“Sector Captain Running Leader, your Nova Blast trap worked well against the eight ships led by the Human Matthew Raven’s-Wing Dragoneaux in his attack on our admin base. There were three battleglobes and four Courier ships in orbit above planet three,” the Mican growled in harsh Belizel. “As before, the Human’s Dreadnought ships arrived well into the system by Translation, just a few lightseconds out from planet Stony, on a course aimed inward toward the system’s star. Its speed was three-fourths lightspeed and our defense units were unable to damage the T’Chak ships due to their Alcubierre field shielding. In five seconds the planet was reduced to a black hole while all three battleglobes were vaporized by multiple antimatter beam strikes.” Illustrious paused, looked aside as his Brokeet Navigator input something on a holopanel, then focused back on his report. “Two of the Couriers spun up their deut-li stardrives upon detection of the Human’s gravity wave pulses and headed for the local star. They increased their speed to one-tenth light by use of antimatter added to their exhaust. Still, the Human’s ships quickly overtook them but held their fire, as if the starward vector was a puzzle for Dragoneaux. My ship received a tachlink feed of these actions, in addition to what our own tachRemotes reported to us in real time. We activated the Bethe Inducer when the T’Chak ships came near the Translation Null Zone. We Translated out of the system as soon as we saw the star’s corona begin to bulge outward.”
Running Leader rested on his bench, wondering when the verbose Mican would tell him whether the Nova Blast had killed any of the T’Chak warships.
The Mican’s three purple eyes blinked twice and his short pink tongue rasped over his canines. “Sixty nitas later we returned and recovered the Observer Globe that had been placed in the outer system to record the battle and the Nova blast of the star.” Its wings lifted slightly. “The globe shows the eight T’Chak ships had dropped their Alcubierre shields and taken on their reptile form during the chase. But the grey haze of Translation surrounded each ship before they entered the Null Zone where Translation is impossible. The Human renegade and his ships escaped destruction. However, the Nova Blast tactic was clearly a surprise to the Human and his warships.”
The image of Captain Illustrious disappeared to be replaced by the standard Anarchate icon of the galaxy crossed by a lightning bolt.
Running Leader sighed, blinked his eyes, and glanced over at Malel. “Executive Officer, lead us out of this system, along with our 39 battleglobe allies, and set course for Antares A star.” The four yellow eyes of the Orko showed surprise. “Our sector’s new Intel chief, High Commander Sytoon, says the maternal progenitor of the Human has been found on planet Working, in labor slave employment to a Mican banking merchant. Either an Intel agent or we ourselves will capture this Human and use it as a lure to trap this unpleasant biped once and for all!”
And if the lure of the biped’s progenitor did not work to draw its surrender, Running Leader had two other tactical surprises that would be new to the soft-skinned biped named Dragoneaux. Surely one of his new tactics would work to destroy or disable this fleet of nearly invulnerable T’Chak Dreadnoughts!
Kristen Dragoneaux focused intently on the ear bud Sound Snooper that she had bought long ago. She had learned the value of always listening to any business conversations by her Mican owner, one Masterful. Often he sought to make her feel incompetent at the few habitat tasks which she performed for the alien. Long years ago she had realized she was a ‘trophy’ item for the Mican to display at social gatherings, before its banking co-workers or in front of Anarchate petty officials. Not every rich merchant could afford the time to research the species needs of a labor slave. Or the cost of importing DL-chirality foods, vitamins and minerals needed by a former cloneslave captive. She had survived. But not by her own will. Shortly after being sold to the Mican on the auction block of the Flesh Markets of Alkalurops, she’d been taken away with only a glimpse of daughter Charlotte. It was then she decided to die. After their arrival in Antares A system, she stopped eating and drinking. It was her penance for surviving the death of her husband Benoit and her three small daughters. But her owner Masterful hooked her up to an IV machine, keeping her alive on liquid food, until she told it she would resume eating. He’d released her from inertial field confinement and assigned her to do simple habitat maintenance.
