The Exxar Chronicles: Book 03 - Acts of Peace and War

by Neal Jones

  Gabriel scowled. "So how was this done then?"

  Navarr and Scarvo exchanged glances. "We're not entirely sure," the security chief admitted. "There have been no unauthorized cardon fields activated in the last thirty hours, which means that he must have been taken away via the docking ports or the cargo ports."

  "Your security report from two days ago noted an unauthorized cardon signature on the promenade, correct?"

  "That's right. It wasn't active long enough for us to localize the point of origin."

  "And now my chief engineer is missing. I would say that's not a coincidence."

  "I agree, sir. I'm already pulling the traffic records of all ships that have docked here in the last three days. I've already assigned a team to comb through passenger and cargo manifests and highlight any irregularities."

  "There's another reason his biosigns might not be detected by internal sensors," Saveck interrupted.

  "Yes," Navarr admitted grudgingly. "That possibility has also occurred to me, however I don't think it's a good idea to jump to conclusions just yet. There was no sign of a struggle in the vicinity where his transponder was found. Until I have evidence to the contrary, I choose to assume he's still alive."

  "Then perhaps we should initiate a level two lockdown of the entire station," Saveck suggested, "just in case someone found a way to mask his biosigns from our new sensors."

  "I agree. Do it immediately, commander." Gabriel turned to Endari. "Lieutenant Cadman is Garrett's second-in-command, correct?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Inform him that he's acting chief engineer until further notice."

  "Aye, sir."

  The commodore turned back to Navarr. "Whatever security detail you have assigned to Ambassador Zar, double it."

  "Yes, sir."

  "What time does Ambassador Morryn's delegation arrive tomorrow?"

  The security chief pulled up a readout on her terminal screen. "Nineteen-thirty."

  "It would be really nice if we could have this mystery solved before then," Gabriel sighed.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Major, walk with me."

  "Uh, sir?"

  Gabriel turned back to Navarr.

  "How soon do you want me to inform ISD of this kidnapping?"

  "We don't yet know for certain that this was a kidnapping, commander. Let's not poke into the wasps' nest until absolutely necessary."

  "Yes, sir."

  After he and the major were gone, Endari turned to the two security officers. "ISD?"

  "EarthCorps' Internal Security Division. Regs specify that they are to be notified in the event that an officer disappears under suspicious circumstances."

  "Oh."

  "Lieutenant, is there anyone on the engineering staff that might have a grudge against Kiran? He ever piss anybody off? Get into an argument with somebody over a performance review, that sort of thing?"

  Endari thought for a minute and then shook her head. "Not that I know of. When he first took command, there was a few officers who thought he was too young to be chief of an operations division. I was one of 'em, in fact. But I think he's proven himself quite capable in the last year. I don't know about the other shifts, but I can't see anyone on Alpha getting pojd enough to do him harm."

  "Ok. Thanks."

  After Endari was gone, Navarr plopped into the chair behind her desk and stared into space, tapping one finger against the desktop as she mulled over everything discussed thus far.

  "This doesn't make sense," Scarvo mused. "If he was kidnapped, and assuming his captors aren't holding him somewhere on Exxar-One and masking his biosigns, the only way to get him off the station without going through the DPCs is by using a Cardon field."

  "No way," Navarr shook her head stubbornly. "They wouldn't have been able to use any of the personnel or cargo transport fields without arousing suspicion, so the only other option would be a portable transfield generator –"

  "– which would set off the alarm in here, I know," Scarvo finished. "But, Chris, what other option is there? Even if Kiran was unconscious, and his captors hid him in a cargo pod, and they tried to get him off the station through the cargo transport fields, the security scanners would have still detected unauthorized organic material, and a different set of alarms would have gone off. That's why we have security teams assigned to all cargo transport decks whenever there's shipments coming aboard or being offloaded."

