by Merita King
Floxham Island ~ Sinclair V-Log AZ267/M
Title Page
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Floxham Island
Sinclair V-log AZ267/M
by Merita King
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Published by Merita King
Smashwords Edition
© Merita King 2013 all rights reserved
Cover art by J L Stratton copyright 2013
Floxham Island
Sinclair V-log AZ267/M
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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DEDICATION
For Swan
Thank you for your encouragement, assistance and for being proud of me
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INTRODUCTION
Hi there, my name is Sam Sinclair and I thought I should explain a little about what follows and tell you a little about myself. I’m a Freelance Law Enforcer, which means it’s my job to catch and restrain those wanted in connection with crimes; escaped prisoners, rescue kidnap victims and that sort of thing. I used to work for the Intergalactic Law Enforcement Agency behind a desk back home on Sigma Prime but after several years I got bored and decided to go freelance. My contacts in the Law Enforcement Agency give me my jobs and so long as I get the right guy and deliver him to the right authorities, I make my own rules which suits me just fine.
There are many others out there trying to do the same job as me who aren’t recognised by the Law Enforcement Agency and they’re known as Mercs. Mercs just want the payout and they don’t give a damn whether they have the right guy or not and they don’t mind killing them to bring them in. It’s even been known for them to bring in an innocent guy who just happened to look like the wanted guy, claim the payout and then make a run for it before the Agency officials found out. I hate Mercs; everybody hates Mercs but most folks tend to lump all us freelancers into the same heap under that same distasteful label.
I’m not a detective as such. My job is to find a particular person, restrain them and deliver them, not to find out if they’re guilty or not nor work out why they did what they did. Over the years I’ve been doing this job I’ve met some mighty weird people and had some very strange experiences and I thought it would be cool to keep a video log of the more memorable of these encounters. I have this notion that when I retire I might release them up onto the Intergalactic Comm Web and you never know, they may even end up as Vidicom movies.
Anyway, I thought I’d test one or two out on a select few first just so I can get used to using the video uplink system and get comfortable with telling my story in my own words; it’s a bit surreal sitting here talking to myself and even more so watching it back. Man do I really sound like that?
Welcome to The Sinclair V-logs, I hope you enjoy them.
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CHAPTER ONE
Hang on a second while I try to fix this vidicom. There we go, that should do it. Okay this is V-log reference AZ267/M, data log reference point 2458712/6540.
Well how did it all start? A contact of mine in the Agrillian system gave me the heads up concerning a suspect they wanted to question in connection with nine murders. It took place on Agrillia 3, on an archaeological dig where a team of scientists were looking into some ancient civilisation that once inhabited that region of the planet. There were ten in the team who lived and worked at the dig for three months, after which they were due to be transported back to draw up their conclusions and official report of their findings. When the pick up got there to take them out, they found nine dead and one missing. The official law enforcement file says the usual crap; an extensive search of the locale was made etc, the suspect wasn’t found etc, you know the kind of shit they come out with when they don’t want to admit they were too stupid to find the guy. My contact there is a good friend so he called me up and told me about it and said would I be interested in the job and the substantial reward? Would I be interested? Hell yeah, that’s my job and the promise of a substantial payout is always of interest.
The suspect they were after was some brainiac called Professor Kluvak Nembier, a native of Agrillia and up until that time he seemed to be your average well respected humourless clever guy. He had no previous record, worked hard all his life and was respected by everyone in his field of expertise, which was ancient Agrillian languages. He was one of those guys who is all brain and no brawn y’know? A guy like that is clever but seldom resourceful and tends not to be too successful at being on the run and keeping himself hidden. Having been doing this job for a long time, it was reasonable to assume that this would be one of the easiest paydays I’d had in years, so when my contact asked me if I wanted the job, I almost bit off his arm. How wrong can you be?
It took me all of two days to find out the guy had taken off and signed up as casual labour on a low budget, long haul, passenger liner that just happened to stop by Agrillia 3 at the very time he went missing. One of the whores who works the Agrillian Space Terminal remembered approaching him and being given the brush off by him. Between you and me, he was an idiot to turn her down; she is an expert in her craft, but I digress. A couple of calls told me that there was only one cruise line that called on Agrillia around that time, so after securing the details of their course I set off after them and caught up with the liner within a few days. Experience convinced me that I’d have the guy in custody within a few hours and would be able to deliver him, claim my pay check and head back to Agrillia to revisit my new lady friend at the Space Terminal to continue our umm, conversation. Boy if only I’d known then what was to come.