Over the last fifteen years she had sharpened her near photographic memory, taking in everything Masterful said in Belizel. She recalled every deal he made. Every underhanded trick against fellow Halicene Conglomerate co-workers. Every password code he’d spoken to the habitat’s Core computer. She had argued for a few platinum Standards as a monthly allowance for her monthly pain meds, her clothing, new shoes and specialty vitamins she pretended were essential, like Omega Three fish oil capsules. The Standards she used to buy her Snooper ear buds. Then she’d bought a tiny Spy Eye she’d planted in the ceiling of the front room. Watching the Mican griffin-tiger conduct side deals, official work and then make investments with several off-world Aliens in the Mican native language had been her only entertainment. And source of the hope that someday, eventually, she could find a way back to Thuringia or Megil, to find who had bought her daughter Charlotte. That hope had been all that sustained her as her long, umber-red hair which Benoit had loved became grey-streaked, and her body began to feel the onset of arthritis.
One day three months ago, while listening to a galactic tachnet broadcast that filled the background as her Spy Eye showed Masterful working on some banking accounts using his personal datapad, had come news she’d never expected to hear. Her son Matthew was alive! And he was leading a crusade against genome harvesters and cloneslavers! She had rejoiced to know he lived. But the galactic tachnet broadcasts soon moved on to other matters and she’d been left to her own devices, still the property of a status-hungry alien. Now, her ear buds conveyed the voice of a very upset Masterful as he argued with an Anarchate official named Medun.
“But Commander Medun!” growled Masterful in harsh Belizel. “This Human progenitor has been my property for fifteen cycles! Ever since I bought the wingless creature at the Flesh Markets on Megil, she has been seen by my Halicene confederates as my unique property! I have no wish to sell her to you.”
A brief silence came. Kristen huddled in the closet of her bedroom, a small space that lay near the front living room of Masterful’s large habitat unit. Reaching under clothes discarded on the floor, she lifted up a flap of carpet and retrieved the neurolink disk that allowed her to ‘see visually’ through the tiny Spy Eye in Masterful’s front room. She applied it to her right temple, blinked, used an alpha brainwave pattern, and saw in her mind the image of Masterful as it faced a holo pedestal. In the holo stood the image of a Spelidon rat, a black-furred, black-eyed giant ‘rat’ whose two arms were crossed over a leather chest-strap.
“Your status trophy is desired by my master, Mindstorm, the leader of Sector 14,” snapped Medun as its long black whiskers assumed the posture of Command Asserted, a posture Kristen had often seen on Spelidon visitors to Masterful’s habitat. “You will be paid one thousand platinum Standards by direct transfer to your ‘official’ bank account. You are welcome to later transfer the money to your offworld assets account.”
Kristen bit her lip. If this Spelidon knew about Masterful’s off work assets account, it knew enough to frighten her owner. And making fearful a Mican griffin-tiger was not smart. Micans always sought to attain the advantage in any social situation. When threatened they always struck back, no matter the cost.
“Your purchase offer is irrelevant,” hissed Masterful as the horse-sized alien took a step toward the holo, its feathery wings spreading away from its heavily muscled body in a stance she knew signaled Attack Imminent. The Micans broadcast their intentions almost as clearly as black whiskers signaled what a Spelidon rat was thinking. Or assuming. “I have no wish to sell my property. Hence the size of your purchase offer is not important.”
The Spelidon rat named Medun did not s
how any fear reaction. Of course it was present only in a three dee holo. Still, the Anarchate rat was present somewhere on this planet, otherwise Masterful would not be so angry.
“Your supervisors at Halicene Conglomerate, at the commerce embassy here on Working, have assured me of your cooperation,” Medun said, its whiskers showing the emotion of Determined Arrogance. “Your status within Halicene . . . will be diminished if I force your supervisors to order you to sell this hairless biped to me.”
Masterful’s needle-tail whipped the air behind it, then dug into the front room’s carpet. The Mican’s head fur flared out stiffly. “Such threats for a simple biped. There are millions of bipeds in the galaxy. Why is this one so special to Leader Mindstorm?”
Kristen had been wondering exactly that. The holo of Medun showed the Spelidon’s whiskers moving to form Anger Contained. “That is not your business. And if you continue to resist my generous offer, well, a fleet of battleglobes is coming to Antares A to enforce my demand. A fleet captained by a Dolmat named Running Leader. Do you wish to explain to a Sector Captain in charge of forty battleglobes why you will not surrender this Human to representatives of the Anarchate?”
