by Paul Stansbury
“Ludlow, I have a situation in the Relda system—something requiring your talents… and discretion to resolve.”
“Nice to see you again, sir,” Ludlow said, eyeing his old boss on the wall screen. He ran his hand through his black wavy hair as he studied the face of the former Chief of Security at Wooton Outlands Exploration. A little older, hairline receding. Still imposing, or is that a result of real-time digital enhancement? “You wish to discuss something?” Ludlow had not spoken with Okoro since he had been promoted to the abstruse position of Vice President of Furtherance.
“Yes,” Okoro responded. “E-riginal uploading to your personal eyes-only system. You will find it is an authorization for your temporary reassignment to me.” Okoro studied Ludlow’s image on the screen. Slight raising of the eyebrows. Why not? Must come as a surprise.
“Are the particulars included?” Ludlow asked.
“No, you will receive your orders directly from me by discreet voice-com only. I’ll wait until you stop recording this conversation.”
“Yes sir,” said Ludlow. He entered the disabling code. Immediately, the prohibition sign
appeared over the Record icon.
“I’ve been following your progress since I left Security,” said Okoro. “You were promoted to Security Specialist so soon after the situation on Cyrrhestes 4.” He smiled. “Well, you did demonstrate good judgment and discretion in handling the inquiry. I hope the same is true for this assignment.” Okoro studied the face on the screen, searching for tells. What are you thinking, Ludlow?
“Rest assured, sir,” said Ludlow.
“Oh, and this comes with an upgrade to Furtherance Attaché with Level A clearance and adjusted compensation to reflect the same.”
“Thank you, sir, for the confidence as well as the pay. May I ask what my assignment is?”
“After you accept the terms of assignment,” reminded Okoro.
“Aren’t they the same as my current terms?”
“Basically, yes, with an additional caveat.”
“What might that be?” asked Ludlow.
“You will report directly and only to me. All communication will be by means of discreet voice-com.”
“What about required documentation?”
“Suspended,” replied Okoro. He studied Ludlow’s face. Did I see a small twitch? You weren’t expecting that, were you? “Well, do you agree?
Ludlow looked at Okoro’s serene image. Damn that real-time digital enhancement. Wish I could see his true face. “Agreed. Send the assignment terms.” Ludlow reached out to touch the fingerprint scanner to certify acceptance.
“Ah, no documentation,” reminded Okoro. “I’ll send a courier with a temporary ID and relevant information.”
“As you wish. Now, what is the nature of my assignment?”
“We have a slight problem on Relda 3. The Director of Planetary Operations, Peez Spajar, reports his wife has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom. I want you to resolve this situation.”
“Excuse me sir,” asked Ludlow, “wouldn’t that be something for the Sector Police to handle?”
“For now, we will be treating this as a company matter. Spajar claims his wife, Meena, was returning from a visit to Talphah when she was abducted.”
“I assume like all the other jumpgates, a company subsidiary has the franchise to operate the jumpgates in the Dosi Majoris Sector.”
“Yes,” answered Okoro, “Spajar claims his wife was traveling through-and-through from Talphah to Relda 3. Preliminary information on hand backs this up. They had been married less than half an earth cycle at the time of the alleged kidnapping. It appears she boarded his company transpod, which was docked at Jumpgate DMS-0007 near Talphah; but when it arrived at Jumpgate DMS-0036 near Relda 3, he found a ransom demand instead of his beloved wife.”
“Could she have been waylaid?”
“Jumpgate logs indicate no stops or detours, as you would expect for a through-and- through.”
“Interesting. What do we know about her?” Ludlow asked.
“Not much in the records. In fact, she has no history until her marriage to Spajar.”
“Sometimes recordkeeping is a problem in the outlying sectors. Still sounds like a Sector Police problem,” said Ludlow.
“Spajar is our Director of Planetary Operations on Relda 3,” reminded Okoro. “His wife was apparently kidnapped while traveling through our jumpgates. She is a Dherien, by the way. As you know, the jumpgates generate considerable revenue. For obvious reasons, we prefer to keep such matters out of the public eye. Besides, the company is not anxious to have the Sector Police use the little matter of a kidnapping to engage in a fishing expedition.”
“I see,” said Ludlow.
“Of course, the company will pay the ransom. However, Spajar is also making rumbles about a lawsuit. We both know the company will settle before it gets to that point, but before going to the bargaining table, we need to make sure we have all the facts. That is where you come in.”
“I understand. With your permission, I will start by making some inquiries at Jumpgate DMS-0007, then pay a visit to Nova Barataria and see Jehr Basset.”
“Basset? That’s interesting.”
“Sir, Basset may be a scoundrel, but he has a finger on the pulse of all dubious activity in the Sector. What better place to gather information?”
“As you wish. A shuttle is waiting for you at the main hangar. The courier will meet you there. I have a company transpod on standby for your jump to the Dosi Majoris Sector.”
An hour later, Ludlow took off from the company hangar headed for Jumpgate VPS-001. As he settled in for his trip, he called up Holst’s The Planets from the playlist.
***
A week later, Ludlow arrived at Jumpgate DMS-0007 in the Dosi Majoris sector. He remained motionless in his transpod until his senses cleared. Jumps frequently disorientated passengers. His jump was no different. At least I’m on a company transpod and not crammed on a public conveyance. Note to self — this fleeting moment of disorientation at the end of a jump presents the perfect opportunity to nab someone. As soon as he was able to stand without the walls spinning, he headed for the security station.