Being ex law enforcement myself often helps when trying to encourage folks to be co-operative and although all freelance law enforcers have to be registered, I used to be a Law Enforcement Officer myself a few years back. This means that not only do I carry the usual freelancer’s ID papers but I also have the added advantage of being able to provide them with a tag. This document proves that I’m known to the Galactic Law Enforcement Agency as a trustworthy person to do business with. Being able to flash a tag is second only to flashing your official enforcer’s badge and people are more likely trust you and do as you ask, which comes in mighty handy at times. There are, of course, many unregistered people trying to do this job without being officially recognised as doing so. They’re universally known as Mercs, but the general public tend to label all of us with this rather unflattering name. Being labelled as one of those low lifes annoys me because I’m not a Merc. I have standards; a code and I resent being tossed into the same pile as all the crazies who don’t give a shit whether they bring in the right guy or the wrong guy or even kill them to bring them in. Mercs never engender affection from me and I would never do business with them. There have been times when I’ve found them tagging along behind me on a job and a couple of times they’ve tried to relieve me of
my catch after sitting on my ass and watching me do all the work. Those types of occasions are the only ones where you’re likely to see me really lose my rag. Knowing what I know now about this whole Nembier business, if I’d known any Mercs were shadowing me, I’d happily have offered them the job without a second thought.
As I said, I caught up with the liner in a few days and hailed them to let them know who I was and the reason for my visit. Cruise liners and the folks who run them are often a little unwilling to entertain folks like me because they’re worried my presence will be bad for business but this one was one of those low budget outfits that don’t take so much trouble to screen their passengers and crew as the more up market companies. This means that they know there’s a higher than average chance that they could pick up a dodgy character as casual labour, and as they’re more worried about themselves than their passengers, they tend to welcome me more openly in the hope I won’t give them any problems with the Galactic Tourist Federation by reporting them.
“Unidentified ship, this is Captain Hann of the Nightliner Sally B. We are responding to your hail. Please identify yourself and state the nature of your business.” The guy sounded calm so I guessed this was going to be a fairly trouble free encounter.
“Captain Hann, this is Sam Sinclair and this is my personal vessel, SC257. I’m here on official law enforcement business and wish to dock with you. Sending you my ID beacon and official tag now. Awaiting your response.” A smile settled itself across my face as I sat back and waited for him to reply. There was no doubt in my mind that he would let me in without too much of a fuss; my official tag would ensure that but sometimes these types of people liked to try to psyche me out by keeping me waiting a little longer than necessary. That doesn’t bother me too much; I’m happy to wait. As it happened, Captain Hann came back pretty quickly and I was a little surprised at the warmth of his welcome.
“Mr Sinclair we have your ID and tag. All seems to be in order. Come around to the rear dock, port six. Sending you the docking beacon now.”
Captain Hann and his First Officer were there to meet me when I disembarked in the Sally B’s rear dock. The place was shabby but functional, as would be expected on a low budget outfit like Nightline obviously was but Hann greeted me with a smile and a handshake, which is more than I often get on such occasions. They both nodded as I returned their smiles and shook their hands and they seemed happy when I accepted the Captain’s offer of refreshment. Hann indicated for me to follow them to his office to discuss why I was there. As we walked I sneaked a look at him and smiled. He was in his early fifties I’d guess; probably ex military by the way he walked and his confident manner and his uniform was clean and sharp, despite the round gut that strained against his belt. He looked proud of his position and was obviously used to being in charge so I guessed he’d been an officer in his military days. As we left the functional areas of the liner behind and entered the public areas, the place became a whole lot cleaner. Here and there passengers passed us in the corridors and he greeted them all with a smile and a nod. This was a guy who wasn’t used to trouble and didn’t welcome the thought of it. He liked his easy life and his position, so anything able to threaten that was not going to be welcome here. This pleased me because it meant he was going to be only too happy to accommodate my requests so I could take the problem away for him. Over the years I’ve been doing this job I’ve met many people from all different planets and cultures and I’ve become something of an expert at reading people. Some of my colleagues in law enforcement quite rightly regard me as an excellent judge of character and Captain Hann wasn’t about to prove me wrong.
His office was small and comfortable but still the military presence was everywhere; from the distinct lack of anything purely decorative to the precise arrangement of the few items on his desk. A digital log sat to his right, placed precisely between the communication panel and a single holographic photo viewer. To his left he placed his cap, after carefully wiping the badge that adorned the front with a pristine white handkerchief. Once he nudged the cap a few millimetres to the right, he sat down. My mind mentally drew up a list of what the holographic photo viewer displayed when switched on. At the top of the list was Hann himself as a younger man dressed in military uniform. Second was a group shot of him and some military buddies, whilst bringing up the rear was him receiving some award or promotion. The rank outsider was a dead heat between a landscape of some kind and a family group.
