Dana Cartwright Mission 3: Kal-King

by Joyz W. Riter

  “My brother, Kieran Jai, then a Colonel, now a Commodore, uncovered even more details that other clones — imperfect clones — were sold into slavery. We rescued Novem — November — and captured a mercenary ship.”

  Macao checked that he still had their attention. “I allowed myself to be captured and Dec — December — brought me here.”

  Schaffer followed all that, but repeated their fear, “Sir, how are you going to rescue us when you are now, also, a sokem, a prisoner?”

  Janz grinned, recovering his momentum, finally feeling a degree of relief. “I’m being tracked.”

  Macao surveyed their skeptical looks, but before he could reassure them, they heard noises coming from above.

  Schaffer signaled with a finger to his lips; one of the other Enturians scampered off along the edge of the pool, climbing what from below looked like just rocks but were hidden stairs, vanishing into the darkness above them. Schaffer’s eyes narrowed and another of the men groaned.

  “What does it mean?” Macao whispered, but no one answered right then.

  They listened intently, heard scraping sounds and then Schaffer called up, “Briggs?”

  In answer, the man began to descend, a pail in one hand and a large, melon-shaped object in the other.

  “You have friends,” Briggs answered. “Fresh bread and stew!” He brought the treasure trove to the fire, and they all scrambled for cups to dip in the pan of brown gravy. All but for Macao, since he had no cup.

  Schaffer stopped with his just above the rim and turned to offer it to Macao.

  “No,” the Captain said, “I’ll use some bread crust.” He broke off a chunk from the melon-sized loaf using it as a scoop.

  “Two meals today,” Briggs said, with a broad smile, “you’ve brought us good fortune already.”

  “Don’t know why they keep us alive,” a third of the four sighed, licking the rim of his cup so he would not waste even a drop of the gravy.

  “Roger and I debate the logic of it regularly,” Schaffer said, pointing to the other man.

  “Illogic,” Roger grumbled.

  The fourth and by far the smallest blinked his blue eyes at them. “We live because the King ordered it; that is the only explanation.”

  “Gage is right,” Briggs added, “King has plans for us.”

  Schaffer shrugged. “For ten years we’ve wondered — at least, we think it’s been ten years.”

  Macao recognized the name, Gage, and singled him out. “Are you the Major’s son?”

  Gage gave a perceptible nod. “Do you know my father?”

  “I do,” Macao answered, “but I wasn’t even aware that you were missing. That any of you were, actually.” He went on to explain how the Republic records never mentioned a missing Enturian ship, save for the much older incident with Jo-nathan Hale nearly a half-century ago.

  “How strange. So, no one has even been looking for us?”

  “When Novem mentioned the ‘sokem’ and the Terrines, my brother and I became suspicious. I visited the Terrines with my wife many years ago. There are hundreds of pools like this one.” He realized that was why Shalee had urged him to jump. As he sucked on the last of the gravy-dipped bread, he attuned with her once again, thankful for the advice.

  “There are more pools and caves deeper down, but we depend upon the daily food brought by the slaves.”

  “You’ve never explored?”

  “Oh, we did, early on. We found bones,” Roger grumbled.

  “The other caverns also have debris that the Crazorians toss down from the tunnels. We collect splinters of wood for the fire.”

  “To keep warm?” Macao wondered, checking his clothes, finding them already dry enough to put on.

  “It never gets that cold near this pool because of the hot spring,” Briggs said, wolfing down another chunk of the bread.

  “Not for you, maybe, but I’m Alphan.”

  The announcement stopped the conversation cold and he wasn’t sure why. Macao had a thousand more questions, but decided it wasn’t the time. “I didn’t get much sleep during the trip here. Mind if I…”

  Schaffer showed him to a sandy area marked off with a rope. “What’s that for?”

  “It keeps the snakes away.”

  “Are they edible?”

  “They eat the rats. Why would we want to eat them?” Schaffer chuckled, “It’s a whole different ecosystem down here, Captain.”