The pale green face of an Aludrian security officer appeared on a view screen as Ludlow approached the door. “Please state your name and business.”
“Furtherance Attaché Feran Ludlow. I’m on my way to Nova Barataria. I am here to conduct an audit.”
The officer bowed her head and typed busily. In a moment, she looked up. “I don’t see an audit on the schedule.” Soft orange tints encircled her eyes.
A bit anxious? Aludrians are so easy to read. “That’s because this is an unscheduled audit,” said Ludlow.
“Understood, sir,” said the attendant. “Protocol requires you to present proper ID.”
Ludlow touched his ID to the sensor. She studied Ludlows’s face compared to the ID image on her screen. His expresso complexion, brown eyes, wide flat nose and full lips matched exactly. “Very good sir, now for the retinal scan, if you please,” Ludlow brought his face close to the scanner. “All in good order, Mr. Ludlow. My name is Nidla Lycal. Please come in.”
The door opened with a soft click. Ludlow stepped inside the cramped cubicle. The security officer was sitting amid a huge array of monitors streaming real-time images of the Talphah terminal. She got up from her chair and stood at attention. Ludlow towered over her scant, meter-tall frame.
“Please be seated, Nidla. You have no need for undue concern.” The orange tints around her eyes faded to aquamarine. So easy to read, but desirable in security officers – no intrigue. “I simply need some information.”
Nidla returned to her seat. “Is there a problem, sir?” she asked, orange tints returning.
“Not at all,” assured Ludlow. “Just an errand for some high-level company bureaucrat tilting at windmills to justify his existence.”
“Tilting at windmills?”
“Sorry, it’s an old earth phrase. Means something like attacking imaginary enemies.”
“As you say, Mr. Ludlow.”
“I don’t see the need to spend too much time on this. I would like to see datavid from a jump by Peez Spajar’s transpod.”
Nidla’s spidery tentacles flew over the console. “Last jump for that transpod was a through-and-through to Jumpgate DMS-0036.”
“Very good. Let’s start there.”
Nidla entered the appropriate parameters, and a large enclosed platform with several access doors appeared on the screen. “These are the private docks. Not much activity compared to the crush on the public side. Log indicates only one transpod, registered to Wooton Outlands Exploration, was in dock.”
“Which door?” asked Ludlow.
“The one closest to the entrance,” said Nidla. She glanced at a readout on a screen to her left. “We should see a passenger identified as Meena Spajar enter momentarily.”
On the screen, a door opened, and a woman entered. She was wearing a crimson jumpsuit and carried a satchel over her left shoulder. Her head was wrapped in a bright multicolored scarf typical of the type worn by Dheriens. An opaque visor covered her eyes.
“Can you enlarge her face?” asked Ludlow. Nidla touched the controls and Meena’s face filled the screen. “Hold it,” said Ludlow. He studied her features intensely. Damn visor, Can’t see her eyes. Her pale umber skin was flawless. A pitch-black widow’s peak stretched out from under her scarf and down her forehead, disappearing underneath the visor. Is that a smile or a smirk on those lips, Meena?
“Ok,” said Ludlow, “you can pull back now.” The screen returned to its original resolution. They watched as the woman approached Spajar’s private airlock. Touching her ID to the sensor, she lifted her visor and faced the retinal scanner. The door slid open, and she entered. “Switch view to inside the airlock.”
Nidla touched the screen. A view of the Spajar’s transpod in the small airlock appeared.
Meena walked straight to the hatch and entered. It closed behind her.
“Fast forward until it launches,” said Ludlow. Nidia pulled a digit along the bottom of the screen until the transpod disappeared down the drop tube. “And this was scheduled as a through- and-through?”
“Yes sir.”
“Any anomalies recorded for the transpod between here and its destination?”
“None indicated, none reported.”
“Thank you Nidla. That’s all I needed.”
“I see you are booked for a through-and-through to Jumpgate DMS-0015. Going to Barataria?”
“Yes, more inquiries.”
“They say to stay clear of the Nova Barataria Market. I’ve heard it’s a dangerous place.”
“Noted. Thank you, Nidla.”
“Have a good trip, sir.”
***
After docking at Jumpgate DMS-0015, Ludlow changed out of his Attaché uniform into civilian clothes. He then proceeded to the company’s space hangar where a company shuttle, outfitted to look like a private cruiser, was waiting.
After two days of near-lightspeed travel, Ludlow arrived at Barataria. He piloted his shuttle through the descent from space and landed on the outskirts of the deserted Old Port of Barataria. Frigid blasts roiled over the uneven pavement of the old town, pelting him with stinging grit as he made his way to the Mollag Gate. He pulled the thick hood of his coat around his head. Too bad I couldn’t land at the company hangar, but it is better to arrive unannounced and unnoticed. The wind scoured the crumbling walls, creating mournful sounds. Sounds like the wails of Thurian Banshees. Ludlow pushed on in the deepening twilight.
It was almost dark when he felt a glancing but sharp blow to the back of his head. Not sufficient to knock him out, it crumpled him to the ground. Though dazed, he rolled to his left, using his momentum to regain footing. He peered through thin light at his attacker, who staggered forward, groaned, and fell face down in the dirt.
Behind the fallen assailant, he could see another figure standing in the shadows. Ludlow rested a hand on his weapon. He strained to see the figure’s face in the dim light.
“Hold your kajars, Ludlow.”
