Wings of Steele- The Series, page 181
part #1 of Wings of Steele Series
“Wait,” stalled Chase, “I'm not alone.”
“But you came in alone...”
“I know, I was looking for a way to get my partner and two dogs back to our ship on spoke L-7.”
“Dogs?”
“Animals,” clarified Chase displaying size with his hands, “about this big.”
“Oh, that is unfortunate,” lamented the shopkeeper. “Not much chance of disguising them. And where might they be?”
Chase was hesitant, it was a huge risk, but he didn't see any other options... it was time to go all in.
■ ■ ■
“Who the hell is this guy?”
“This is the Holy Grail of captures, sir...” Derrik motioned to the two men shouldering the limp form of a man between them, “Holding cell two.”
“Who is he, Mr. Brighton?” asked Steele, watching the Ensign and ship's barber tote the man down the corridor, feet dragging loosely.
“She,” corrected Derrik. “Aleese Portwin, Skipper of the Red Moon, our little jump ship up on U-11.”
“Well, that's where it used to be...” commented Jack, grimly.
“Yeah, I heard,” winced Derrik. “Any word from Chase or Mercy?”
“Steele's lips mashed thin, “None.”
“I'm sure they're alright. Mr. Holt is a stout lad. And Mercy, well, she's a pretty tough cookie, as you Yanks would say.”
“I don't think we've said that since 1947,” countered Steele. “And I wish I could be as sure as you are.” He motioned down the corridor, “Did you get anything out of her?”
“Not yet. We'll have to wait until the Nepatolin wears off. Then we'll have a go at her.”
“I want to be there when you question her...”
■ ■ ■
“Who the hell is this? And what the hell are those?”
“Hush, Yadros,” pointed the old man, “I told you there were two people. And those are their animals...”
“Animals,” the other man held his hands out, gesturing something the size of a loaf of bread. “Not Animals,” he threw his hand wide.
“You owe me Yadros...”
Their voices echoed off the walls of the service tunnels sounding tinny and distorted. Chase and Mercedes stood silently behind the old shopkeeper, holding the two bandaged German Shepherds in their arms, watching the exchange with curiosity.
“You owe me... blah, blah, blah, when do I get to pay off this lofty debt, Beliot?”
“You married my sister, Yadros,” the old shopkeeper reminded his friend.
“Ach,” waved the other, “the cost is too high, you should take her back...”
“Don't be ridiculous, a deal is a deal.”
“I want to return her for manufacturer defects,” insisted the man named Yadros.
“Well she was fine when you married her. She's been fine for ten years. If she's broken now, you're the one who broke her.”
“She gained weight...”
“Then stop feeding her so much,” retorted the old shopkeeper.
“She's grown surly and spiteful...”
“Then stop making her angry and be nice to her...”
“She's...”
Chase cleared his throat rather loudly, interrupting the exchange, “I hate to interrupt, but...”
Yadros pointed at an open transportation crate, “Get in.”
Chase's eyes widened, “Excuse me?”
Mercedes stepped up next to him, Allie cradled in her arms, “Yeah. What?”
“The easiest way to move you around,” began Beliot, the old shopkeeper, “and keep you out of sight, is to hide you in plain sight. These types of delivery crates are used by all the shops and restaurants to move products and inventory in and out of the station through these service tunnels. This is absolutely our best chance to get you to your ship unnoticed.”
“Do they ever get searched?” asked Mercedes.
“Rarely.”
“Almost never.”
Chase raised a dubious eyebrow, “Uh-huh.”
The packing crates were large enough for one person and one dog so Chase took Allie and Mercedes took Fritz. After packing assorted materials around them, Beloit shook their hands and wished them well before covering them completely with towels and linens. Much like a cocoon, there was little room to move but it was comfortable at least. The vented covers were latched down and two uninformed employees were tasked with delivering the crates to D-7 on hover-dollies. They would be alone, as each delivery traveled a separate route for safety.
■ ■ ■
Arms folded, Steele casually leaned against the corridor bulkhead, “How long has she been awake?”
“About an hour,” Replied Derrik. “We have her set up for a Level Alpha Persuasion Protocol.”
Jacked raised an eyebrow, “Come again?”
“She's been stripped down to civvies, the temp is set at sixty-three degrees, in total darkness with absolutely no sound. No food, no water, no blanket, no bed pad, no pillow...”
“Just the metal bed flat? She's got to be freezing.”