He offered me a seat and called for drinks to be brought in. “Well Mr Sinclair,” he smiled, “what can we do for you?” He steepled his hands together as he looked at me from his side of the desk and the way his smile failed to reach the corners of his eyes told me right away that this was a bid for dominance.
Smiling back, I looked him right in the eyes. “I’m here to take one of your staff members into custody and deliver him into the hands of the appropriate authorities,” I replied, my eyes still holding his.
His smile faltered and the steeple toppled. “Into custody? Who? and what for?”
My hand fumbled in my pocket for my data viewer and I tried not to smile at the way I’d expertly put him completely off his guard. He’d secretly hate me for it, but I didn’t care. It was a victory; a small victory but a victory nonetheless and in this job you have to take the joy wherever you find it. As nonchalantly as I could, I tapped the screen and waited for a photograph of Nembier to pop up before handing it over.
“Professor Kluvak Nembier is his name,” I said, “although you probably know him by some other name. He’s wanted in connection with nine murders on Agrillia 3. I know he came aboard your vessel when you called into Agrillia a few days ago and I also know he wasn’t on the passenger manifest so you must’ve hired him as casual labour.” Hann and his second in command, to whom I still hadn’t been introduced, studied the photo as I was speaking. Then something passed between them; a fleeting look that told me they knew who I was talking about.
“He’s working as casual labour in stores,” the second in command said as he glanced at me. “One of the staff had to leave suddenly due to a bereavement and we took this guy on to fill in. So far I haven’t had any complaints from the other stores staff, so I assume he’s doing the job okay.”
“Nine murders you say?” Hann asked, his face now a little paler than when we first shook hands. His eyebrows shot to the top of his head as I nodded slowly and noticed the shock register in his expression. “Thank god he’s not working with the passengers,” he said quietly as he took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “Okay Mr Sinclair, what do you want us to do?”
Great. Now I had Hann’s full co-operation the games could stop and I could get on with the job. “Thank you Captain,” I smiled broadly, resisting the urge to steeple my own hands. That would just be rude and pompous I thought so I satisfied myself with a broad grin. “I presume you’d like this business to be conducted out of sight of your passengers?” He nodded furiously. “Do you have a plan of the liner so I can see the location of where he works?” The second in command, who I had already nicknamed Flark, tapped on a console and brought up a map of the area where Nembier worked.
“This is the stores here,” he said as he pointed.
“And he works inside there? All the time?” I asked and he nodded. “Is there another way out?” Another nod and I swore. “Is he working right now?” Another nod. “What time does he get off?” Flark went to check and was back within a couple of minutes.
“Three hours till the end of his shift,” he responded and I swore again. The last thing I wanted was for this to become an unseemly chase along corridors where paying passengers were likely to be wandering around. Then an idea suddenly presented itself to me and I smiled again.
“Does he have a room of his own or does he share?” I asked and breathed a sigh of relief when Flark told me he has his own quarters.
“Normally he’d be sharing with two other staff but as we have one in the infirmary and the ot
her position still vacant, he’s got the room to himself.”
“Wonderful,” I grinned. “Let’s go.”
Flark led the way down to the lower levels where the staff accommodation was situated and as we descended, the place became dirtier and shabbier. Hann used his Captain’s password to over ride the private code on the entry system and we entered Nembier’s room.
“Captain,” I smiled. “Would you be so kind as to order Nembier back here to his room to help deal with a water leak in the bathroom?” Hann nodded and tapped the comms panel on the wall by the door. Nembier’s bathroom was no bigger than the wash cubicle on board my ship and offered just a basin, toilet and single shower cubicle. The basin to my left offered just enough space for someone to wash their hands and I was pleased to notice it was even smaller than mine as I turned both taps on full blast, before indicating to Hann and Flark to hide behind the door. We pressed ourselves against the wall and waited.
Five minutes later we heard the click as the security system accepted Nembier’s pass code and unlocked the door. Gun in hand, I held my breath as the door opened and a small wiry man entered. Before he took his third step across the room the sedative dart hit him square in the nape of the neck. Within twenty seconds he was on the floor and out for the count and I was securing his hands and feet. After hauling him up onto the bed I turned and smiled at Hann and Flark.
“Thank you for you co-operation Captain. Job done quick and clean. Wish they were all as easy as this one,” I said as I returned to the bathroom and turned off the taps.