“Axolo?” Ludlow asked, recognizing the figure’s raspy voice.
“And who else would be looking out here for a stinking company cop?” said the gaunt Clodian holding a long, curved knife. He looked around and exhaled through his fuschia gills. “Except for an assassin.”
Ludlow dropped to one knee along the body. He rolled it over, examining its face. A lifeless, single eye stared into space. “A Giceth. Any idea who she is?”
“Other than an assassin? No.”
“You think this Giceth was an assassin?” asked Ludlow, sifting through her garments.
“Why else would she have that bash?” asked Axolo, pointing to the cudgel still in the
Giceth’s hand.”
“You have a point there. Wish you hadn’t killed her, though.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
Ludlow continued to examine the body. He found the flight of a small blow dart protruding from the base of her skull. Probably tipped with a neurotoxin. “Blow dart. Someone did.”
Axolo looked around again. “So what?”
“I would have liked to know what she was up to, that’s all,” growled Ludlow. I wish there was more light so I could see your face. I think you know more than you let on.
Axolo scowled. “Come on, the gate is just ahead. Let’s get out of here before whoever let loose with that blow dart changes their mind and decides we’re next. Leave the Giceth to the scods. They’ll pick her clean before first light.”
Ahead, the thin glow of streetlights reflected off the underside of Nova Barataria’s transparent dome. After a millennium, the city still remained a popular destination for galactic riffraff. The dome rested on a walled perimeter with access limited to a few heavily guarded gates. It kept the Market well separated from the rest of the inhabitants of Barataria. The Mollag Gate was the only one with access from the abandoned Old Port. It opened to Nova Barataria’s notorious ghetto. Its seamy streets were lined with stalls and tents whose mongers were ever so eager to cater to the whims of the galaxy’s undesirables. Squalid taverns and ramshackle brothels loomed in the shadows.
Ludlow followed Axolo until they arrived at the massive gate. A security station and a full height turnstile were tucked into a dark niche at the side.
Axolo approached the guard. “He’s here to see Basset.” The guard sneered, moving a lever ever so slightly, rotating the turnstile a half-turn. Ludlow stepped through the opening into the Market of Nova Barataria. Axolo followed.
Ludlow found the Market particularly offensive. Here the rabble from a thousand worlds gathered. Axolo led him through the teeming, crooked alleyways. The odor of puke and perfume filled his nostrils. They soon encountered a Rakdushi shaman who had hung a growling yatang by two of its six appendages from the ceiling of his open-air stall. He sliced through the wrinkled purple flesh with a curved blade, collecting its blood in a large jug. An angry knot of anxious customers swelled in the congested pathway, drawn by its pungent aroma. The ravenous throng clamored for a drink of the euphoric fluid. Sounds like Hrilithian jackals attacking their prey.
“I wouldn’t drink none of that juice,” Axolo bellowed in a high-pitched voice over the din of the crowd. “Your brains won’t work right for a cycle, not to mention your innards. Come on, friend, let’s find a quiet spot and get a proper drink.”
“I’m not your friend, and I’m not here to drink. Take me to Jehr Basset.”
“He’s at The Devil’s Grail,” Axolo hissed. “This way.” His voice was barely audible as he pushed through the crowd. Ludlow followed his Clodian guide through tangled lanes. Finally, they arrived at the entrance of a lurid bar on the far side of the square. A gangly Hrian burst through the door and stumbled into Ludlow. Axolo quickly shoved her away with a bony hand and motioned Ludlow inside. The dimly lit room was packed with patrons in varying states of stupor. Many languished on filthy cushions ringing the walls, while others teetered at the bar or slumped at tables. What passed for music blared, almost drowning out the jangle of arguments and laughter.
“Back there,” Axolo shouted, pointing to a dark opening at the far end. A burly Balgan sat next to it.
Ludlow picked his way through the room. Best not provoke anyone. Can’t afford any unnecessary attention. Reaching the alcove, Ludlow said, “I’m here to see Basset. He’s expecting me.” The Balgan looked at Axolo, who nodded in agreement. He motioned Ludlow in. Inside, he encountered a door which slid open, revealing a shadowy hall. It slapped shut as he entered the narrow passage. At its end, another slid open to the lair of Jehr Basset. He lay on a plush lounge in the center of the sumptuously appointed room. An attractive young Dherien female, dressed only in a veil and perfume, knelt next to Basset, holding the end of his golden chibouk. He took a puff.
“Ludlow, come in.” said the pale lump of a man, exhaling a plume of lavender smoke. “Come, sit down and tell me what’s going on. How about a glass of water? It’s real, from a glacier in the mountains high above the city, not the reconstituted piss you would find in the Market.” He filled a cup from a crystal pitcher and handed it to the Dherien. “For our guest, Mr. Ludlow.”
“Thank you,” said Ludlow.
“Please be seated,” said Basset. “How long has it been? Four or five Earth cycles? Let me see.” He paused as if in thought before continuing. “Oh yes, that matter of the Vorian smugglers.” Bastard son of a Kalkan slug. You cost me a lot of credits.
“Just business, Jehr.” You’re lucky we didn’t shut you down. “I’m sure you understand. By the way, I was attacked by a Giceth in the old city. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? This visit was supposed to be kept secret.”
“Oh my. I’ll have to speak to the Prefect of Police. Can’t have distinguished visitors to our lovely planet being attacked. What happened?”
“Someone killed her with a blow dart.” Never could read your ugly face, Basset.