Masterful roared angrily. “You threaten me! Halicene Conglomerate holds a seat on the Council of Sixteen! And your fleet cannot harm me or the embassy. Interference in this planet’s internal affairs is against Anarchate rules!”
“You idiot! Your tail is lusterless! Your wings are crawling with infestation! This is the office of Sector 14 that—”
“My wings are not infested!” cried Masterful in her ears even as Kristen’s neurolink vision showed the Mican griffin-tiger rearing back on its hind legs, preparing to attack a holo image.
The Anarchate wanted her. Bad. Kristen did not understand why the alien being who ruled the entire Sector 14 of the Milky Way wanted her. Let alone why a large fleet of battleglobes led by a Dolmat herbivore was also coming to Antares for her. Were two parts of the Anarchate competing to possess her? Was this rush to grab her because of Matthew’s attacks on Anarchate bases? It could be. Which made her value far higher than piles of platinum Standards. She would not allow herself to be used against Matt. His crusade had the chance of ending cloneslavery in the galaxy. And ending the kidnapping that had killed her husband and her three young daughters. She had to escape. Now.
Reaching out to her shoulder bag, Kristen began filling it with dried food, a water bottle, underclothes, a small knife sharp enough to remove the tracking nodule which Masterful had embedded next to her left carotid artery, the twelve Standards she had saved up since her last tech purchase, and her personal datapad that held file sections immune to monitoring by her owner. She had also memorized the tachlink address of the Thuringia governor Metzenbaum in case she ever escaped captivity. The planet Working was highly urbanized, very industrialized and subject to monitor watch of every lifeform who visited a company planet run by the Halicene Conglomerate. One reason she had not tried to escape earlier had been her lack of the Standards needed to buy a seat on a passenger starship. Now, it seemed her value to someone in the Anarchate had gone so high she might be able to bribe a ship captain to take her away from Working and to Thuringia. She felt certain Metzenbaum would pay a ‘reward’ to the ship captain who transported her home.
She got up, headed to the bathroom and began cutting out the tracking nodule in her neck. It took only seconds. A small sticktite bandage stopped the bleeding. The nodule she flushed down the refuse pit. Let Masterful go chasing all over the skyrise as the nodule moved toward the basement recycle vats. Kristen grabbed her shoulder bag, climbed onto her bed and reached up to the air vent grill that pierced the room’s ceiling. She pushed up on the grill, then pressed it sideways. Throwing her bag into the ceiling hole, she bent her knees and jumped up. Grabbing the vent edge Kristen pulled herself up until her elbows rested atop the vent edge. With her head inside the vent tube she leaned forward. Her breasts scraped against the edge, then cleared them. Her breath came hard and fast as she pulled herself into the vent tube. Seconds later her hips cleared the edge and she fell forward into the vent tube. She pulled her feet into the tube. Twisting around she put the vent grill back atop the round hole in her bedroom’s ceiling. Grabbing her shoulder bag and fingerlight, Kristen Dragoneaux scooted forward toward the inner part of the skyrise. Ahead lay metal tubes that fed air to the hundreds of habitat blocks that filled the skyrise she lived in. Their layout was something she had explored years ago, in preparation for this moment.
“Matthew,” she whispered to herself. “I’m coming.”
George landed his shuttle Tuatha De Danaan on the spaceport landing field just outside Halath city, near where the wide river Fertile entered Megil’s eastern ocean. Two dozen other shuttles of Alien designs occupied one side of the field, while just ahead lay the Commerce Lounge that he must pass through on his way into Halath and then the countryside where he expected to find the estate of Charlotte’s owner, Nak ho-mesk of the Meligun species. The bear-like Meligun were often found in Anarchate facilities that dealt with trade or banking. But they preferred countryside living. Looking beyond the landing field to the ancient stone walls and pyramidal buildings of Halath, George saw the central gap where Matt’s antimatter beam had vaporized the Flesh Markets where cloneslaves were made, decanted and sold. Ninety or so small skimmers filled the air above the city, while along the river and in the rolling hills of the countryside there rose tall, red-barked trees with broad green leaves. The trees reminded George of the redwoods of Earth, though their leaves were quite different. That said, Megil lay just 121 light years from Earth. He sighed as he waved a hand over the control panel to shut down the engines. And power to the port and starboard laser pods.
