by C. R. Daems
"No. That was what I would expect if they received a tip that a merchant was carrying something illegal. And that does concern me...who and why? Fortunately, I'm an honest merchant." I smiled. Kraig snorted.
"I'm glad. After all, I'm a paying passenger." He grinned, collected his things, and left the ship. I took my time locking down the Tykhe, collecting a container with Velvet, strapped it between my legs like the old menstrual pads, and left for the city.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked as Shadi and I entered.
"The Kitchen," I said, thinking I wanted to get rid of the Velvet as fast as possible after my experience with customs. If they knew something then so did someone else. But if someone planned on stealing it, why notify customs—another dilemma, another dichotomy, and another headache.
When I arrived at The Kitchen it was close to dinnertime and the restaurant was open for meals. The Kitchen was an expensive establishment serving a wide range of foods from the Central Systems. A tall young man with curly blond hair in a formal black outfit approached me.
"Can I help you, Spacer?" On a whim or just being cautious after the customs inspection, I decided to delay my meeting with Mr. Jerrelle.
"A table, please," I said, noticing his gaze going to Shadi. "Put me off in a corner. She won't be any trouble. She's not a pet. She's a Disability Assistance Cat," I said, handing him a twenty-credit chip. His eyes sparkled and he managed not to grin.
"Yes, madam, right this way." He led me to a two-person table against the wall. "Your waitress will be here shortly. Can I get you anything while you wait?"
"No, thank you," I said as I scanned the room, which was less than a third occupied. Several minutes later a young red-headed girl appeared in a similar outfit except it was tailored to her hourglass figure. Her heart-shaped face was smiling.
"My name's Jazmin. What can I get you?" she asked and then proceeded to give me the day's specials. I ordered the special, which she said was some fish from Vereya. She warned me it would take an additional thirty minutes. I welcomed the delay, not sure what I expected but the customs inspection had me on edge.
I had barely finished giving my order when six men in police uniforms with Mfws hanging from shoulder straps entered the building. Two headed for the back room, one into the kitchen, and three remained in the dining room. After scanning the room, two entered with what I thought were Sniffers while one stayed guarding the entrance, ensuring no one could leave. Slowly the two men visited each table, scanning the occupants with their handheld devices. They circled the room in a manner that made me the last person.
"Stand, Spacer. This is a routine inspection for illegal drugs," said the shorter and less-friendly looking of the pair. His partner could barely contain an amused expression, although he held his weapon ready to use and his eyes watched me closely. I stood without a word while trying to look bored. The speaker waved his Sniffer up and down my body twice, which confirmed this was a setup. "Get the cat up," the speaker growled.
"Shadi, stand for the police officer," I said and mentally sent her an image of what I wanted. She should have won an Oscar for her performance. First she yawned exposing her impressive five-centimeter canine teeth, then slowly rose to a sitting position while looking at each man and licking her lips. Then she rose on all four, yawned again and placed one paw on the table and stood erect, which put her almost face-to-face with the speaker. He stumbled backward. His fear turned to anger as he stalked back.
"Gently, Officer, you don't want her to think you’re taking liberties. She has been very cooperative...so far." I smiled. He could see she had nothing strapped to her and there was nothing on the floor, so he gave her a perfunctory scan while standing an arm's length away. He shook his head to the man at the entrance as he and his partner wandered away. Several minutes later, the six men left the area.
I could tell by the customers' reactions that several had illegal drugs on them and were relieved not to have been caught, while others were confused why they hadn't. To me it was obvious I had been the intended target and the others a pretext. Someone knew I had a shipment of Velvet for Mr. Jerrelle. It seems unlikely that Figueroa would have told someone as it wasn't in his best interest. Had someone seen me with Figueroa and deduced he had contracted me to deliver Velvet? That didn't make sense either as they would have robbed me on Sidon. That left Mr. Jerrelle. If he had the Velvet stolen he wouldn't have to pay Figueroa because he never received the shipment.
