Dana Cartwright Mission 3: Kal-King (6 page)

Need? What in hell did he mean?

As if a botched surgery by an android-doctor at the medical center, and three days waiting in limbo for a hearing about the crash of
Seraph
, weren’t enough stress for her to handle, having a Tresgan stalking her was the last problem she wanted or needed.

Now, if the offer had come from anyone else, she’d have jumped on it like a starving desert critter. For as the link-reader calculations blatantly showed, her debts far surpassed her assets at the moment; and she sure as hell wasn’t going to get any severance pay from the deceased owner of
Seraph
or his investors.

Hawk’s interest might just be enough to chase away any other potential employers.

“Fane!”

And damn the miserable ache in the middle of her forehead that would not go away.

She retrieved from the secret compartment in her pack the medical injector, programming the device for a sedative to ease the pain and make her sleep. It hissed as she pressed it against her neck. The gauge indicated it contained only one more dose.

In two more days a decision needed to be made, steal another injector or do without. A third option existed, but a second surgery to reconstruct the thigh, kneecap, and ankle by the android-doctors — the same ones that had the gall to mention amputation — seemed out of the question. She had barely enough credits to continue staying at the spacers’ hotel; and no longer trusted any of Tonner III’s medical personnel enough to permit it.

The hover bed lowered about a foot as she slid upon it. Somewhere, between staring up at the graying tiles on the ceiling and closing her eyes to block out the pain, Dana January Cartwright fell asleep.
 

CHAPTER SEVEN

No one believed him, of course, but Captain Macao began to lay it out for them. “Schaffer? You were aboard
Navitor
about the time of the assassination attempt on Alphan Ambassador Cray.”

“Yes, I remember it; during the Meeting of the Masters held at Capitol City, Earth.”

Macao nodded and continued, “Do you remember Doctor Cartwright? She came aboard
Navitor
to do surgery with Doctor Garcia on an SSID Colonel.”

“Yes, I met her in the lounge and walked her to the MAT station.”

“And do you remember her eyes? One blue and one brown?”

His face brightened, “Yes, the same as one of the slaves here.”

“Dana January Cartwright is a clone — one of twelve Enturian/Galaxean/human tribrids. They were named after the months in an Earth year. January is brilliant; she’s a medical doctor and an accomplished pilot. December and November were among the cloned embryos ordered destroyed, due to mutations in their DNA. However, the embryos were not destroyed. The children were sold into slavery.
 

“My brother, Kieran Jai, then a Colonel, now a Commodore, uncovered even more details that other clones — imperfect clones — were sold into slavery. We rescued Novem — November
 
— and captured a mercenary ship.”

Macao checked that he still had their attention. “I allowed myself to be captured and Dec — December — brought me here.”

Schaffer followed all that, but repeated their fear, “Sir, how are you going to rescue us when you are now, also, a sokem, a prisoner?”

Janz grinned, recovering his momentum, finally feeling a degree of relief. “I’m being tracked.”

Macao surveyed their skeptical looks, but before he could reassure them, they heard noises coming from above.

Schaffer signaled with a finger to his lips; one of the other Enturians scampered off along the edge of the pool, climbing what from below looked like just rocks but were hidden stairs, vanishing into the darkness above them. Schaffer’s eyes narrowed and another of the men groaned.
 

“What does it mean?” Macao whispered, but no one answered right then.

They listened intently, heard scraping sounds and then Schaffer called up, “Briggs?”

In answer, the man began to descend, a pail in one hand and a large, melon-shaped object in the other.

“You have friends,” Briggs answered. “Fresh bread and stew!” He brought the treasure trove to the fire, and they all scrambled for cups to dip in the pan of brown gravy. All but for Macao, since he had no cup.

Schaffer stopped with his just above the rim and turned to offer it to Macao.

“No,” the Captain said, “I’ll use some bread crust.” He broke off a chunk from the melon-sized loaf using it as a scoop.

“Two meals today,” Briggs said, with a broad smile, “you’ve brought us good fortune already.”

