Dana Cartwright Mission 3: Kal-King (2 page)

Dec stared, “Dec is imperfect. Only January is perfect.”

Macao had heard that mantra before from Novem. “Who told you that?”

“The King.”

“Crazor has a king?”

Dec shook his head, no. “The King…Kal-King.”

Macao blinked. He had no clue what Dec was talking about.
 

CHAPTER THREE

Unlike the meticulously conducted recoveries that Star Service Flight Investigation Teams conducted, the recovery on Tonner III was a horror movie. Dana drifted in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses that would haunt her for the rest of her days.

Two bulky, spider-armed aliens — she had no clue what race they were — dropped her on the deck of a hovercraft next to the stretcher with Ambassador Taurian’s badly burned and mangled body, for a horrendous flight to a medical center, with no decontamination or sanitization. An android-doctor took over; it hovered over her head, beeped, and tagged her for transfer to an emergency room.

There, an android-nurse and another android-doctor lifted her up onto a diagnostic bed, destroyed her clothing by cutting it all off, and confiscated the N-link she wore on a leather thong about her neck and the valuable Sterillian sheathed dagger from inside her boot.
 

Using archaic, pressure devices, they sutured her leg wound, and tended the fractured bones, while Dana watched in horror, fully awake and with only a local anesthesia. They strapped a splint-board onto her left leg to immobilize it, draped a sheet over her, and retreated from the cubicle for an undeterminably long time.

A spaceport investigator peered in from a viewport and began demanding answers to barely coherent questions.

Cartwright protested emphatically, “Didn’t crash on landing,” but it fell on deaf ears apparently.

The interrogator left when Dana refused to respond to further misrepresentations.

More time passed. The android-doctor returned to take scans of the leg. The pain levels increased as the local wore off. She suffered.

And then, the AD suggested amputation.

Cartwright snarled, “Barbarians! Nobody amputates anymore!”

The moment the AD vacated, she struggled to sit up, removed the splint, and wrapped the blanket round about her waist. Dana then slid off the diagnostic bed, easing her weight down onto her good, right leg. She nabbed the medical injector, searched for the Sterillian blade, gave up without finding it, and hopped, barefooted, quietly along the wall to the corridor to escape.

A humanoid male in the corridor pushed a maintenance cart overflowing with supplies. She flagged him down, begging for some clothing. He pointed to a storage closet.

Inside she found an array of orange, one-piece jumpsuits, the kind worn by the staff. She struggled into the smallest one she could find, secreted the injector in a pocket, grabbed a second jumpsuit as a spare, and then peeked back out into the corridor.

The same humanoid was there, this time pushing a very archaic, patient transfer chair, motioning her into it. It hovered a comfortable distance off the deck as he pushed to a lift and accompanied her down several corridors to the exit doors.

“Thank you,” Dana said in universal.

He shrugged. “I found this backpack in the trash. You can stuff things in it.”

Dana took the plain, black canvas bag, slid the spare jumpsuit in and with his help got shakily to her feet, hopping the few feet to a waiting robo-cab.

“Wait,” her savior called. He offered a plastic card and slid it into her hand. “Good for two trips. It can also be recharged.”

She thanked him again, as the clear, solar shield closed down over her.

The robo-cab controls activated once she plugged the card into the appropriate slot. A map appeared on the screen, listing landmarks. Though still on overwhelm, she had the presence of mind to remember that the Ambassador had prepaid for their stay at the big resort. Only one appeared among the landmarks, Wind-o-mar. She touched the map and set it as the destination.

The glaring sun was setting in the west as the robo-cab skirted the city towers and headed for a gleaming, copper building in the shimmering distance.

On the navigation screen, a list of other landmarks trickled by, mostly bars, restaurants, shops, and marketplaces. The robo-cab smoothly came to a stop at her destination, under an overhang that cast some welcomed shade. The solar shield opened, essentially ejecting her and her card at the same time. She thankfully pocketed the card, grabbed the backpack, and took a look around.

Ambassador Taurian’s taste tended to the most lavish accommodations his travel budget allowed. Wind-o-mar fit the six-stars category.