Halfway through my dinner, a tall man in his late twenties or early thirties approached the table with two armed bodyguards. He had a goatee, a warm smile, and angry-looking eyes. When he reached the table he waved his bodyguard away.
"Good evening, Spacer Zenaida, how are you enjoying the Vereya Trout?" he asked. "I'm Mr. Jerrelle, owner of the Kitchen."
"Excellent, Mr. Jerrelle, it's delicate and delicious. Your chef is an artist," I said and meant it. Unlike his boss who was heavy-handed and left a bad taste, I mused. When Jerrelle motioned toward the empty chair, I touched Shadi, who moved closer to me, leaving room for him to sit.
"I was under the impression that a friend of ours gave you a package for me," he said after scanning the area.
"A lot of people on Hohhot seem to have that impression," I said as I put a slice of the fish in my mouth and closed my eyes, savoring the taste and Jerrelle's frustration. "Our friend must have suspected there was a problem on Hohhot, because he didn't give me anything. Which must be obvious to you by now, I thought while taking another bite of my fish.
Jerrelle sat there sweating as the various scenarios went through his mind: Figueroa cutting off his supply, Figueroa having him replaced, or putting out the word to other organizations.
"There must be something..."
"Maybe if you sent our friend a bonus to expedite your package, he might think the problem here has been solved."
"How much of a bonus?" He asked frowning.
"Double should put him in a forgiving mood, I would think."
"And for you?" he asked, his face stone cold.
"Nothing. That would make me untrustworthy and unreliable," I said, staring back without smiling.
"Agreed," he said reluctantly. I pulled out my tablet and typed a short message to Figueroa via the Tykhe for immediate sending:
Your friend happy with present. He is promising to double the price because he feels he would be cheating you otherwise. Zen.
I turned the tablet toward Jerrelle and shrugged. He nodded and I pressed send. "Let's go to your office, without the guard dogs." I nodded to the two leaning against the wall. He shook his head at them as we rose. I followed him into a hallway and past two more guards. In his office I used his washroom to remove the Velvet while Shadi guarded the door.
When I came out I handed him the package of Velvet. He took it and examined it as if he had just witnessed a miracle.
"One kilo, if you would like to weigh it," I said. He was still shaking his head when I departed his office and the club immediately. Although he undoubtedly would have liked to have me killed, I doubted he would as it might create a problem with Figueroa he couldn't afford. But it was going to be a while before I visited Hohhot again.
* * *
Back on board the Tykhe, Shadi immediately began acting strangely. She seemed agitated and headed for the Flight Deck, sniffing the air. Not like she had found a trail but more like she was trying to find something just out of reach. I could feel her thoughts—not right—as she entered the Flight Deck and sniffed every surface. Still agitated, she wandered the hallway to the stairs and descended. After a few minutes she entered the missile room where she again sniffed everything. Smell not right.
I sank to the floor and Shadi landed in my lap. Tired to exhaustion, I buried my hands and head in her soft warm fur. The problems kept coming, one after another, each with the potential to destroy me. There was my father's murder and the lingering questions: why hadn't they stolen the Tykhe and kidnapped me when I returned—logical if the Blac
k Hand were involved. Finding Celio damaged and having to kill him broke my heart and made me vulnerable, if Kraig had wanted to take advantage of the situation...and there was one more cub to find, and the odds were poor she would be healthy and well cared for. I wasn't sure I could handle another incident like Celio. The urge to kill had been strong, almost overwhelming. Fortunately, logic had prevailed but would it if the next situation were the same or...worse? I sobbed into Shadi's fur. And then the Jerrelle gambit. Except for the containers my father had created, his men would have stolen the Velvet and left me holding the bag if I survived. And now someone had managed to enter the Tykhe, despite its very adequate security, but how, why? Nothing looked disturbed or stolen. And how did they manage to leave no human trace that Shadi could find. It felt like a ghost had entered and departed without a trace—or did it continue to linger unseen and unheard?
