Alien Assassin (10 page)

Chapter Seven

De’ronin Balmor sat in his office in the Nimorian Commerce Department and frowned at the secure message he read on the screen. This was a game-changer. The Overlord was ordering him to pursue a line of inquiry and a timeframe which would not allow him his normal cautious diligence. It would involve him exposing himself to the associates he’d worked with for over twelve standard years. Not only would it destroy any future relationships with them, it would also cost him his job, as well as an unbearable amount of humiliation that he and his family would have to endure.

Apparently, the new Overlord had thought this through as well. Within his order was the promise of relocation to a world further into The Expansion, as well as a handsome monetary reward.

After a few minutes of contemplation, De’ronin instructed his computer to create a hard copy of the authorization Giodol had sent with the order. It would allow him full access to all Nimorian records and facilities.

It would also make a lot of people mad, including his mate. Yet when the Overlord for the Sector called, you jumped, and with no questions asked.

De’ronin packed his desk and placed the mementos of twelve years of employment in his transport. He would not be returning to his job at the Commerce Department.

Next, he walked over to Building Five in the Ministry complex. This was where planetary arrivals and departures were registered, including derelict salvages. He didn’t have any experience with salvages, but he knew someone he could ask.

Caal looked up from his desk when his friend De’ronin entered. “It’s a little early for midmeal,” Caal said, nodding at his friend.

“This won’t take much time,” De’ronin said without sitting. He did not want to dwell on any personal level of interaction, not knowing the scandal that his association with the Juireans would soon unleash. “Just looking for where salvages are registered.”

Caal pushed back from his desk, frowning. “For space or land vehicles?”

“Specifically, spaceships.”

“That would be on the second floor, room twelve. Not sure who’s in charge at this time. What is your concern?”

“Nothing important. Just need to check on something.”

Caal looked at his friend for a moment before shrugging. It wouldn’t be long before he would be exposed. De’ronin felt sick inside, and this was only the beginning. Even in light of the credits that had been promised by the Juireans, this was not going to be easy.

De’ronin climbed the stairs and entered the designated office. A large Nimorian female greeted him. “Your business? she asked.

Now it began. “I’m investigating the salvage of a derelict spaceship from around nine months ago. I need to know who would have registered the vessel?”

The female frowned. “From your uniform, I see you are not of this department. You are not authorized this information.”

De’ronin handed her his Juirean documentation. The bureaucrat scanned the papers, and then looked up at him with anger in her eyes. Nimorians were an independent lot; they only tolerated the Juireans to a certain point. They remembered the time before the Juireans came, only seventy short years ago, and still resented the superior attitude the beings from the galactic center displayed and the rules they imposed.

“This states that you are an official agent of the Juirean Authority. Is this true? You are a Nimorian.” The female glared at him, having difficulty with the concept.

“Yes, I have authorization to access all records. Please assist me.”

“I have seen you before. I was not aware you were an agent for the Juireans…”

He sighed deeply. This was not going to be easy. Her attitude left him no choice. “I demand that you provide me assistance. I have noted your name, and you will be included in my report.”

Even this did not seem to faze the female, but eventually she did turn to her screen and began entering data from her keyboard. After a few minutes, she looked up at De’ronin, to whom she had never offered a seat.

“Nine months ago, the department was headed by Fredic Dess. He has since retired. What specific vessel do you seek?”

“It was a class-five, unknown origin.”

The female returned to her screen.

“I have no record of such a salvage being registered, not then or since. There have been no class-five salvages on record.”

“I have information that this salvage was indeed received through this office,” De’ronin stated, firmly.

“I have no doubt you do,” she replied pointedly. “But
I
have no such records. I cannot help you.” She then turned from him and back to her screen, ignoring him.

“I must speak with this Fredic Dess.”

“He has retired.”

“I understand that. Where can I find information on him?”

“Personnel,” was all she said.

By the time De’ronin reached the Ministry personnel department, word had already spread about the Juirean/Nimorian agent. He faced even a colder reception there, but eventually was able to retrieve information from the clerk about Fredic Dess. It was De’ronin’s hope that Dess would remember the circumstances of the salvage, even if no records currently existed. He was finding that the salvage of class-five starships was very rare indeed.

Fredic Dess had worked in the Ministry for nearly ten years, and De’ronin found it curious that about nine months ago he had abruptly retired from his position and moved to a residence in an exclusive area of Gildemont. He checked the Library for information regarding the residence and was surprised to find the property was a mansion. On Ministry retirement pay? There was something odd here.

