Can’t help it, Kieran’s such a…boor.
Ambassador Kord is a doctor, my love. He can help.
Macao frowned. Kord? He’s really old; probably retired by now.
The younger Kord, the young prince, is a Master of the Elect. Plead to him, my love. Plead for Schaffer’s sake.
Macao sighed and once again entered the shadow realm of true initiates, this time as a penitent.
Prince Korwin Kord responded quickly, a ghostly form wearing Alphan ambassadorial robes and the ring of the Elect.
Adept, how may I help? However, the Ambassador retreated a step, exclaiming, Jad?
I am Janz, High Prince, former captain of the Republic, Janz Macao.
Still suspicious, Kord stepped forward again.
In the etheric realm, they were ghostly spirit bodies, but had recognizable forms.
Your Highness, will you attend the conference in two days?
I shall.
To save a life, would you detour?
How may I help?
Thresher rescued three of four Enturian officers held captive over ten years. The last and I are left behind, with an SSID officer. We need your help, High Prince. We need a doctor and a ship.
I shall come, however, I require co-ordinates.
Thresher has the co-ordinates. Captain McHale can guide you. Hurry, Your Highness, for Lieutenant Schaffer’s sake.
Macao felt Prince Korwin end the contact.
Shalee whispered in his mind, Well done, my darling. Well done.
Prince Korwin took up his wife’s mitten hand, placed a gentle kiss upon her china doll cheek, leading her to a jewelry chest. Inside was an N-link on a silver chain.
“My love?” Princess Micah looked up to him.
“Wear this, my beloved, for I fear this Alphan, a brother to Jad. With this, he cannot reach beyond me to you.”
He slid the silver necklace about her and fastened the clasp, letting the small, lozenge-shaped device dangle upon her chest, just below the neckline of her gown.
Micah leaned against him and welcomed an embrace.
“The device generates an energy field about you. While you wear it, no Alphan or telepath but I, your mate,” he grinned, “can touch your mind or read your thoughts.”
She knew already his distress, for they were life-mates, joined forever.
“Do not fear this man. The brother is honorable,” Princess Micah whispered. “I knew his mate, Princess Shalee Raja of the Shonedren. So very beautiful, she was, and her loss, a terrible tragedy for him.”
“Then you concur, we should go?”
“We must, my love.”
Korwin walked his wife forward and up the ramp to the bridge of the shuttle Katana, where he ordered, “Captain Acker? We must detour.”
Korwin sat at the communication station behind the pilot, while Princess Micah settled down at the copilot seat. Via the Republic Ambassadorial channels, Prince Korwin connected to Thresher.
Captain McHale responded, “Mr. Ambassador, it’s too dangerous. Send a decoy. Don’t go.”
“Nonsense... A doctor is needed and I am a doctor. Transmit the co-ordinates for the planetoid please.”
McHale ordered the helm to do so.
“And the location in the caverns.”
McHale wondered, “How did you learn of this?”
“I am Alphan, Captain. We have ways. Katana will rendezvous with Thresher at the conference. No doubt we will miss the opening ceremony. Please advise security. Kord out.”
“Aye, sir,” McHale responded.
To Captain Acker, Ambassador Kord ordered, “Maximum speed.”
The Dagger Class shuttle jumped easily to interstellar, Level 6.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kieran Jai instantly hated the fat man, but couldn’t let the Spaceport Commissioner know it. Stevenson had his fiefdom; he also had limits that Commodores in the Star Service Intelligence Division didn’t.
“Commissioner, I can pull rank on you, if I must. The security of this sector may be in jeopardy. Thousands of delegates are coming to The Crossroads Great Conference.
“In a few days, every landing bay you have will be needed for the ambassadorial ships. All I’m asking is for Hawk and his ship to be gone by 0700 hours tomorrow.”
Stevenson balked. “Commodore, this is a public facility. I cannot throw out a paying privateer, like stale bar chips. Hawk has done nothing. You would need to charge him, or a member of his crew, with a crime. Your ‘gut feeling’ isn’t enough.”