“How unfortunate. I’m sure they had the best of intentions. Probably thought you were in danger. Well, you’re here now.”
An obvious deflection. “Well Basset, from the look of things, you’re doing okay. You’ve put on a few pounds, got some shiny baubles to keep you company. I’d wager you aren’t eating at any of those stalls in the Market.”
“You would be correct in that assumption. And yes, I suppose the matter of the Vorian smugglers was just business.” Bad business. “But enough reminiscing. I’m interested in current events. Arriving under the cover of darkness in a private shuttle?” sneered Basset. “Must be a matter of prime importance. So what can I do for you?” He paused, tugging at his scraggly beard. “I know.” He motioned to the woman. “Perhaps you are seeking the comfort of a galbot. This is one of my new models. I have them made for me on Relda 7. They’re cleaned and serviced regularly.”
“A lustomaton?” asked Ludlow. Had me fooled. “Very beautiful and lifelike, but no.” “What then, a boybot?
These new models have the capacity to morph on demand.”
Ludlow scowled, “Basset, I’m here on business.”
Basset nodded. “I’m sorry, dear, but Ludlow insists. Time to go to sleep.” The lustomaton walked over to a small niche behind Basset and closed her eyes.
“I am confident you’ve heard Peez Spajar’s wife has been kidnapped,” said Ludlow.
Basset held a finger to his lips. “Oh. Give me a minute. Yes. Isn’t he the Director of Planetary Operations on Relda 3?”
“Don’t play dumb, Basset. It’s beneath you.”
“Oh my,” said Basset, “you’ve found me out. And what is it you want of me?”
“I’m serious, Jehr.”
“Of course you are.”
“Then what can you tell me about Spajar?”
“He was, and remains, a big spender at the gaming tables here on Nova Barataria. We don’t let him lose too much. Wouldn’t want him to bar his miners from coming here. They get to lose all they want. Come to think of it, Peez hasn’t been around lately.”
“What else?” asked Ludlow.
“Rumor has it he is in deep debt to Forn Gwalhok,” purred Basset. “Isn’t she the Jher Basset of Relda 7?”
Basset feigned a surprised look for a moment, then smiled. “Don’t be coy, Ludlow. I’m sure you are well aware of Gwalhok’s undertakings on Relda 7.”
You S.O.B. You know something. Ludlow smiled, “Nothing gets past you, Basset, does it?”
“One does hear things.”
“What if one hears that Wooten Outlands Exploration is going to suspend all employee leaves to Nova Barataria for a period of, say, half an Earth cycle? That is a lot of credits going elsewhere.”
Basset frowned. “There is something about Spajar which may be of interest to you, Ludlow.”
“What might that be?” I knew you were holding something back.
“Seems our friend, Spajar, got married on Relda 7,” smirked Basset.
What are you up to? “Gwalhok’s Relda 7? I thought the marriage was performed on Relda 3.”
“If you don’t believe me, check the records on Relda 7.”
What a rookie mistake. Should have checked the records. Ludlow stood up. “Perhaps I’ll do that and I would appreciate it if this conversation remains confidential.”
Basset smiled. “One can only try. If you have nothing else, Axolo will escort you to the Mollag Gate.”
The Clodian guided Ludlow back through the Market. Not wanting to see any more yatangs butchered, he asked Axolo to find a different route. They zigzagged through the convoluted network of streets and alleys until they reached the perimeter wall. Axolo stopped, pointing a bony finger ahead. “Follow the wall. The gate is that way,” he said, before slithering back into the Market.
***
On his way back to Jumpgate DMS-0015, Ludlow contacted Okoro. His digitally enhanced face appeared on the screen.
“What have you found out?” Okoro asked.
“I have discovered two—make that three—lines of inquiry which I am pursuing.”
Okoro studied Ludlow’s face. He looks confident. “And what might those be?”
“First, Basset claims Spajar is deeply in debt to Forn Gwalhok.”
“That’s not unexpected, nor particularly significant on its own.”
“I agree,” said Ludlow, “until you couple it with Basset’s claim that Spajar was married on Relda 7, not Relda 3.”
“Getting interesting,” said Okoro. “I take it you are on the way to Relda 7?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Keep me informed.”
He looks pleased, but not surprised. “Will do, sir.” Ludlow closed the com and punched up Offenbach’s ‘The Tales of Hoffman’ on the audio.
***
Upon arriving at Jumpgate DSM-0036, Ludlow went straight to the security station.
“Please state your name and business,” asked the security officer.
“Furtherance Attaché Feran Ludlow. I’m on official business.”
Bright orange circled the Aludrian’s eyes. “Of course. Protocol requires you to present proper ID.” Ludlow touched his ID to the sensor. “Thank you sir. Now for the retinal scan, if you please,” Ludlow leaned in close to the screen. “All in good order, Mr. Ludlow. My name is Halla Baekdu. What can I do for you?”
“I am here to gather some information concerning Meena Spajar’s kidnapping. May I come in?”
The orange faded around Halla’s eyes. “Certainly, sir. Very disturbing indeed.”
The door opened and Ludlow stepped in. “I’d like to review the datavid from that day.” Orange fluttered around the attendant’s eyes. “Is there an issue with that?”
“Well, sir… It’s just that…”
“That what?”
“That datavid has been locked.”
“Since when?”
Halla ran her tentacles over the console. She studied the screen for a moment before saying, “Almost five days ago.”