  "Yes, I know the regs," Navarr interrupted irritably. "But, Dana, that leaves only two possibilities: that Kiran is still here on the station somewhere with his biosigns being masked from the new sensors, or his captors were able to get him off the station using an unauthorized portable cardon field emitter, and no alarms went off. The latter option is impossible!" She motioned to the control panel and the bank of screens that occupied most of the rear wall behind her desk. "We just tested this system last week and I signed off on the report."

  "Yet two days ago there was an unauthorized field," Scarvo replied patiently, "and we never found the point of origin. It's logical to assume that Kiran's captors snuck aboard the station, waited around two days in order to plan their escape as well as follow Kiran to get to know his daily routine, and then made their getaway last night between nineteen and twenty hundred hours. Right?"

  Navarr sighed and nodded. "Right."

  "So that means we need to pull surveillance footage from all vidcams outside main engineering, around the promenade, outside Garrett's quarters, and anywhere else on the station he might have gone in the last two days. Whoever was planning his kidnapping was most likely following him in the public places."

  Navarr stood, nodding. "Get started on it. There's something else I want to look into. Let's meet back here for lunch." She slapped her commlink. "Chandler, get out here. I need you to man the desk for the rest of the morning."

  "Yes, ma'am. Be right there."

  ( 4 )

  The narrow street looked more like an alley, with only a few dim lamps here and there to pierce the darkness created by the tall buildings on either side. Tilura edged closer to Grax as they walked along the side, passing darkened doorways. This was obviously one of the older sections of the city, and Tilura kept one hand poised near her holster as she squinted through the darkness at the digital readout of the house numbers above each door.

  "Are you sure we're in the right area?" she whispered.

  "Yes," Grax replied, annoyed. "The comm signal he gave me is coming from the end of this street, first level." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "You've spent most of your life in the Nevala sector. Don't be such a snayp."

  "I know the Nevala sector. This city is foreign to me, and we're wandering strange places after dark. Excuse me for being paranoid."

  Grax stopped suddenly and gripped Tilura's wrist as a signal for her to shut up. He was staring ahead, at an intersection where the cross street looked even more narrow than the one they were on. "Do you see them?" he murmured.

  Tilura squinted, peering into the shadows caused by the streetlamp nearby. After a few moments she could just barely make out a humanoid shape.

  "Let me do the talking," Grax whispered, and then stepped into the center of the street and boldly approached the intersection. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said in a clear voice.

  The shape that Tilura had been staring at moved, stepping into the lamplight, and she looked around for his companion. There didn't seem to be anyone else, but then she heard the faintest rustle of a cloak behind her, and she turned. Another hooded shape had appeared from a black doorway.

  The one in front of them removed his hood. The Yiseklo weren't an especially unusual bipedal, humanoid species. Their skin was a mottled gray and brown, and their heads seemed just a tad too big given the size of their torsos, but other than that, their ambassador probably wouldn't stick out in a crowd at an intergalactic summit. It was their eyes, however, that unnerved Tilura. There was just the pair – as usual for most species – but the Yiseklo had no pupils. Their eyes
– like their skulls – seemed just a bit larger than necessary, as if their race had been formed by a child who was playing with modeling clay for the first time. The eyeballs themselves were normally cream-colored pools, but in the dim, blue-green glow of the streetlight, they appeared much darker, almost black.

  "State your business, Orethian," the first one said. There was a strange click-hiss in his voice, behind each word, and the sound made Tilura shiver.

  "We are here to see Solomon Gunn. He lives just up the street behind you."

  "Yes, I know where he lives." Cliss-cliss. "You haven't shown me yet that you authorization to be here."

  Grax nodded, as if to say of course, and then repeated the phrase that Tilura had overheard him rehearsing on their way here. He said it in the native tongue, without the assistance of the linguistic translator, and the strange guardian stepped aside.

  "Very well. You may continue." Cliss-cliss. Click.

  Tilura followed Grax, her hand still hovering near her holster, and she glanced over her shoulder after they'd passed. The pair of street thugs had vanished back into their hiding places once more, and the narrow way was empty.

  "You didn't tell me that Sol had found protection in the Ulsyana Mob."

