Dana Cartwright Mission 3: Kal-King (11 page)

For a long moment, they just listened. Then, they heard a snarl, panicked screams, weapons fire, more screams, and silence.

Macao crept forward, past more dead slaves. These had slashes, and were covered in greenish, sticky blood.

Schaffer knelt near one body and called for the light. “These are claw marks — from something big.” He checked, and found two weapons among these men. “Both weapons are fully charged.” He handed one over to the Captain and they continued on.

“Stop!” Schaffer commanded. Macao froze in place.

Ahead of them, in the dark tunnel, just barely visible, were two amber, feline eyes.

Schaffer slowly raised the weapon in self-defense.

“Hold!” Macao ordered, daring, “Xal? Is that you?”

“Captain?”

The Felidae padded forward on all fours, then rose up, standing before them in the light from the hand beacon, purring, “Perfect…you are safe!”

Schaffer stared, quite dumbfounded.

“A team from
Thresher
rescued Gage, Briggs and Rogers. Oh, and I found Dec.”

Macao grinned, “Well done, Colonel. Can they lock onto your badge and MAT us up?”

Xalier hissed a sigh. “They had to leave orbit; should be back in ten days or so. We’re on our own until then.”

“Ten days! We’ll starve to death,” Macao lamented.

“Well, I won’t,” Xalier purred. “Are not Alphans carnivorous? You should do fine. Lots of…” The Felidae’s snout wrinkled, “…things to eat. Need to get to the surface. Fresh water, fish, and wild edible flora.”

“We’d freeze to death,” Macao grumbled.

Xalier shrugged, “Nothing wrong with fur coats.”

Schaffer countered, “We need to get back to the hot spring where it’s warm, and the water is therapeutic. Captain Macao needs aquatic therapy.”

Xalier relented. “Follow me, then.” He went back down to a feline posture and led, stopping occasionally to listen for possible intruders, whiskers twitching in unison with his tail.

They stopped at the top of the ledge. The force field was down. This time, Macao used the stairs, but he still ended up in the pool to soothe his aches and pains.

Schaffer set about making a fire, using stones to create a spark among some tinder. He then stripped down and joined the Captain in the hot spring pool.

“Warm enough?” The Felidae asked, baring teeth.

“Perfect,” Macao answered.

Xalier patrolled nervously, complaining that the area was indefensible from below; but he did admit he liked the warmth. “Makes me sleepy…”

“Ten days…” Macao groaned.

Schaffer shrugged. “After ten years, it seems an incredibly short time to have to wait.”

When Macao reluctantly pulled himself out of the pool, he had to crawl to the sleeping area.

Xalier came and sniffed him. “Your back? You’ve injured it before.”

“Aye…Dana warned me.”

“Doctor Dana?” Xalier purred. “You should obey doctor’s orders, Captain. Rest now. I’ll watch over you.” The Felidae picked up the corner of a blanket between his teeth and dragged it to cover Macao, ordering, “Rest.”

Schaffer watched from the pool, amazed by the gentleness the big cat creature exhibited. Xalier sank down beside the Enturian lieutenant and purred, “You’ve never met a Felidae before, I can tell. Yet you are accepting. For that, my thanks.”

“I served
Navitor
as an Exchange Officer and met many member races to the Republic, but none like you.”

Xalier murmured, “I am…an oddity.”

Schaffer chuckled. “Not so very odd… Now Tresgans…they’re odd.”

Xalier sneered in agreement, tail twitching, “And not very tasty.” He began to preen, licking his paws and rubbing them behind his ears.

Janz Macao listened for a time to the conversation between Xalier and Schaffer, but soon drifted off to sleep. He awoke after an hour or so, in agony.

The Felidae sat between him and Schaffer, preening fur, ever alert.

“You are experiencing more pain?” the cat noted.

“Aye.”

“We need to get you to a doctor. Can’t wait ten days. If I go up and prowl about…”

“No,” Macao countered. “I know what to do. We need you here to protect us.” He closed his eyes, calling to Shalee.
 

Can you help, Beloved?

Her response was sweet and clear.
Be gentle, my love, not as you were to your brother.

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 throwing 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.”