Ludlow smiled. About the time I was at Jumpgate DMS 0015. “Tell me, Halla, what do you know about the kidnapping?” he asked. Plenty, I bet.
“Oh, I wasn’t on duty, sir, but they investigated everyone. I don’t see how Mrs. Spajar could have been kidnapped.”
“How so?”
The orange faded to aquamarine. “Well, it was through and through. There is no way a transpod could be stopped and no one could leave it while it was jumping. I mean, if you look at the arrival record…” The bright orange returned.
“No need to be afraid, Halla. I’m sure many attendants sneaked a peek at that before the datavid was locked. Tell me, what did you see?”
“The transpod arrived in Mr. Spajar’s airlock. He was waiting in the outer chamber. The green light came on and he entered the airlock. He waited a while for the transpod’s hatch to open, but it never did.”
“What did he do then?”
“He opened it and went in.” Halla took a deep breath.
“Go on.”
“There’s not much. Mr. Spajar left the dock and waited in the outer chamber for a few minutes until security arrived. He stayed there while they entered the dock. They were only in there a short while before they came out. Then …”
Halla was interrupted by a door slapping open at the back of the security cubical. “Don’t say another word, Baekdu!” barked the Giceth security officer. “I’ll deal with you later.” She glared at Ludlow. “What the cryk do you think you are doing? This is an illegal and unauthorized interrogation.”
Ludlow turned to face her. Quite a display. What are you hiding? “What’s your name? I’m sure you checked my identification before you barged in here.”
“Captain Jiro Cleone.”
“Tell me Captain Cleone, what about Level A clearance don’t you understand?”
Cleone glowered at Ludlow. “Common courtesy would require that you contact the senior security officer if you have an inquiry.”
“Who I speak with and when I speak with them is my prerogative. Who locked the datavid?”
“I don’t know.”
Liar. “Then find out and tell them Furtherance Attaché Feran Ludlow requires a copy. If you meet any resistance, tell them to look up what Level A clearance means. Any questions?”
The Giceth stiffened. “No, sir.”
“Now, if you will let me continue without interruption, I will consider leaving this little matter out of my report. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“Furthermore, Captain Cleone, keep your mouth shut. And if any disciplinary actions or
other ill fortune come to my friend Halla, you will deal directly with me. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Have Halla send me the datavid as soon as you have it unlocked. You may leave.” Cleone gave Ludlow an icy stare as she backed out of the cubical, then slammed the door shut. He turned to the attendant. “Sorry to have upset your day. Please send it when it’s unlocked.”
“With pleasure, sir.”
“I should have a shuttle waiting for me.”
Halla ran her tentacles over the console. “Yes sir, it’s ready, and you are cleared to land at Tagaddon Space Port on Relda 7.
***
The trip to Relda7 would take a day and a half.
After he grabbed some sleep, Ludlow received the datavid transmission from Halla. “I reviewed it again, and it hasn’t been altered. I also discovered some interesting things I didn’t recognize earlier.”
“What are those?”
“I enhanced the image, and found one member of the security detail had a Captain’s insignia on her sleeve. Sir, we have only one captain. Jiro Cleone was leading the security detail that responded to Spajar’s call.”
“That is interesting indeed. What else?”
“This is very strange.”
“Go on.”
“Sir, there were three in the security detail that entered Spajar’s dock. There were four that came out.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You’ll see when you review the datavids.”
“Excellent work, Halla. If you think of anything else, let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
Though he believed Halla when she said the datavid had not been altered, Ludlow ran it through the continuity analyzer. It confirmed Halla’s assessment. Note to self — This is someone who can be counted on. A communication came in, interrupting his thoughts.
“Have you made any progress?” Okoro asked.
“I’m en route to Relda 7. I am sure a security officer, Captain Jiro Cleone, stationed at DMS-0036 is mixed up in all of this. You’ll find the details in my report.” Interesting. Even with the digital enhancement, he looks surprised.
“What is your plan?”
“I’ve got some leads to follow,” said Ludlow. “I’m confident they will lead to answers.”
“Would you care to share what you think the answers may be?”
“I prefer to confirm my suspicions first.”
“As you wish,” said Okoro. “You’ll need backup when you get to Relda 7.”
“Sector Police have a post there. I’ll make contact once I land.”
“I would prefer to keep them out of this. Besides, if Captain Cleone is mixed up in this, what makes you think the local constabulary is not?”
“Point well taken, sir.”
“Don’t worry. Someone will meet you when you land.”
“Who?”
Okoro ignored the question. “Keep me informed.”
“Will do, sir.” Ludlow closed the com, then settled back to listen to Grieg’s Peer Gynt.
***
A day later, just before touching down at Tagaddon Space Port on Relda 7, Ludlow received a transmission from Halla. “I’m glad I got you before you landed. Seems Captain Cleone is on her way to Relda 7,” said Halla. “Someone recognized her as she boarded a private shuttle registered to one Forn Gwalhok. She had a passenger with her. A Dherian.”
Why am I not surprised? “Halla, do we know when and where she is landing?”
“I’d say she’s not far behind you. I imagine she will land at Gwalhok’s private landing field on the north side of Tagaddon.”
“Thanks, I’ll handle it from here.” Ludlow closed the com and prepared to land. He touched down smoothly. Donning civilian clothes, he grabbed his gear and left the shuttle. After checking in with the stationmaster, he departed for the city.