  "I didn't know. All I knew was the pass phrase he had given me." Grax paused in front of a door, checked the digital address readout, and then pressed the chime. A moment later, the door slide aside, revealing a modest, sparsely furnished room. It was as dimly lit as the street outside.

  "Come in," Sol's voice said from the panel beside the door.

  Grax and Tilura obeyed, and the door locked itself behind them as soon as it shut. Solomon appeared from a back hallway, wiping his hands on a towel.

  "Thalor!" He grinned and the two shook hands, clapping each other on the shoulder. "You've gained weight, my friend."

  "I have to sample my own menu," Grax said, rubbing his waist. "I only serve the best at my restaurant."

  Sol shook his head, laughing, as he turned to Tilura. He stuck out his hand. "Nice to see you again."

  "You too," she replied, shaking. "I like the beard."

  He scrubbed his hand over his lower face, grimacing. "I only grew this thing a few weeks ago. Not sure I like it, though. Makes me look old."

  "You are old," Grax quipped. He sniffed. "What smells so good?"

  "Oet soup. I figured you'd be hungry after your trip." He motioned to the hall. "I've got the table set and the bowls are dished." As he led them into a tiny kitchen, he continued, "It's probably not as fancy as anything you've served in your restaurant, but I think you'll like it. There's a type of meat that's common here that – I swear to god – tastes just like rib eye steak. I can't get enough of it, and I've been trying my hand at several dishes."

  "You?? Cook?" Thalor shook his head, clucking his tongue. "This I've gotta taste."

  Tilura had already sampled her soup, and she looked up, surprised. "Sol, this is delicious! What kind of meat did you say this was?"

  The next hour was spent with small talk and catching up on old times. Grax and Sol did most of the talking, while Tilura drained two bowls of soup. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she'd started eating, and then it seemed she couldn't stop. She kept only ration packs on her ship as the food dispensers hadn't been working properly for the last several weeks, and she hadn't been able to purchase the parts to fix them just yet. That was another thing that she was hoping Sol could help with.

  Grax wiped his mouth, and then pushed aside his empty bowl and laid his napkin beside it. "So...let's get down to business, shall we?"

  Sol gathered up the dirty dishes and placed them in the reclamator. "You're probably wondering why you had to pass two mob guards in order to get here."

  "We were curious," Tilura replied dryly.

  Sol nodded as he sat back down. "When I first arrived, I stumbled into an altercation with some street thugs and a young girl. I was in the market, and I heard a commotion from an alley. Once I discovered what was going on, I couldn't leave the child at the mercy of those men. There were three of them, and though I couldn't understand the language yet, it was clear that the poor child was about to meet a rather grisly end. I was behind 'em, and they were so focused on the girl that they didn't notice me. I drew my weapon and fired. 'Course, I only hit two of 'em with the first shot, and even then that didn't stun 'em like it was supposed to. Ended up emptying half my power pack before they all finally went down. Were as mad as rhinos too." He chuckled and sipped his wine. "Refill?" He pointed to Tilura's empty glass.

  "Sure."

  "And by then, of course, the poor girl was sobbing, and even more terrified 'cause she didn't know who the hell I was, and since my translator was taking its time with the language, neither of us could understand each other. Eventually she ran off, and I got the fuck out of there 'cause I could hear people yelling for the police. Turns out, though, that that girl was the daughter of the Ulsyana Mob Lord named H'S'Kan. His only daughter, no less. He was so grateful he offered me full protection from the Xornh."

  Grax had been in mid-sip, and he swallowed his wine just in time to avoid a coughing fit. "The Xornh?? That's who put the bounty on your head? What the hell did you do??"

  Sol winced. "Let's just say I got in over my head with one of Gaetin's mistresses. It didn't end well."

  "No shit!" Grax shook his head, stunned. "My gods, Sol, you really do have a death wish, don't you?"

  "You still gonna help me?"

  "We don't really have a choice, do we?" Thalor reached for his glass again, staring at it as he spun it slowly, swirling the wine inside.