“Throw him out and he will lead us to a smuggler’s stronghold,” the Commodore insisted.
“You don’t know that,” Stevenson protested, pounding an oversized hand on his oversized desk, bolting to his feet.
“I suspect it; that is enough,” Kieran said, crossing to the viewport. Stevenson’s office window had a commanding view overlooking the public sector of the Tonner III ground facilities. At the massive compound in the distance, joined to the administrative building by subterranean tunnels, Kieran could barely see the private Hale Star Yards yacht, Kal-King, on landing Bay 95.
He’d done more investigating. Kal-King had arrived the day before Seraph crashed. They hadn’t brought an ambassador, had declared no cargo and, other than refueling, had no good reason to be at Tonner III the week before a massive governance conference.
“I want Hawk and his ship gone, and I want one of my people aboard,” Kieran decided.
Stevenson scoffed, “That’s impossible.”
“Find some excuse, some infraction, or invent one — perhaps another ship due to arrive that needs the bay — whichever you choose.”
Kieran turned away from the viewport. “There’s one more matter we need to discuss. About Seraph? What happened to the Ambassador’s possessions and Captain Cartwright’s personal effects?”
Stevenson swallowed hard, snorting, “Wasn’t much left.”
“Where’s the Sterillian blade? Dana said it was confiscated at the medical center.”
Stevenson reluctantly dug in his desk and handed it over.
Kieran secreted the dagger in his boot, demanding, “Have everything else delivered my ship, Kaiden, in an hour.”
“Commodore, you have no authority to…”
SSID officers did, and the Spaceport Commissioner knew it.
“By 0700 hours tomorrow?”
Kieran turned, drilled the Commissioner with stern eyes, and then strode to the door. It slid open for him and closed after his passing, before Stevenson could get his fat torso up from the desk chair.
Purposeful strides, solar cloak flapping, brought Kieran quickly to the inter-port transfer station where he boarded a four-seater robo-cab.
He selected the destination, “SSID control,” strapped in with a lap belt, and leaned back in the seat for the short, bumpy ride.
Only on Tonner III, with its strong desert winds, did the cars give him qualms. If manual control was permitted, he’d have flicked off the autopilot and flown it himself.
Four minutes felt like forty, before the door to the car opened on the reception station at SSID central, in the Star Service compound half-way across the desert from Tonnertown.
“Commodore!” Several voices greeted him. He nodded to Lieutenant Colonels Sullivan and Fomard, members of the exclusive intelligence team working closely with him on security for the upcoming Great Conference. With a hand gesture, he motioned the two to follow.
Jack Sullivan, of human parentage, ran a hand through his sandy hair. He was in his mid-thirties, with the build of a gymnast. He fell into step at Kieran’s left.
The dark-haired Rigelian, Lodan Fomard, a head taller and double Sullivan’s weight, always brought up the rear, sometimes making the windows along the corridor rattle in the wake of his passing.
They invaded a conference room, sending three junior yeomen scrambling in retreat with their coffee-break snacks.
Kieran thumbed the computer console switch to the ‘on’ position even before throwin
g off his solar cloak and settling into the upholstered swivel chair at the head of the table. “I met Captain Cartwright last night…”
“Good, you found her,” Sullivan injected.
“…And I gleaned some fascinating information.” Jai punched the computer controls and displayed on the wall screen the security camera image of the private yacht, Kal-King. “Recognize the registry?”
“Crown Enterprises,” Sullivan quickly responded.
“One of four privateer passenger lines contracted to deliver ambassadors to the conference,” Lodan added.
“And this?” The image changed.
Lodan continued, “Hawk of Tresgan, I’ve seen him about the plaza with two others — probably crew members.”
Jack pointed. “So? What’s he got to do with Captain Cartwright?”