  “Rats? Fane! I hate rats! Remind me to tell you the story of my brother’s albino pet rat sometime.” He sank down wearily to sleep.

  Much later, as the Enturians slept, Macao returned to the fire, adding some kindling. He sat in a meditative posture, closed his eyes, and imagined his life-partner, Shalee, at his side, needing once again her guidance.

  My love? They don’t believe me. They doubt. And so do I.

  My darling, only because you still have fear in your heart…Believe…

  He heaved a sigh.

  Yes, Shalee, I am afraid.

  Fear of the unknown? Fear of failure, my love?

  A frown formed on his lips.

  No, my beloved, I’m afraid my brother will fail me.

  You don’t trust, my darling.

  I trust a few.

  Not Kieran...

  He killed Jad, our brother, one of the twins!

  So he says.

  Shalee, you don’t believe him?

  Kieran is a liar — a good one, my darling — never forget that.

  Which brings us back to my fear that he won’t come for me.

  Shalee’s image was strong in his mind. He felt her near, felt her essence, as she counseled wisely.

  Go find him first.

  Her wisdom escaped him.

  How, beloved?

  All 33rd degree Masters of the Elect are forever linked.

  Ah!

  Still, Janz hesitated…

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tonner III at sunset…

  For Kieran Jai, the most dangerous part of the day was done. He watched from the safety of his resort suite as the blazing sun sank toward the far horizon, into a brownish haze. The air still shimmered, but the surface temperature began to drop toward comfortable. Time for an outing.

  His face had already turned a tarnished-bronze, from just minimal exposure, though he hid behind the folds of a very expensive solar cloak and took other precautions to protect his skin. Alphans sunburned easily when exposed to even reflected rays in the ultraviolet-C spectrum. His home world, Centauri Prime, was part of the triple-star system of Alpha Centauri. Two of the planets orbiting Rigel Kentaurus were like Tonner III, red rock deserts. Proxima Centauri barely kept the surface of the third planet in the system from an ice age. Only Centauri Prime was hospitable. He’d spent most of his forty-plus years aboard climate-controlled space stations and starships, though nothing beat kite flying over Forever Pointe.

  Fortunately, the sunburn would fade quickly once he forsook this dreadful planet, unless he developed skin lesions. Only a few days…need to find Dana — and soon.

  Down at the lobby, Kieran covered his head with the hood of his cloak and withdrew his hands into the folds of his dark-silver robe in preparation for his dash to a waiting robo-cab. There was no hotel doorman to see to the hatch after he’d ducked inside. He reached up to pull it down. Just that brief exposure to Tonner III’s setting sun burned like fire.

  After inserting a prepaid tourist transportation card, he heard the hatch lock and realized it would have come down on its own. “Fane!”

  The robo-cab responded, “No such destination. Please select from the appropriate map listing.”

  Kieran tapped on the map the correct destination, “Marketplace.” It obediently began to hover a meter from the ground, then shot forward along the promenade, skirting the sky scraping towers downtown toward the more mundane single-level structures on the outskirts. The tiny two-seater landed behind a similar cab in the shade under an overhang. It ejected his transportation card and th
e hatch opened with a quiet whirring as it waited for him to exit, without so much as a “Have a nice day.”

  “Next time a chauffeured car,” Kieran decided.

  Creeping along the awning-covered walk, hiding from the last rays of the sun still scalding the hard, red dirt at his feet, Kieran scanned the open-air marketplace with all six senses, reviewing the data gathered, and summarily discarding what seemed irrelevant.

  The smells of exotic, ethnic foods cooking and the ruckus of discordant babble he ignored. The sight of cloaks, robes, and uniforms, or lack thereof, only caught his casual interest as his trained eyes surveyed the mass of humanoid and non-humanoid creatures hiding in the shadows about the plaza. He sensed no danger — though he dared not eat anything from the street vendors — and crossed to a café that offered imported beverages.