As he left the shuttle terminal, Ludlow saw a tall cloaked figure step out of the shadows. Ludlow lowered a hand to his weapon.
“Ludlow, hold your kajars, as your buddy Axolo would say.”
What the cryk? How do you know about that, unless… “Identify yourself,” ordered
Ludlow.
The man pulled back the hood from his face. “Qaul Darzek. I work for Okoro.”
Interesting. Ludlow studied Danzek’s angular face. Swirling tattoos covered his umber skin. Okoro sent a Vician mercinary.
“Then that was you who killed the Giceth on Barataria.”
“The same,” said Darzek.
“Why the hell did you have to kill her?” barked Ludlow. “She might have had valuable information.”
“It’s not my practice to take captives,” Darzek said quietly. “Besides, who knew what she was up to? I didn’t want to explain to Okoro why I let you get killed. Your guide, Axolo, is lucky he spoke up when he did or he might have joined her.”
“I assume you’re the ‘someone’ Okoro said would meet me here.”
Darzek shrugged. “Where are we going?”
“We go to see Forn Gwalhok.”
“I thought that might be where you’d want to go. I made some inquiries and I think I know where she is,” said Darzek.
“Come on, there’s a robocab across the street.”
They got in a dented, dingy hack. “Destination?” came over the speaker.
“The Grinning Reaper,” Darzek replied.
Dusk was approaching when the robocab stopped in front of a seedy drinker. It reminded Ludlow of the Devil’s Grail in Nova Barataria, only smaller and sadder. They left an order for the robocab to wait.
Inside the bar, a thin haze of yag-yag added to the gloomy atmosphere engulfing the patrons. Many were in varying states of stupor, teetering at the bar or slumped at tables. The rest filled the crowded, grimy space with a cacophony of arguments and laughter. Darzek hung back while Ludlow walked to the bar. He waited patiently until the barkeep ambled over.
The Zeloq turned his head from side to side, using one beady black eye, then the other as he studied Ludlow. “The name’s Slagh. You sipping, smoking, or snorting?” he squeaked.
“I’m here to see Forn Gwalhok.” Ludlow answered, plunking down some credits.
Slagh laughed, shaking his head back and forth vigorously.
Darzek stepped up next to Ludlow. He glared at the Zelok barkeep. “Don’t press your
luck.”
Slagh scowled in return. “Don’t press yours. What business you got with Gwalhok?”
Ludlow leaned across the bar. “My business and none of yours.”
Slagh swiped up the credits. “See the Skrigan over there?” he croaked, poking a gnarled talon toward the back of the room. “Ask him.”
The Skrigan sat at a meager table, inhaling green vapors from a small hookah, a closed door behind him. Ludlow shook his head. These damn guys are always guarding a door. He and Darzek picked their way through the maze of tables to the Skrigan. His scaly head was bent down as he slowly exhaled. He didn’t look up, sensing their presence with his pineal eye.
“Tell Gwalhok that Ludlow is here to see her. I think she’s expecting me.”
The Skrigan took a slow draw from the hookah and held it in for a long time. He looked Ludlow over with dull yellow eyes. He stood up and exhaled as he disappeared through the door, leaving a trail of green smoke. In a few minutes, he reappeared. He addressed Ludlow. “The boss will see you.” He turned to Darzek. “You stay.”
Darzek tensed. “Like hell I will.”
“It’s okay,” Ludlow calmly said. “Gwalhok won’t try anything. At least not here. You’ll get your chance.”
“Your call,” muttered Darzek.
“Keep an eye on things out here. This won’t take long.”
Darzek frowned, then turned, facing the room.
Ludlow entered the hall. It was short and dimly lit. A few steps in, he encountered a set of steps. A door waited at the top. It slid open as he approached. Inside, he found Forn Gwalhok
sitting behind a large, ornate desk in a sumptuously appointed office. A single eye studied him from the center of her slender, dark blue face. “Have a seat, Mr. Ludlow,” she said, motioning to a chair in front of her desk.
“Thank you. Nice place you got here.” Ludlow sneered.
Gwalhok cocked her head. “You don’t like the Grinning Reaper? This is where it all started. My mother worked here before it fell on hard times. When the opportunity presented itself, I bought it.”
Ludlow sneered. “I’m sure it reminds you of her.”
Gwalhok’s eye flared. “Ask what you came here to ask. My patience is wearing thin.”
Ha, that got a rise out of you. “I understand Peez Spajar is a customer of yours.”
The nose slits on either side of her eye fluttered slightly. “Yes, he’s a regular at Forn’s Fortune Club.”
“Hope it’s better than this scod hole,” said Ludlow.
“Get to the point.”
“We also know that he is deeply in debt to you as a result of his gambling losses. He was cut off in Nova Barataria before it got out of hand.”
“Bassett runs his operation his way. I run mine my way.”
“I understand he was recently married here on Relda 7. To a Dherian.”
“Such marriages are not that uncommon out here,” said Gwalhok. “It was a lovely wedding.”
“There’s not much in the records about his bride,” said Ludlow. “You know anything about her?”
“Sometimes records are spotty in the outer sectors,” said Gwalhok. “A sweet girl as far as far as I could tell. Peez met her at the Fortune Club.”
Sure he did. “Interesting.”
“Yeah, she was a hostess. Hadn’t been there very long.”
“Is it your practice to let customers date your employees?” When it serves your purpose, I bet.
“Sometimes I make an exception. Peez is a good customer.”