“George,” called Suzanne from ten light years away, appearing in his mind wearing a white cotton summer dress embroidered with red and blue cross-stitch designs. Her green eyes sparkled with joy. “Remember our rendezvous plans! And we all support your help to Matt in finding his sister Charlotte. You know he has a lot of memory pain from losing his family.”
“I know, and when I return to where the fleet is parked, I hope to hear your mezzo-soprano sing that Joan Baez song I like so much!”
Suzanne smiled at him. “Anything you wish, I will sing. Then you will listen to that romantic songstress Carole King that Sarah loves so much!” She paused, seeing his surroundings through his mind’s-eye. “Do you have what you need?”
George stroked his full beard, stood up from the small Bridge of the shuttle, then walked on bare feet toward the passenger hold where his Greek-style clothes lay. Next to the clothes was a shoulder bag that held platinum Standards, a personal datapad, a small laser handgun, and a disk full of Trade goods that supposedly existed in the holds of his starship Inevitable, orbiting high above Megil, among a cluster of similar commerce Trader ships. He gave Suzanne a mental smile.
“My love, thank you! Don’t worry. I can handle a simple Infiltrate and Observe mission for Matt. Anyway, after I locate the estate, I will have Inevitable activate my combat suit in the shuttle’s hold and send it out to me this evening.” He admired her as she resumed dancing on the Park’s green meadow. “Since Charlotte’s owner is off planet, according to Inevitable’s scan of Megil’s civil archive, I will enter and search for Charlotte, with my suit on full combat alert. Should be invisible to most security software employed by a rich merchant. And Matt’s sister may be there, since cloneslaves are not listed in the archives as ‘people’ to keep track of.”
The green cloud of Inevitable appeared in his mind, her mindsense friendly and reassuring. “You will pass through the security scan at the Commerce Lounge with no trouble, George my ally,” said the T’Chak dragon, her two forearms crossed over the yellow scales of her broad chest. “I dropped down several limpet complinks before you arrived, along with an Offense Sled in stealth should you need removal while under fire. And our ship’s flexhull nicely portrays the shape of a Meligun Trade ship. Be at
ease.”
“Thank you Inevitable.” George finished dressing in his day clothes, slipped on durable sandals, slung his shoulder bag and stepped out into the humid warmth of midday on Megil. The shuttle hatch closed behind him. He smelled the salty moistness of the nearby sea. “Now, onward to the Commerce Lounge to register our ship and its fake cargo, then off on a pretend exploration of Halath city and its inebriation facilities. Hope the yellow beer of these Teecheen people is worth drinking!”
Suzanne laughed in his mind’s-eye. “Judging by the vidcast ads for it, these very tall Teecheen drink enough of it to fall over into a stupor!”
“Too funny to imagine!” George sent her a mental embrace that might normally have squeezed her too tight. He often forgot his own strength with Suzanne. She was a woman smart in ways he was not, brave in ways they shared, and devoted to life and freedom for everyone, whether human or Alien. And devoted to them both having their own new life to celebrate. Soon!
He entered the sliding glass doorway of the Commerce Lounge, spotted the security roundel, walked up to it, flashed his Anarchate ID disk at the archway’s sensor pad and then stepped through the arch and stopped before the Teecheen native standing beside a holo data pedestal. The very tall humanoid glanced at the pedestal’s holo, then down to him with a grey-eyed look that betrayed no alarm or curiosity.
“Welcome Trader George O’Hussey. Your business is welcome. Live food is available in the Food Alcove to your right, while climbing trees for relaxation are available in the upper Park habitat.”
George mentally translated the Belizel speech of the black-skinned humanoid whose long arms and long legs had evolved for climbing the trees of Megil in search of food animals, and to escape the planet’s version of long-toothed predatory felines. While a carnivore species, the hairless Teecheen were a Tech culture with its own space navy and frigates in orbit above the planet. The Teecheen cared little for Anarchate formalities, but the antimatter destruction of the Anarchate naval base on their moon Salla had forced Anarchate officialdom to move their transit tracking functions to the landing field of Halath. The Teecheen cooperated since the Anarchate promised the planet defense against genome harvester pirate ships and against further attacks by Matt’s fleet. He smiled at the Teecheen native, whose four-sided jaw smiled back at him, displaying a remarkable series of razor-sharp canines.
Anarchate Vigilante (Vigilante Series 4) Page 9