  Earth coffee…the taste of freshly-brewed coffee with real cane sugar would heighten his awareness, though the warm, southern desert breeze tried to lull him back to sleep. The brew cost double what the locals imbibed; smuggled in, no doubt, to satisfy the tastes of a very small segment of the population. It was worth every credit. He gave the server a 10-C note and didn’t wait for change, taking the steaming carafe to a remote counter, where he could sip, watching the sky darken and Tonnertown come alive.

  For two nights now, he’d visited the plaza, watching and waiting in the marketplace, straining his telepathic sense to nearly the limit, searching out there amid the chaos, for that single mind he recognized but could not touch with any degree of clarity.

  Dana?

  He knew she was in trouble. There were rumors about the spaceport about the sole survivor of a spectacular crash. He sensed her pain. The nerves and muscles in his left leg ached empathetically. His heart cried out to her.

  Dana? Why don’t you come?

  For a moment, he would catch a flicker of connection, as if she was thinking also of him, but then it faded. He guessed, She must be taking a medication that blocks my thoughts.

  Sadly, Commodore Kieran Jai resolved to use other methods to find her. He was running out of time, though he hated the thought of using official channels or pulling rank in his search for her. It might make her situation worse. Only as a last resort…

  He had intended to keep this strictly personal; but he had only a few days left if he intended to make the rendezvous with Thresher.

  Perhaps he could bribe someone affiliated with the authorities, or hire a local tracker.

  Yet, he sensed her essence here at the marketplace. Just the timing was off.

  Dana? Come?

  He crushed the empty container from his coffee, secreted it in a pocket, and sulked deeper into the shadows, closing his eyes.

  Dana, why don’t you come?

  The hover ball floated above Dana’s forehead making a faint but recognizable sizzling sound. She opened her right eye — the brown one focused better in the dark — and realized the message light was blinking red.

  “Replay message,” she ordered hoarsely then cleared her scratchy throat, tasting Tonner III dust.

  “Cartwright, Dana J. Report to Spaceport Commissioner at 0900 hours.” The hover ball emitted a beep then queried, “Store or delete?”

  “Delete.”

  Every day the same message awaited her and, thinking it something important, she rushed over to the Spaceport Administration building only to spend three planetary hours in the Commissioner’s waiting area for nothing more than a thumbprint on some foolish form that mattered to no one.

  This time she would not jump at the blasted Commissioner’s biding. Besides, the clock read nineteen hundred hours — sunset.

  “Let him come to me,” she thought, stretching both legs lazily and regretting it.

  “Please restate command?” the hover ball sizzled.

  “Shut up!”

  The two-word command it understood without difficulty. It retreated to a cubicle beneath the counter that served as a desk and shut off as ordered.

  Dana, why don’t you come?

  The voice inside her head pleaded. She shivered involuntarily, looked about the room with both eyes then up at the ceiling tiles overhead.

  “Come where?”

  The voice was unmistakably Kieran Jai’s, but it told her nothing — like when and where.

  She closed her eyes, easily remembering the image of the Alphan as she last saw him, boarding a mercenary vessel, dressed in poorly-fitting body armor, impersonating some Crazorian-human hybrid at the sad, little spaceport called Decker Station, with his hair dyed a sad shade of red, and the rest of him dressed in rich man’s clothes as part of a disguise that might fool everyone else, including Star Service officers, but not Dana.

  Why did thoughts of Kieran come to her now?

  Four long years and half a galaxy away…

  She shook off the memories and rolled off the hover bed. Straightening up took effort, and the pain in her wounded leg warned her not to move so quickly next time.

  The thought of changing into the other jumpsuit crossed her mind, considering she’d worn and slept in this one for the last forty planetary hours, but the promised smell and taste of a steaming hot cup of real coffee with extra sugar lured her towards the door.

  The caffeine would help rid her of the cloudy remnants of the sedative, and the sugar would quell the churning in her empty stomach.