He drove to the residence, and was immediately impressed by the size of the home, as well as the massive stone wall surrounding it. It took De’ronin nearly half an hour to gain entry to the grounds, having to become more and more belligerent regarding his authority for entry.

Finally, he was buzzed through.

A youngish, burly Fredic Dess met him at the main entrance. There was no warmth in the greeting. Dess led him to a large room, had him sit, but did not offer any refreshments.

“Why are you here?” Dess asked bluntly.

De’ronin had devised a strategy for the interview during his trip to the residence. “I’m here regarding the salvage of a class-five starship which you registered nine months ago.”

Dess did a good job of hiding his shock, but De’ronin still saw through it. “I have no recollection of such a salvage. I would remember a class-five.”

“You
did
record the salvage. The Juireans know this. They had the records removed for everyone but themselves.”

De’ronin saw Dess turn pale. His strategy appeared to be working. “Yes, I seem to vaguely recall the salvage. It came about the time of the attack on the facility. You may recall it?”

Dess was right! De’ronin suddenly remembered when the Ministry had been viciously assaulted – and it
was
about nine months ago. The event had been so out of the ordinary, and so sudden, that it left most Nimorians completely in shock. No adequate explanation had ever been circulated, so the event still remained a mystery. Now De’ronin began to suspect that the salvage and the assault were related.

De’ronin decided to get ruthless. He only had so much time to produce results for the Overlord, and dancing around the issue with Dess was not going to fit within his time constraints.

“I see that you suddenly came into wealth right around that time,” he said to the nervous-looking Dess. “And this is a very nice home. I believe I have the authority to seize all your assets if I find they have been acquired from ill-gotten gains.”

He watched as his fellow Nimorian began to visibly tremble. Fredic Dess was ready.

“Of course, for the proper cooperation, I can also leave things as they are. The choice is yours, Fredic Dess.”

“Yes, I did record the salvage,” Dess blurted out. “And I did reveal to the Fringe Pirates the location of the prisoners in the Ministry.”

De’ronin was taken aback. He had no information regarding prisoners. But Dess was still rambling…

“My cousin is one of the pirates. His name is Angar. I was paid for information regarding the Klin starship, but I did
not
assist in the attack.”

Klin!
What was he talking about? De’ronin tried his best to conceal his own shock. Could this be why the Juireans are so agitated and desperate for information? A Klin starship! By the gods, this was huge!

“Who brought in the salvage? Do you remember?”

“Yes. It was Kaylor and his co-pilot. He is a mule-driver, fairly well-known in this part of The Fringe. They were being held in the prison building, along with the Human.”

De’ronin was completely at a loss. He was receiving information that he had no idea what to do with. He was tasked with simply tracking down the beings who had brought in the class-five salvage. He had no idea it would lead to the Klin, and to Ministry attacks, and to something called a ‘Human.’

But now he did know the name of the salvager, and this would satisfy the Overlord. As far as De’ronin knowing that the derelict was a Klin starship, well this was knowledge he would probably take to the grave. After all, revealing to the Overlord that he had this knowledge might prove detrimental to his health…

De’ronin departed the residence, leaving Fredic Dess a shattered mess of nerves. He didn’t care. Once in his transport, he quickly relayed the information to the Overlord. He wanted to be rid of this assignment as soon as possible. Then he turned towards his own residence, to begin his new life as a Nimorian turncoat.

Chapter Eight

Riyad Tarazi hated the planet Dimloe. It was hot and humid, and filled with natives who would just as soon eat you raw than give you the time of day. Most beings in The Fringe avoided the place like the plague, which made it a perfect location for the fallback base for his pirate fleet.

Riyad had planned ahead in the eventuality that his base on K’ly would one day be attacked. He’d practiced this strategy countless times in his other life, with backup safehouses for backup safehouses. He never planned an action without having a fallback.

His planning had paid off about nine months ago, when 16 Juirean light battlecruisers dropped out of deep gravity wells a couple of million kilometers off the planet. He’d only lost five ships that day; 23 others made it safely to his backup base on Dimloe.

The base on Dimloe was small and crude, carved out of the side of a mountain and overlooking a vast field of sulfur-spewing geysers. There were other parts of the planet that were more hospitable, but they were also more densely populated. Until he could find a more permanent location for his pirates, he chose to keep a low-profile. The setting up of the new base, and the licking of their wounds, also provided his pirates with a diversion from their normal activities, which fit well into Riyad’s current state of mind.