“Don’t know why they keep us alive,” a third of the four sighed, licking the rim of his cup so he would not waste even a drop of the gravy.

“Roger and I debate the logic of it regularly,” Schaffer said, pointing to the other man.

“Illogic,” Roger grumbled.

The fourth and by far the smallest blinked his blue eyes at them. “We live because the King ordered it; that is the only explanation.”

“Gage is right,” Briggs added, “King has plans for us.”

Schaffer shrugged. “For ten years we’ve wondered — at least, we think it’s been ten years.”

Macao recognized the name, Gage, and singled him out. “Are you the Major’s son?”

Gage gave a perceptible nod. “Do you know my father?”

“I do,” Macao answered, “but I wasn’t even aware that you were missing. That any of you were, actually.” He went on to explain how the Republic records never mentioned a missing Enturian ship, save for the much older incident with Jo-nathan Hale nearly a half-century ago.

“How strange. So, no one has even been looking for us?”

“When Novem mentioned the ‘sokem’ and the Terrines, my brother and I became suspicious. I visited the Terrines with my wife many years ago. There are hundreds of pools like this one.” He realized that was why Shalee had urged him to jump. As he sucked on the last of the gravy-dipped bread, he attuned with her once again, thankful for the advice.

“There are more pools and caves deeper down, but we depend upon the daily food brought by the slaves.”

“You’ve never explored?”

“Oh, we did, early on. We found bones,” Roger grumbled.

“The other caverns also have debris that the Crazorians toss down from the tunnels. We collect splinters of wood for the fire.”

“To keep warm?” Macao wondered, checking his clothes, finding them already dry enough to put on.

“It never gets that cold near this pool because of the hot spring,” Briggs said, wolfing down another chunk of the bread.
 

“Not for you, maybe, but I’m Alphan.”

The announcement stopped the conversation cold and he wasn’t sure why. Macao had a thousand more questions, but decided it wasn’t the time. “I didn’t get much sleep during the trip here. Mind if I…”

Schaffer showed him to a sandy area marked off with a rope. “What’s that for?”

“It keeps the snakes away.”

“Are they edible?”

“They eat the rats. Why would we want to eat them?” Schaffer chuckled, “It’s a whole different ecosystem down here, Captain.”

“Rats? Fane! I hate rats! Remind me to tell you the story of my brother’s albino pet rat sometime.” He sank down wearily to sleep.

Much later, as the Enturians slept, Macao returned to the fire, adding some kindling. He sat in a meditative posture, closed his eyes, and imagined his life-partner, Shalee, at his side, needing once again her guidance.

My love? They don’t believe me. They doubt. And so do I.

My darling, only because you still have fear in your heart…Believe…

He heaved a sigh.
 

Yes, Shalee, I am afraid.

Fear of the unknown? Fear of failure, my love?

A frown formed on his lips.
 

No, my beloved, I’m afraid my brother will fail me.

You don’t trust, my darling.

I trust a few.

Not Kieran...

He killed Jad, our brother, one of the twins!

So he says.

Shalee, you don’t believe him?

Kieran is a liar — a good one, my darling — never forget that.

Which brings us back to my fear that he won’t come for me.

Shalee’s image was strong in his mind. He felt her near, felt her essence, as she counseled wisely.
 

Go find him first.

Her wisdom escaped him.
 

How, beloved?

All 33
rd
degree Masters of the Elect are forever linked.

Ah!

Still, Janz hesitated…

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tonner III at sunset…
 

For Kieran Jai, the most dangerous part of the day was done. He watched from the safety of his resort suite as the blazing sun sank toward the far horizon, into a brownish haze. The air still shimmered, but the surface temperature began to drop toward comfortable. Time for an outing.

His face had already turned a tarnished-bronze, from just minimal exposure, though he hid behind the folds of a very expensive solar cloak and took other precautions to protect his skin. Alphans sunburned easily when exposed to even reflected rays in the ultraviolet-C spectrum. His home world, Centauri Prime, was part of the triple-star system of Alpha Centauri. Two of the planets orbiting Rigel Kentaurus were like Tonner III, red rock deserts. Proxima Centauri barely kept the surface of the third planet in the system from an ice age. Only Centauri Prime was hospitable. He’d spent most of his forty-plus years aboard climate-controlled space stations and starships, though nothing beat kite flying over Forever Pointe.