  She turned back to the bed to retrieve her pack from under the covers and checked that the link-reader had enough of a charge to last a few hours. With the pack slung over her left shoulder, she touched the thumbprint locks and listened for the loud click that signaled it released.

  After carefully changing the code on exiting, Dana took the ramp to the side exit heading for the plaza at the marketplace. Not a bad walk once the sun went down, except for the throbbing pain in her left leg.

  She thought of her dear friend, Francis Calagura, and how he would lecture patients. “Exercise strengthens muscles. Walking on level terrain is good, aquatic therapy is better. Doctor’s orders.”

  Yeah, right!

  She knew better. Only a second surgery could correct the damage. All her years as a surgeon and emergency room physician on Earth taught her that much.

  She dreaded the idea, but was resigned to the prospect.

  With the darkening sky, buyers and sellers began to flood the streets for some after-dark commerce, setting up shop along the promenade. Dana sidestepped robo-cabs, dodged runners, wove her way through some chatters, and took a shortcut, as she limped toward an open-air café.

  A warning thermometer showed the temperature was already falling into the green zone, below 30 degrees Celsius. It might drop a bit more and even be bearable in another hour; maybe setting a new record low.

  On Earth, where she was raised, there were places with steaming hot and muggy summers and others with warm winds. She liked the desert, especially at night, under a canopy of stars. Most of her life was spent in the Rocky Mountains, at Capitol City and Estes Park.

  Thirteen years and thousands of light years would never erase those memories.

  Dana smiled as she ordered an espresso coffee, extra sweet, savoring the smell of fresh coffee beans being roasted and swirled in a giant bin. Hot coffee still soothed her soul, even when the temps were ghastly. It cost triple the price of hot chocolate, her usual beverage, but it was worth every credit. Earth’s number one export to the galaxy made life out among the stars bearable.

  Thank the galaxy for that!

  She searched her pack for three one-credit bills before the clerk would even pour. Vendors here preferred payment in advance if you showed them the local currency.

  The same happened on most worlds in the Republic. As Dana reached up, a tarnished, bronze-skinned, muscular hand reached past her offering the vendor a 10-C note. Her trained eyes recognized the scars on the knuckles before the hand covered her own.

  “Kieran!”

  “You found me,” he whispered in her ear, bending his head down to place a sw
eet kiss on her cheek.

  The sound of his voice massaged her from the inside out. She melted against him and his solar cloak encircled her as they embraced.

  The familiar feel of his strong arms coursed like a narcotic through her weary body. Without asking permission, he slid the fingers of his left hand up under her braided hair along the nape of her neck in the Alphan way to establish a telepathic connection.

  In one flash of imagery, he saw the horror of the explosion, from her point-of-view, and felt the pain of her struggles since, as though he’d been there — with her — experiencing it all.

  He hugged her that much tighter; a tear trickled down his cheek only to evaporate before it reached his chin.

  “You’re a brave woman, Dana J,” he said, but he’d told her that many times before.

  He left the change upon the counter and took up her carafe of coffee. With his left arm and cloak still protectively about her shoulders, Kieran guided her toward the periphery of the café, where they might sit in the shadows and have a bit more privacy.

  He found a table for two, slid his chair close so that their shoulders touched and his arm was protectively about the back of her chair, close enough to reassure, telepathically saying, I am here.

  Finding words proved difficult, but Dana ventured to ask, “What are you doing here?”

  “I felt your pain…”

  His blue eyes gently scanned her mismatched eyes. The brown one was closed. She seemed suspicious of his motives. “I wanted to find you without revealing my identity to the spaceport officials. Damned bureaucracy… As a last resort, I thought I might tell them I was your only living relative and even toyed with the idea of bribing the Commissioner…” He let the thought trail off. “For the last few nights, I have been here at sunset hoping you would come.”

  “I heard you…in my mind, but you never said where to meet you.”

  He laughed and gave her hand a soft squeeze. “I’ll have to remember to be more specific next time.”