I’ll bet any high stationed customer you can leverage debt against is a good customer. “You know anything about the kidnapping?”
“Only what I hear.” Gwalhok flashed a cold smile. “Look Ludlow, this chit chat has been fun, but I have a business to run. Is there anything else?”
Just getting started. “I’ll get back to you. Don’t bother to get up. I can find my way out.”
Gwalhok looked down at her desk, pretending to read something. She flicked a slender hand in the direction of the door. “That way, in case you forgot. Tell Slagh I said you can have anything you want… from the bar.”
Ludlow found Darzek standing right where he left him. “Come on, nothing more to learn here tonight.”
“Learn anything?” asked Darzek.
“Nothing we didn’t already know. How’d you and the Skrigan get along?”
“He smoked. I didn’t.”
“Let’s get out of here,” said Ludlow. They began working their way toward the door when a pale, balding man entered. He dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with a wrinkled handkerchief, eyes scouting the room. He headed for the bar. Spajar, you dolt. Whatever has possessed you to come here? Ludlow nudged Darzek. “Well, look who’s here. Peez Spajar wrapped up in a bow.”
“Let me handle this,” said Darzek. He walked up behind Spajar, lightly laying a hand on his neck. Spajar felt a prick, then blacked out.
***
Ludlow and Darzek propped Spajar up between them in the robocab. They were passing through the warehouse district on the outskirts of Tagaddon Space Port.
“I’m sure he hasn’t been telling the truth,” said Ludlow, peering out the window at the endless rows of gray, featureless buildings. “I think this whole kidnap thing was cooked up to pay off his debt to Gwalhok. I think he’s coming to. Follow my lead.”
Spajar blinked his eyes. “Where am I? Where are you taking me?” he demanded. His head throbbed.
“Don’t worry, Peez. We only want to ask you a few questions. Darzek thought you might not come with us peacefully at the Grinning Reaper, so he gave you a little something to relax you.”
“I’m Peez Spajar, Director of Planetary Operations on Relda 3.” He stiffened. “I am a personal friend of Forn Gwalhok. She won’t be happy to find out what you’ve done. You’ve made a big mistake. Now, if you let me go, I promise I won’t say anything.”
Ludlow laughed. “Peez Spajar, I am Furtherance Attaché, Feran Ludlow, here under orders from Vice President of Furtherance Okoro of the Wooton Outlands Exploration Company. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. He was formerly the Chief of Security. This is my associate, Qual Darzek. He has no title, but you would do well to treat him with respect.”
Spajar’s face reddened. “You have no authority to hold me against my will. I think a Director of Planetary Operations outranks a petty attaché. I demand to be released. Now!”
Time to see what’s really going on. “Spajar, we know what’s going on,” barked Ludlow. “We wanted to give you a chance to tell us the truth.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” said Spajar.
Darzek pulled a small dagger from his cloak. Brandishing it in front of Spajar, he said,
“Don’t play dumb, Spajar. Tell us what we want to know and it will go a lot easier for you.”
Spajar flinched. “You wouldn’t dare harm me. I don’t think Okoro would be happy if that happened. I demand you release me.”
“You’re probably right, Spajar,” said Ludlow. He reached across Spajar, resting a hand on Darzek’s arm. “I don’t think we’ll need that.” Darzek shrugged and withdrew the blade.
A warning signal bleated from the speakers as another vehicle violently sideswiped the robocab. It veered off the road as the autobrakes brought it to a screeching halt. Darzek knocked the remainder of the shattered door window and peered outside. A vehicle, side crushed and torn, rested motionless about ten yards away. A barrel poked out from its shattered driver side window.
“Railgun,” shouted Darzek, “Stay low and get out. Your side, Ludlow. Hurry.”
Several slugs slammed into the robocab’s composite body as they scrambled out, tumbling to the roadway. Darzek and Ludlow pulled their weapons and returned fire. They exchanged fire with their adversaries for some time before Darzek said, “We’re not getting anywhere like this. Besides, if we hang around too long, Gwalhok will send some more of her goons and that will be it for us.”
“What do you propose?” asked Ludlow.
“We could kill Spajar and toss his carcass out.”
“No,” bellowed Spajar.
“I agree,” said Ludlow. “We need him alive.”
“Okay,” said Darzek, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a small red orb with a groove running around its middle.
“What’s that?” asked Spajar.
Darzek smiled. “It’s called a ‘Satan’s kiss.”
“Where the hell did you get that?” asked Ludlow.
Danzek smiled.
“What are you going to do with it?” asked Spajar.
“When this goes off, I’ll make for their flank. From there, I’ll finish this.”
“Alive if you can,” said Ludlow.
Darzek smiled as he rotated one end of the sphere a click clockwise then back until the two halves snapped shut. “There, I set it for one percent.”
“One percent of what?”
“You may want to close your eyes and cover your ears,” Darzek said. He threw the Satan’s Kiss across the road and struck the top of the vehicle.
The deafening concussion of the explosion careened down the rows of warehouses, shattering windows and setting off alarms. The inside of Ludlow’s eyelids glowed orange as a result of its blinding flash. Cryk! One percent? He opened his eyes, finding Darzek had disappeared.
Slamming Spajar against the robocab, he barked, “It’s time for you to start cooperating.”
“I…I…I…”
Ludlow shook him violently. “Listen, you scod turd, do you think those people across the street are here to rescue you? If you do, you’re an idiot. They’re here to kill us, and that means they’re here to kill you. Now either you come clean, or I’ll toss your worthless ass over the hood while I make a break for it.”