I woke on the floor with my arms around Shadi hours later, to a buzzing from my tablet. When I looked, Kraig stood at the ship's entrance. I opened the hatch and went down to meet him. When he began removing his weapons, I shook my head.
"Never mind, Kraig. You have no reason to bring contraband on board as it could jeopardize your mission. And I'm beginning to think I may need your help before this...tour is over."
You've really had a bad day," he said, looking me over from head to foot. Not too surprising, as I must have looked like someone after an extended drunk or drug bender.
"Care to share?" he asked as he followed me to the galley. I said nothing as I retrieved two beers and proceeded to the dining room table.
"The customs inspection and a police raid at the restaurant I visited after leaving the ship were looking for a package I was supposed to be carrying. Find it, steal it, and maybe kill me. Then the person could claim he never got it and therefore didn't have to pay for it."
"That's a lot of trouble to go through...unless the item was very valuable," he said slowly as he thought through the scenario. "A leak?"
"No. Greed," I spat out.
"Did they get the package?" he asked, looking genuinely concerned.
"No. But I'd like to leave Hohhot as soon as possible. I suspect the bastard is blaming me because things didn't work out as he planned. Probably having wet-dreams about killing me."
Kraig laughed. "I'm ready whenever you are. Dacca?"
"Oh, and I think someone entered this ship while we were out," I said, watching for his reaction, although I didn't suspect Kraig. Shadi would have known him immediately.
"If you're right...and I don't doubt you. One of us is being watched. Could they have planted something on the ship?"
"You want to join me? I'm going to conduct a search of every compartment," I said, reluctant to disclose I thought they had only entered the missile compartment and the Flight Deck. However, a thorough search wouldn't hurt, since I could be wrong.
We spent the next five hours walking through each compartment using a Sniffer and infrared but found nothing suspicious. When we finished, I prepared the Tykhe for departure and two hours later we were on our way to Dacca.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Star System: Dacca
I sat on the Flight Deck, wondering what the intruders wanted on the Flight Deck and in the missile compartment. I thought I should know but the knowledge eluded me. Finally, I decided to install cameras on the Flight Deck, in the hallways, and in the missile compartment. Since anyone entering had to use a light to get around, I decided to use extremely sensitive film and take a picture each thirty seconds to avoid detection equipment searching for active devices. In addition, I inserted software to capture any keystrokes on the control panel. By the time we approached Dacca, I was satisfied I had done all I could to solve the mystery intruders.
* * *
The customs inspection was normal and they were through in a little over a half hour. Afterward I sat at the dining room table, pushing scrambled eggs around my plate. The thought of another careless or ignorant buyer like Chapman gave me a pounding headache and heartburn.
"Good luck with the snow leopard," Kraig said from the doorway, appearing ready to depart the ship. "Do you know how long you are going to be?"
"I don't know. According to the Decca Internet, Mr. Stanfield lives about a half day out of Sunrise City. So I suspect I'll be gone for several days. I've registered my Comm device with the Port Authority. If you need me my call sign is Zen100," I said, not knowing how long I'd be with Mr. Stanfield and if I would encounter any problems delivering the last kilo of Velvet. He nodded and waved goodbye as he exited the Tykhe.
Before closing down the control suite on the Flight Desk, I activated the software that would capture any control system activity and would initiate the cameras if the hatch were opened. The control system had double protection--password and eye scan control, so I didn't know how anyone could gain access but, against all logic, it appeared that someone had—I felt certain. Just then I received a message from my bank in Tanzan, verifying a deposit of twenty thousand from Kraig and, to my surprise, one hundred thousand from Figueroa. I produced my first laugh in days. I don't know how much Jerrelle had to pay Figueroa to double the purchase price but it must have been huge, based on Figueroa's gift.
I sat for a long time trying to decide whether to deliver the Velvet or to visit Mr. Stanfield first. Since the sooner I was rid of the Velvet the better I'd feel and, in truth, I was dreading my visit to see the cub, so the Velvet won.
After exiting the spaceport, I selected one of the independent skimmer taxis. "How much to the Iron Horse Watering Hole?" I asked.