Still unable to put any weight on the left leg, she hopped toward the lobby entrance, with the backpack slung over her shoulders to leave both hands free.
 

A dark orange-complexioned, humanoid female called stiffly from the front check-in desk, “May I help you?”

Dana leaned against the counter. “Ambassador Taurian and I were prepaid. We’ll have to cancel.”

“Oh,” the woman muttered with distaste. “You want a refund? We only give credit.”

Dana blinked as the woman pointed to an identification scanner, requesting her palm print rather than an iris scan. She placed her badly bruised hand onto the flat surface and waited, watching the countenance of the woman behind the counter change.

“Captain Cartwright?”

Dana nodded.

“Your reservation has already begun. I cannot refund the first night. May I suggest that you stay and relax with us until sunset tomorrow, since it is already prepaid? I can refund the rest of the prepayment onto a credit card.”

“The Ambassador…”

“The suite has three sleeping rooms,” the woman chattered on, “enjoy all the amenities; the pools are open, as is the spa.”

Dana blinked, accepting the room pass.

“Lift number one,” the woman pointed across the lobby. “Luggage?”

“Still at the spaceport,” Dana guessed, wondering if any of her personal belongings survived.

“No matter…lounging robes, slippers, and the like are all provided during your stay. All meals are covered as well, including room service.”

Dana hobbled to the lift, and slipped inside the moment the doors parted.

“Room pass please?” the controller demanded in a gruff, masculine voice.

She slid the transportation card in by mistake. It quickly spit it back out, and repeated the demand until the correct card registered.

The lift rose smoothly, with only the barest hint of motion. The card ejected, and the doors parted for her on floor 17 of the main tower.

The luxury “Ambassador’s suite” beat out anything she’d ever experienced before. Dana felt a pang of guilt and grief that the Taurian was… “He’s dead,” she admitted sadly, realizing, “there’s no way he could have survived that explosion.”

Tears poured down her cheeks as she mumbled, “Golightly,” the Tritian blessing honoring the dead, mourning his loss.
 
No one else would. Taurian had no family, no spouse, and very few fans, even among the Tritian ambassadorial delegation.

Enough to want to kill him? Perhaps…

Dana bowed her head, sadly repeating the blessing. Taurian had always treated her fairly, in his own quirky, fatherly way.

She sighed, taking her first look around, dropping the backpack onto the carpet in the luxuriously furnished, common room, attacking the duplicator, demanding a full glass of filtered water. Other beverages were available on the menu, but they didn’t mix well with painkillers.

She ordered a second glass, and took it along on her hopping tour of the suite, spilling not one drop. All three sleeping chambers were identical masters with adjoining private showers. She chose the middle one, stripped off the jumpsuit, unbraided her disheveled hair, and used the sonic shower. The resort provided a finishing rinse for her hair, a comb, and even hand and body lotions.

A lush, lounging robe hung on the back of the door, just waiting to be tied about her; but she delayed, taking a long, careful look in the full-length mirror at the array of bruises all over her petite frame. The one under her left eye smarted to the touch, but it would heal and fade just like the others, hopefully in a few days.

The left leg, however, was another matter altogether. She tested putting weight on it, instantly regretting it, wincing from the revived, searing pain that only a dose from the injector could calm.
 

Six more doses.

“Aquatic therapy,” she decided, recalling the desk clerk’s mention of the pool and spa.

The luxury robe was three sizes too big, but she tied the belt and made do, hoping they provided swimsuits — or had a no suit policy.
 
She slid the room pass and credit card into the pocket of the robe, and hobbled back to the lift, going to explore.

The spa provided towels and floats. However, after careful inspection, she found no swimsuits and there were no signs.
 
Dana felt a bit fearful of jumping in sans clothing. Yet, she saw not another soul.

The place reminded her of the basement facilities at Earth’s Medical Center East, where she had been on staff as an ER surgeon. Three pools…

She tested the middle one with her left toe, lost her balance and fell in, face first, robe and all.

When she surfaced and spit out a mouthful of foul tasting, chemically treated water, a humanoid male, in a crisp white, resort uniform, was crouching poolside.