  Tilura glanced back and forth between the two, and then said finally, "This was the best house that H'S'Kan could give you?" She swung her arms wide to indicate the cramped kitchen and the small rooms beyond it.

  "Oh no!" Sol replied. "But I refused the house he wanted to give me in the wealthy district. I'm trying to lay low, remember. And you know me. I've always been a slob. I wouldn't know what to do with a place that doesn't have some dust and grime in the corners."

  "Yes, how could I forget," Thalor commented, glancing around the tiny kitchen.

  Solomon downed the last of his wine and set the empty glass in the reclamator. "So...when do we leave?"

  "Not so fast," Grax replied. "You've been under the protection of the Ulsyana for the last five years?"

  "That's right."

  "So you don't really need our help."

  "Oh, no, I do. Trust me. There have been three attempts on my life since I arrived here. But, thank the gods, those guardians in that street out there know what they're doing." Solomon paused, staring at the table as he brushed a few crumbs onto the floor. "I need your help to get Eliot."

  "Eliot?" Tilura frowned. "Whose Eliot?"

  "You left him behind??" Grax exclaimed. "Where? Please don't tell me he's serving drinks in one of those seedy bars! I swear to the Saints, Sol, if you left him at the mercy of one of those –"

  "Hey, relax, Thal. He's fine. I could never be that heartless. I put him in cold storage in the last place that anyone would ever think to look for him."

  "Will somebody please tell me who Eliot is?"

  Both men looked at Tilura.

  "You don't remember the only other person on Sol's crew? The robot?"

  "Android," Solomon corrected him.

  Tilura thought for a minute, and then her puzzlement changed to surprise. "Oh! That's right. You were working on him in your lab when we met. You actually got him fixed??"

  Solomon flashed her a look that said, Duh, stupid. "Yes, I did. One of his neural nodes was damaged, and it took me awhile to find a good replacement. I've had Eliot for over twenty years, and since there was no way to smuggle him across the Federation border, I had to put him in storage."

  "So why did you refuse my request for help last week? And why did you lie to me about the bounty?" Grax wondered. "We could have been in the Nevala sector by now."

  "Because I needed t
o know for sure that you were working alone. I needed time to research. I haven't seen you for eighteen years, Thal. Until you first screened me a week ago, I had assumed you were still working in the Nevala sector."

  Thalor nodded. "Okay. Fair enough." He finished his wine and handed the empty glass to Sol. "I'm ready if you are. There's one thing we have to do first, though. How's your hacking skills? Specifically, global law enforcement networks."

  Sol shrugged. "I can't guarantee anything, of course, but you know me. I could hack anything. I would just need some time to research the target. What do you have in mind?"

  "The Global Police Net on Orethiaze. We need to get into the criminal investigations database to find out what happened to a particular warrant and the old case it was attached to."

  Sol didn't immediately respond, glancing instead at Tilura. She met his gaze, unflinching, and he smiled, nodding. "I always wondered about your past, Tilura."

  "The feeling's mutual."

  Solomon nodded. "Sure. I think I could do it. It'll take a little time, though, maybe just a day or so. I can't do it from here, of course."

  Grax nodded, rising. "Excellent."

  "I assume one of you still has your own ship?" Solomon asked as he reached for his coat.

  "That would be me," Tilura replied. "Although we do need two power coils for the food dispensers, unless you two enjoy ration packs. And I haven't been able to do maximum stardrive for a few months now. Level six is as high as she'll go. The core matrix needs an overhaul, and I haven't been able to afford it."

  Solomon shook his head and smiled as he exchanged a rueful glance with Grax. "It'll be just like old times. We'll see what we can do once we get to Orethiaze."

  "Excellent," Tilura grinned as she followed them out of the apartment and into the darkened street beyond it.

  ( 5 )

  The door chime sounded as loud as a church bell in the empty stillness of the large house. Vatra jerked, startled from her reverie, and her hand almost spilled the wineglass. She rose from the kitchen table and strode quickly to the front door.