“No, please…”
Ludlow started to pull Spajar to his feet. “Tell me or I swear you go over.”
“Okay, okay,” whimpered Spajar. “It was all a scam to pay off Gwalhok.”
“Go on.”
“I was approached by Cleone. She said Gwalhok had a scheme. I was to marry one of her hostesses, then we would stage the kidnap. The ransom would cover my debt. The lawsuit would be Gwalhok’s fee for her troubles.”
It all makes sense—the extra security attendant. Ludlow smiled. “So Meena was in the transpod all the time. She simply put on a security uniform and walked out with Cleone.”
“Yeah.”
“Then Cleone files a false report and your loving wife becomes a kidnap victim. I bet Cleone has been hiding her at the Jumpgate all along.”
Spajar hung his head. “Yeah.” His confession was interrupted by the staccato of railgun fire. A scream blared out and the fire fight fell silent.
“Sounds like Darzek has made some progress,” said Ludlow. Please don’t kill them.
A couple of more thuds of railgun fire sounded before Darzek called out. “All clear.”
Ludlow grabbed Spajar by the collar and yanked him up. “Come on. I want you to get a good look at this. I want you to see what your little plan has led to.”
“No one was supposed to get hurt,” pleaded Spajar. “No, no.”
“Yes,” spat Ludlow.
He dragged Spagar out from behind the robocab and across the street. Darzek was standing over two bodies. Cleone lay in a pool of indigo blood, eye staring blankly toward the sky. The other hung face-down halfway out of their battered, railgun riddled vehicle, left arm reaching for the ground. A tangled mass of biomechatronics erupted from its back. Energy-dense hydraulic liquid oozed out, flowing along the arm onto the pavement. Ludlow shoved Spajar toward the bodies.
“This one,” he said, nudging Giceth with his shoe, “is Captain Jiro Cleone. Any idea about the other?” Ludlow grabbed its head, twisting it up for Spajar to see. He winced, dropping to his knees.
“Meena,” he whispered, turning his head away.
“That was what you were married to?” Darzek snickered. “A gear-gal whore! Cryk, you must have been desperate.”
“Layoff Darzek,” said Ludlow. “Makes perfect sense. Easily controlled by Gwalhok and her goon, Cleone. It doesn’t want a share of the money and, if need be, easily quieted.” He pulled Spajar to his feet.
“Please, you’ve got to understand. Gwalhok forced me to do it. She was going to…”
“Save your breath, Spajar. I’m not the one you have to answer to.”
“What’s going to happen to me?”
“Right now you are going back to Relda 3, where you will stay until Okoro decides what to do with you.”
“Darzek, can you help me get this idiot back to the terminal?”
“Sure,” he said, holstering his railgun. “But after that, I have some unfinished business.”
“What might that be?” asked Ludlow.
Darzek smiled.
***
After returning Peez Spajar to Relda 3, Ludlow set course for Jumpstation DSM-0036. He dictated a full report, sent it off, then settled in for some sleep. A couple of hours later, he was awakened by a signal for an incoming communication. Okoro’s digitally enhanced face appeared on the screen.
“Hope I didn’t disturb you, Ludlow.”
Yeah. “Sir, I take it you received my report. Do you have any questions?”
“Nothing that can’t wait. Well done.”
“Thank you, sir. Do you have anything else for me?”
“No.”
“Very good, sir.” Ludlow hesitated a moment. “About Qual Darzek…”
“Yes, about Darzek, I would like you to keep his participation confidential. The less said, the better.”
Obviously a topic best left alone. “I understand, sir. Now, if I may offer a comment on security officer, Halla Baekdu, I do want to emphasize what a help she was. I think she would prove to be an excellent replacement for Captain Cleone.”
“Noted. Is there anything else, Ludlow?”
“Will you have them arrested?”
“Spajar and Gwalhok? Of course not. It is in our best interest to keep this an internal situation. As I explained when you started, we do not want the Sector Police mucking around in this business, nor do we want any negative publicity. Consequently, we have arranged to have Spajar appointed governor of the newly established mining colony on Kryox in the Glarius Sector. It will be home to a small mining operation, existing on the only island whose ground is not superconductive. Although the Kroyx is rich in ore, lightning storms turn the small orange planet into an electric hell. And as his mechanical wife has been dispatched, Peez will have to serve his penance alone. As for Forn Gwalhok, after you took Spajar back to Relda 3, Darzek persuaded her to sign a ten-year contract as a foundry worker on Honta in the Valooten System. Trust me, it is a most miserable existence. We have set Jehr Basset up to take over her enterprises on Relda 7.”
Okoro folded his hands together, taking in a measured breath. For some time, he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Finally, he said, “Ludlow, the record will reflect that the situation on Relda 3 has been successfully resolved.”
“As you say, sir.” Ludlow closed the com. He scanned his playlist. Prokofiev’s Lieutenant Kijé should do quite well.
Paul Stansbury is a lifelong native of Kentucky. He is the author of Inversion – Not Your Ordinary Stories; Inversion II – Creatures, Fairies, and Haints, Oh My!; Inversion III – The Lighter Shades of Greys; and Down By the Creek – Ripples and Reflections. His speculative fiction stories have appeared in a number of print anthologies as well as a variety of online publications. Now retired, he lives in Danville, Kentucky. www.paulstansbury.com