Fortunately, the sunburn would fade quickly once he forsook this dreadful planet, unless he developed skin lesions.
Only a few days…need to find Dana —
 
and soon.

Down at the lobby, Kieran covered his head with the hood of his cloak and withdrew his hands into the folds of his dark-silver robe in preparation for his dash to a waiting robo-cab. There was no hotel doorman to see to the hatch after he’d ducked inside. He reached up to pull it down. Just that brief exposure to Tonner III’s setting sun burned like fire.
 

After inserting a prepaid tourist transportation card, he heard the hatch lock and realized it would have come down on its own. “Fane!”
 

The robo-cab responded, “No such destination. Please select from the appropriate map listing.”

Kieran tapped on the map the correct destination, “Marketplace.” It obediently began to hover a meter from the ground, then shot forward along the promenade, skirting the sky scraping towers downtown toward the more mundane single-level structures on the outskirts. The tiny two-seater landed behind a similar cab in the shade under an overhang. It ejected his transportation card and the hatch opened with a quiet whirring as it waited for him to exit, without so much as a “Have a nice day.”

“Next time a chauffeured car,” Kieran decided.

Creeping along the awning-covered walk, hiding from the last rays of the sun still scalding the hard, red dirt at his feet, Kieran scanned the open-air marketplace with all six senses, reviewing the data gathered, and summarily discarding what seemed irrelevant.

The smells of exotic, ethnic foods cooking and the ruckus of discordant babble he ignored. The sight of cloaks, robes, and uniforms, or lack thereof, only caught his casual interest as his trained eyes surveyed the mass of humanoid and non-humanoid creatures hiding in the shadows about the plaza. He sensed no danger — though he dared not eat anything from the street vendors — and crossed to a café that offered imported beverages.

Earth coffee…the taste of freshly-brewed coffee with real cane sugar would heighten his awareness, though the warm, southern desert breeze tried to lull him back to sleep. The brew cost double what the locals imbibed; smuggled in, no doubt, to satisfy the tastes of a very small segment of the population. It was worth every credit. He gave the server a 10-C note and didn’t wait for change, taking the steaming carafe to a remote counter, where he could sip, watching the sky darken and Tonnertown come alive.
 

For two nights now, he’d visited the plaza, watching and waiting in the marketplace, straining his telepathic sense to nearly the limit, searching out there amid the chaos, for that single mind he recognized but could not touch with any degree of clarity.

Dana?

He knew she was in trouble. There were rumors about the spaceport about the sole survivor of a spectacular crash. He sensed her pain. The nerves and muscles in his left leg ached empathetically. His heart cried out to her.
 

Dana? Why don’t you come?

For a moment, he would catch a flicker of connection, as if she was thinking also of him, but then it faded. He guessed,
She must be taking a medication that blocks my thoughts.

Sadly, Commodore Kieran Jai resolved to use other methods to find her. He was running out of time, though he hated the thought of using official channels or pulling rank in his search for her. It might make her situation worse. Only as a last resort…

He had intended to keep this strictly personal; but he had only a few days left if he intended to make the rendezvous with
Thresher
.

Perhaps he could bribe someone affiliated with the authorities, or hire a local tracker.

Yet, he sensed her essence here at the marketplace. Just the timing was off.

Dana? Come?

He crushed the empty container from his coffee, secreted it in a pocket, and sulked deeper into the shadows, closing his eyes.

Dana, why don’t you come?

The hover ball floated above Dana’s forehead making a faint but recognizable sizzling sound. She opened her right eye — the brown one focused better in the dark — and realized the message light was blinking red.

“Replay message,” she ordered hoarsely then cleared her scratchy throat, tasting Tonner III dust.

“Cartwright, Dana J. Report to Spaceport Commissioner at 0900 hours.” The hover ball emitted a beep then queried, “Store or delete?”