He asked in Uni, “Need help?”

“Stairs?” Dana gulped, treading water.

He pointed to the far end of the pool.

“Changing rooms?”

He shrugged, obviously not understanding.

“Women’s? Men’s?”

“Uni…” he said, indicating a far doorway.

“Unisex?” Cartwright nodded, wading along, using the edge of the pool for support. The tension in her body began to fade away as she pulled herself up the stairs using the safety rail, though the soaked bathrobe weighed her down.

“Unisex…” she grumbled, feeling like she was back at academy. “Oh, well…”

Dana abandoned the robe into a mound, and hopped along the wall until reaching a sandstone bench inside the changing room, finding unisex swimsuit bottoms but no tops, and a massive stack of lush towels.
 

Wrapping one about her middle, she sank down on the bench, exhausted from her foray into the pool, quaking with both anger and fear.

None of her years of Star Service or medical training prepared her for this situation — being on the needing side, instead of in a position of authority.

“Focus!” She mulled some options. “Can’t stay here. Need to get off T-III. No…first, I need a surgeon…not one of these barbarians. Need help, but where? Spaceport administration?” She decided, “Yes, they should be able to help.”

The humanoid pool attendant was standing in the doorway, staring.

“Something wrong?” She snapped.

He held out her room pass and credit card. “These were in the robe pocket.”

“Thank you…” She gave him a big smile.

He took a few steps inside the changing area to deliver them. Only when he stood before her, did she realize, as she looked up and met his gaze, “Your eyes?”

He blinked and stared back.

His eyes were mismatched, blue left and brown right, identical to hers.

“I’m January,” she whispered, mouth gaping open. “Dana January…”

It meant nothing to him.
 

“What’s your name?” She demanded.

“Ricco.”

It meant nothing to her.
 

Perhaps it was just a coincidence; nothing about him resembled her brother, Novem, or her sister, April, except for the eyes.

“Fascinating,” she decided, “two in thirty-million have mismatched eyes.”

He stared blankly. “I’ve never met anyone else who…”

“I have.” Dana took the room pass and credit card as a very loud and obnoxious couple invaded the room, preparing for a dip in the pool.
 

Ricco offered to fetch another robe and left for a time. She didn’t move from the bench.
 

Her left leg throbbed, from the knee down to the big toe, and the beginnings of a dull headache centered just above her eyebrows, either a residual from the pain meds or from the chemicals in the pool water.

The dip was a bad idea.

Ricco whispered, “Are you all right, Miss January?” when he returned with the robe.

Dana stared straight ahead, sensing empathetically genuine concern. She promised, “I’ll be fine,” and watched via the mirror, as he retreated. The Dana reflected there clearly didn’t believe a word of it.
 

“Get some sleep… You’ll be able to think more clearly afterwards,” she ordered. Wearing a scanty complimentary swimsuit bottom and the fresh robe, she hopped back to the lift to return to the suite.

Someone’s been inside.

Dana’s instincts shouted caution, but she saw and heard no one. Yet, the backpack was moved to a closet and the two jumpsuits were carefully hung there as well, all refreshed and ready. On the wet bar was a food basket, with a variety of fruits and individually wrapped snack cakes.

A card, propped up next to the basket, read: “Welcome to T-town.” There was no signature.

She rushed to the sleep chamber, thankfully finding that the medical injector was still there, along with fresh towels and a fresh robe.

“Sleep…” She tossed the slightly damp robe aside, after emptying the pockets onto the bedside stand, and then stretched out her wounded leg, exhaling through the pain.

The bed was so comfortable, she quickly dozed off.
 

CHAPTER FOUR

Sunlight blasted through the cracks at the edge of the window coverings and a ray fell across the bed, burning her arm.

Dana pulled away quickly, abruptly coming awake in the strange room and in the strange bed, with a dull ache between her eyebrows.

Definitely a residual from the pain medications…

She stifled a yawn, blinked, tested flexing her left leg, regretted it, then focused on an amber glow coming from the common room. The idea of going to investigate crossed her mind, but she felt no urgency until a buzzing sound came from the same general direction.