will do each of you good to have another good meal and a warm place to sleep, even if only for one more night.”
The priest stood to leave. He looked down on Paulo for a final time. “I will be back this afternoon. We will continue this talk sometime in the future. But for now, relax. I will find a way to help you and the others to have something to pay off the boss with on payday.”
Fear was something Paulo was well acquainted with. As he watched the tall, muscular priest depart for the parish offices, he felt a kind of fear he'd never felt before. He'd lived his life according to carefully defined rules. Those rules were on the verge of being altered drastically, and it frightened him.
He knew Father Nathan was a good man. He served God and those in need. It shocked Paulo to realize a man like Father Nathan was capable of great violence.
I WATCHED THE INTERNAL Affairs officer acting as the prosecutor in the hearing smile at the star witness, Devereaux as he was sworn in. Jackson, Scott Jackson, was the man's name. Like most I.A. types he cared only about his career and getting promoted on the backs of common cops who strayed from the straight and narrow. Catching the real bent cops was not on his list of things to do, today or anytime soon.
Devereaux took his time sitting down in the chair provided for witnesses. He had to let everyone present know he was better than them. Once his royal highness was comfortable he glared at me and then smiled, letting me know he was getting the last push.
I smiled back and waved to him. It did my heart good to watch his face turn red and his arrogant smile vanish.
Jackson noticed our little exchange and frowned. It dawned on him I might have something up my sleeve. I’d not questioned a single witness so far in my hearing. I’d either simply stipulated evidence could be read into the record or declined to question any witnesses at that time.
I’d simply sat there, appearing to brood. I was my usual grumpy self.
Until now. Devereaux was about to start the show and I hoped he would cooperate by being the elitist, wealthy, pompous ass that he was. If I was going to go down, I planned to not only put on a show but to have as much fun as I could at Devereaux's expense.
Jackson started the game with a simple statement followed by a simple question. "Mr. Devereaux, you filed a complaint against Detective Inspector Sullivan regarding the incident being investigated today. Would you please describe the events of that day as you witnessed them?"
Devereaux rocked forward and then back in the chair, the smile returning to his face as he warmed to the task of starting what he believed would be the beginning of my demise.
“This young man I’d never seen before appeared from nowhere and grabbed my daughter. We were about to leave for a quick holiday and were in the concourse of the space station, you see. As I said, this young man appeared and grabbed my precious daughter Melanie. He held a vibroblade to her throat and demanded money.”
“What did you intend to do Mr. Devereaux?”
“Calm the young man down of course. I’m a wealthy man. The amount of money he was demanding was trivial, pocket change, if that. Once he was calm, I planned to pay him. Of course, once Melanie was free, I would have the station’s constables arrest the youth and have him incarcerated.”
“What made you think you could talk reason to the young man? I mean, if he was, as you say, agitated, would it not have been wise to let the constables on the space station deal with him?”
“Perhaps,” Devereaux replied. “But we’ll never know because Inspector Sullivan simply strolled along like he was taking a pleasant walk and blew the young man’s brains out.”
Devereaux glared at me, his face turning red again as he relived that terrible moment. “He could have killed my precious daughter Mr. Jackson. Did the Inspector even apologize to me? No! He simply walked off to collect his baggage like nothing had happened. Melanie was traumatized I’ll have you know!”
“Horrible, just horrible,” Jackson agreed, smirking in my direction.
“It has later come to my attention,” Devereaux volunteered, “that Inspector Sullivan knew this young man.”
“And in what capacity did they know each other?”
“This young man evidently was a smuggler. Inspector Sullivan has, upon his arrival, been assigned to a case involving stolen melanothorazine, which as everyone knows is the preventative for Miner’s Cough. I believe Sullivan killed this young man to horn his way into the smuggling ring.”
Framing a fellow officer is one thing. Making it blatantly obvious is another. The Captain who was serving as the chief of the tribunal leaned forward, indicating a pause in Devereaux’s testimony.
“Inspector Sullivan, wouldn’t y
ou like to object? This testimony is speculation at best and clearly hearsay.”
I smiled at Jackson first and then glared hard at Devereaux before responding. “No, I have no objection. In fact, I am intrigued about this and would like to hear more.”
Jackson turned white as the snow and ice outside. This was a surprise he hadn’t expected. I watched him as he looked at the back of the room. I turned my head for just an instant and took an image with my cybernetic eye. Facing the front of the room again, I scanned the image. Jackson was glaring at Markeson.
EMT'S RUSHED INTO THE warehouse, startling the tactical squad who had been quietly processing the area of their entrance and cleaning up any sign of forced entry. The warehouse workers, still cuffed, had been allowed to move and take seats on the floor by the entrance.
Ignoring the demands of the Sergeant who seemed to be in command in the absence of Captain Melancon, the EMTs hurried deep into the warehouse. The leader following a tracking device guided the other medics as they weaved their way in and out of the rows of freight and other goods.
“Hey, you can’t just burst in here and run around,” Sergeant Malik shouted. “This is an active crime scene!”
“We can and we will,” the leader of the EMT’s shouted over his shoulder as he broke into a jog. “You idiots have an officer down and you don’t even know it. We had to get the call from an outside source!”
Sergeant Malik stopped and swallowed hard. Things were not supposed to go like this. The Captain had promised a nice envelope of hard credits in everyone’s locker when the raid was over. Nobody was going to get hurt. Now the Captain had disappeared and so had the young detective who’d been the reason for the raid.
He resisted the urge to run, to get the others of his squad out of the warehouse. He could honestly say he didn’t know what the Captain was up to. He also knew a lack of information could cause more problems than anything else.