“Hawk cornered Dana in one of the bars, and offered her the captaincy of Kal-King, his ship.” Kieran surveyed their faces. “It’s the perfect opportunity for us to put one of our people on the inside. We’ve been trying for a dozen years or more to crack a suspected smuggling ring. All fingers point to Crown Enterprises, but we've never been able to make anything stick.”
“Except she’s not SSID,” Lodan reminded.
Kieran nodded. “I can reactivate her Star Service commission quite easily; but if she goes, Jack, you or I must be with her.”
Sullivan frowned. “Begging your pardon, Commodore, but I’ve never flown anything like Kal-King in this lifetime, and you are head of a security team for a conference starting a few days from now.”
They looked to Fomard, but he shook his head negatively, sending raven-black hair flying. “Hawk has seen me about the plaza. I’m not easy to forget.” The Rigelian pointed out, “You and Cartwright have history. It would make more sense.”
Kieran had expected their objections. He was the logical choice. “Looks like the two of you handle security for the conference without me.” He began working at the console. “I’ve ordered the Spaceport Commissioner to eject Kal-King by 0700 hours tomorrow — to force Hawk to move. You shall collect Captain… Or should I say, SSID Commander Cartwright. If she’s not still at her room at Spacer’s Haven, you’ll need to track her down. Show her your credentials and bring her here. No time to lose.”
Fomard and Sullivan made a hasty dash for the exit.
The plan Kieran Jai had in mind depended on Dana’s cooperation and on timing. There was no plausible reason for her to accept Hawk’s offer after having point-blank turned him down, unless some solid motive could be found. He scanned her Star Service records, including medical and psychological data, but it was her private finances that met his needs.
With the recent debts, for her medical care after the crash of the Seraph, as an alibi, Dana could easily recant her hasty refusal, and Hawk would have no reason to question her.
What remained then was the reason he would need to tag along. Yes, they had history, and more could be invented, if necessary. That still didn’t get him aboard. Hawk was not foolish enough to allow a known SSID officer to join the crew. Besides, Kal-King had an eight-person crew; two navigators, two computer/circuitry officers, a communications officer, an engineer, an assistant and a captain. Assuming no one had quit, been fired, or died, if they added Dana as Captain, they would most certainly not need him, too. Unless she insisted...
“Unless,” he chuckled, “I’m her mate.” The idea gave the term “marriage of convenience” a new twist.
What if it didn’t work? He began working on an alternate plan after ordering the proper Star Service documents to reinstate Cartwright, Dana January, as a commander assigned to the intelligence division — directly under his command.
“Well, that was a giant waste of time!” Dana went through her routine of scanning her suite as she always did. When satisfied nothing had been disturbed, she set the locks on the door with her thumbprint. The message light on the hover-ball blinked, but her first order of business was a shower and fresh clothes.
The star liner union had essentially spit on her. The Spaceport Commissioner was too busy to see her. It cost her the last prepaid trip on the ground transportation card.
She had to take a public transport back to Tonnertown and felt as though sand and grit were even in her teeth as she finally reached the lobby of Spacer’s Haven.
Nothing like a freshwater shower. After, with her wet hair sending rivulets down her bare behind as she combed it, she called to the hover-ball, “Repeat message.”
“I am Hawk. I must see you on urgent business. I will wait in the lounge.”
“I, I, I…” she grumbled, adding several swear words under her breath. The Tresgan language had no personal pronouns, so when they spoke galactic, they wore it out.
“Save or delete?” The hover-ball repeated, not understanding the swear words or, at least, it was not programmed to respond to them.
“Delete,” she hissed, tempted to add, “and don’t bother recording any more from Hawk.”
She tied her hair back and was halfway into the clean jumpsuit, when the door tone sounded. She quickened the dressing process, sealing the front seam before crossing to the door to check the scanner. Two beings — two very big beings — waited for a response.
“What do you want?” She asked, not bothering with the “Who are you?” part. The massive left hand on the dark-haired Rigelian came up toward the scanner with an SSID identification badge.
Dana reviewed her options. She could not open the door and watch it be torn off its track; or she could voluntarily let them in.