"Iron Horse Watering Hole...that's in Pleasant Valley," he stated after some thought. "That's close to two hundred miles."
I nodded. "And afterward I'll need to go to Snow Ridge," I said, and I could see the credit wheels spinning behind his eyes. "Be reasonable and you get both fares and a return here."
"How much wait time?" he asked, looking me over as he debated his options—his cost versus how much I looked like I could afford combined with how dangerous I might be if I were cheated. "Don't know, but I'll pay for you to wait and meals if necessary."
He smiled. "Fifty credits, plus four credits for every hour wait."
"Agreed but that includes your tip," I said knowing he would have been willing to settle for a lower price if I pressed him. He nodded. The smile on his face said he was satisfied with the agreement.
The skimmer was clean inside and could hold four passengers. After I secured Shadi and me, he lifted out of the parking area and headed east away from Sun Valley City. The terrain was mostly rolling hills and farmland, with a few small communities dotted here and there. Two hours later my driver, Tommye, settled the skimmer about fifty meters from a sprawling one-story cement building. A large Fozza motorcycle sat on the roof on top of a two-meter by six-meter red neon sign reading Iron Horse Watering Hole. Outside the building sat fifty or more motorcycles of every make, description, and propulsion. A few men sat around in groups, drinking, as I approached the entrance. Several looked in my direction, smiled, and mumbled a variety of remarks I ignored. Inside, the floor was hardwood with a coating of sawdust, which went nicely with the old worn and scarred tables, chairs, and bar. Pictures of motorcycles were everywhere. Circling the room on the outside was a dirt track. Presently, four small bikes were racing around the track and everyone shouting and cheering them on. A red light was currently flashing at the walkway to cross the track. As I stood watching, four bikes streaked by. Several minutes later a checkered flag was waved, the race stopped, and losing tickets flew in the air. I crossed the track, walked up to the bar, and took a seat. As I did a young girl with green hair, black lips, and pierced nose and ears sat beside me.
"Hi, Spacer. You lost?" That got a chorus of laughs.
"Only if this is an ice cream bar," I quipped. "Give me whatever dark beer you have on draft."
"You're not lost then. One Watering Hole dark draft coming right up."
I turned to scan the crowd. They
appeared to be predominately bikers, based on their choice of leathers and patches and club emblems on their jackets. When I turned back, the girl stood holding a glass shaped like a skull. I took a sip, not bad. Suddenly the volume of noise in the room seemed to ratchet down to where I could hear people talking.
"Well, Spacer, if you came looking for real men you've come to the right place." The voice came from well behind me, and at the same time talking in the room almost ceased. When I looked around, a man in worn leathers and a week-old stubble strode toward me. He was average height and scrawny. He had a Mfw strapped to his thigh and a knife handle protruded from each of his calf-length boots. I waited until he was closer before responding so I wouldn't have to shout.
"I'm waiting for a friend," I said, trying hard to look and sound normal, although I doubted this clown could carry on a normal conversation—he was in male-dominance mode, pounding on his chest and grunting like an ape. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling at the image.
"Well, Spacer, you're lucky. Your friend isn't here so you get to entertain some real men, and I'm first. As he got within two paces, Shadi rose to a sitting position and yawned, showing her impressive teeth. "If that cat moves I'll have its skin decorating my bike's seat and saddle bags," he snarled.
"If you draw that weapon, it had better be shooting at me and hope you kill me because I'll be shooting to kill you," I said while staring at him. He froze, surprised I was challenging him, but everyone was watching, so he couldn't back down without losing face. His face twisted in anger as he lunged toward me. He met the nozzle of my Bahr in his solar plexus and a gush of rotten smelling air exploded in my face. He stumbled backward, gasping for breath and reaching for his Mfw—stupid--since mine was already pointing in his direction. When his weapon cleared the holster, I fired a burst of pellets that hit him in the chest and threw him backward. Silence descended on the room as they watched his final jerking shudder.