Getting billed for the damages didn’t seem like a good idea, considering the state of her already faulty finances. She pressed her thumb against the locks and the door slid aside.
“I suppose Commodore Jai sent you to collect me,” she guessed.
“Pack everything, because you won’t be coming back,” Jack Sullivan ordered.
“I believe I have the right of refusal,” Dana tested.
“Commander Cartwright, you understand about orders and such. We’re just the errand boys.”
Fomard took a wrestler’s stance, as if to emphasize their determination.
She certainly did know about orders and such; and damn Kieran Jai for invoking them. She began to pack without a second look at her escorts.
“What about my bill? I prepaid for a full week,” she complained.
“No refunds,” Fomard reminded.
Kieran finished his review of the data on the view screen before turning his gaze to the trio entering the conference room. He traded unemotional stares with Dana, then scanned her form — somewhat disappointed at the sight of her old clothing.
“Have a seat, Commander.”
She defiantly remained positioned by the door where her escorts dropped her backpack.
“You’ve met Jack and Lodan, so no introductions are necessary. They’re part of my project team for security on the upcoming conference.” He went on to outline the connection to Crown Enterprises and the primary plan which he’d begun to define while Sullivan and Fomard were gone.
The three men began exchanging additional ideas for disguises, background information and safety plans, without any input from Cartwright.
Her frown deepened. “Excuse me, but I’d like a few words with Commodore Jai in private.”
Kieran deliberated in silence, then nodded to his aides to take a coffee break and wait outside.
Dana didn’t move — didn’t blink — her attention riveted on Kieran as she spoke. “I refuse to participate in this foolhardy and potentially life-threatening plan.”
“Need I remind you of my rank and authority?”
“You may order my court martial, sir, but I refuse to participate in this…”
“Dana?”
She stared.
“I’d forgotten how stubborn you can be,” he remarked, rising from his chair. “Come here.” He shouted it a second time, but still got no response. She did not move.
With three long stri
des, he was in front of her, his left hand roughly lifting her chin so their eyes would meet. “I will court martial you for insubordination when this mission is complete, Commander. If you’re doing this because of Janz, you’re being a fool.”
“I will never forgive you!”
His grip tightened and using a chilling, almost vicious tone, he spelled it out for her. “It was necessary for Janz Macao to ‘appear’ to be dead. Do you understand?”
She shut her eyes to him.
His grip relaxed, his hand slid around to the nape of her neck, massaging the place where he always touched her for the telepathic link. Then he gently forced her head against his shoulder. In an apologetic whisper, he spoke.
“You love Janz, I know…probably more than you love me. Dana, if he came back, he’d be in prison today. That much I can guarantee. Trust me…I cannot give you all the details.”
She swallowed, but said nothing.
After a moment of undisturbed silence for that fact to be absorbed, Kieran sighed. “Now then, about Hawk…”
Dana quickly regained her outer semblance of composure. She backed away a discrete step, but still did not say what he wanted to hear.
“Your plan won’t work, Commodore. Kal-King has a captain. Hawk doesn’t want me as a captain. He wants ME!”
“Well, we’ll just need to convince him that two are better than one.”
“You're coming?”
“To protect your back.”
“You can’t be with me every waking moment,” Dana countered.
He chuckled, assuring, “Oh, but I can.”
“I won’t mate with you,” she said icily.
“There are other ways. However, if you’re to be a member of my project team, I must have your full co-operation. That means obeying orders and not just when it’s convenient.”
She seemed ready to contradict part of his statement, but held back.
“There are rewards. You could pay off all your debts,” Kieran added.
Her expression softened. “They’re not all monetary.”
“I have a few of those, too,” he admitted thoughtfully. He went to the door to recall Sullivan and Fomard. “Lodan? Put a watch on Hawk and his crew. Jack, get Dana fitted with a link and some weapons; I’ll arrange for a locator.”
Dana Cartwright Mission 3: Kal-King Page 9