The Lieutenant Commander nodded, “When we go in the lights will come up to a comfortable fifty percent, the heat will come up to seventy-six degrees and we'll bring her something to eat and water. When we leave it goes back to the way it was before we walked in.”
“What's the end game?” asked Jack.
“To tell us everything we want to know, of course. Willingly, to get it to stop. We can do it all by conditions. Beta gets more severe, Charlie gets worse and Delta is simply hellish. It's all psychological, we never have to touch her. She'll begin to associate our presence as pleasant, and our absence as uncomfortable, she'll welcome us. Beg us to stay.”
“What are some of the other conditions?”
Derrik Brighton shrugged, “Really hot, really cold. No light, total light. No sound, lots of sound. Water but no food, food but no water. Then we can alternate, play with her internal clock. Most people don't last until Charlie. I've actually had some fold during Alpha.”
Steele ran his fingers through his hair, “How long will this all take?”
“Could be a few hours, could be a few days.”
“Or we could just beat the truth out of her...”
Derrik frowned at Steele, “Think you'd really feel comfortable doing that to a woman?”
Jack sighed, making a face of distaste, “Nooo, you're right.”
“Now, one rule; you don't talk. Nothing, not a peep. Understand? I will introduce you to her, you still don't talk. You don't talk even if she talks to you. One of the key factors is consistency and I need to be that voice of consistency...”
“OK, OK, I get it,” waved Jack. His MOBIUS pinged, the holo-screen popping into view.
“Incoming from the boarding sentries, Mr. Mercury,” reported the female voice.
“Connect, MOBI.”
MOBI's face slipped to the side of the screen, the live video opening, the face of the Perseus sentry standing on the deck of the L-7 , appearing in frame. “Mr. Mercury, we have an unscheduled delivery, sir.”
“What is it?”
“A sealed transport crate. The bill of lading says it's from Beloit Curio.”
“Does the bill say what's in it?”
“No, sir. It looks to be paid in full... There's something handwritten on it; So Mote it Be... I'm not sure what that...”
Steele launched into a run, “Stand by, I'm on my way!” he ordered, closing the screen. “Be right back!” he called over his shoulder as he pounded down the corridor.
■ ■ ■
The delivery person having vanished as soon as delivery was complete, left the two sentries standing alone on the L-7 docking spoke. “I've been hearing sounds from inside the crate, Mr. Mercury, but I can't tell what it is...”
Steele tromped to a stop, “Get it open, get it open!” He grabbed one of the fasteners and spun the locking mechanism to release the catch, moving to the next. Each man took a side, releasing the locks. Lifting the top off and dropping it to the deck, a cascade of linens and packing materials swelled up and poured out of the crate, a pair of arms tossing materials clear from inside. Allie's head popped clear as she attempted to clamber free and the three men dug through the materials scattering it on the floor, revealing Chase Holt sitting at the bottom.
“Man am I glad to see you guys... it was getting a little claustrophobic in here...” He accepted a hand up, pulled to his feet, climbing out, a wash of packing materials falling away from him. “It was getting a little warm in there...”
“Good to have you back, Brother. Where's Mercedes? Fritz...?”
Chase looked around, distressed and Allie nuzzled his hand. “Crap. They're not back yet? I don't understand, they left before us...”
■ ■ ■
Steele was in no mood to sit in on the interrogation of the Red Moon's commanding officer, but it was a necessity. There were plenty of things he'd rather be doing... one in particular; getting everybody back to the ship safely.
“How many teams are out?”
Interrupted from his thoughts, Steele glanced over at Derrik as they walked down the corridor towards the interrogation room. “Ten teams of two. We're not leaving here till we get them back.”
Derrik wanted to remind him there was a mission greater than any one or two crew members. Or that losses should be expected and are acceptable for the greater good of the mission success. But he knew Steele well enough to know that wouldn't go over well. Sometimes the right thing to say is nothing at all. He decided nothing was prudent at this time. He entered the code into the door panel and the door slid open, the lights flickering on, the heat kicking on to reduce the chill. He tossed a packaged sandwich on the stainless-steel table and set a bottle of water on it.
The two men sat on the stainless steel chairs mounted to the table across from Aleese Portwin, as she righted herself from the bare cot. “Come sit at the table,” said Brighton, matter of factly. She rose stiffly rubbing her arms and sat on the cold metal chair across the table from them, eliciting a shudder. Brighton slid the sandwich and bottle closer to her. “Lieutenant Commander Aleese Portwin, Skipper of the Red Moon... I am Colonel Durock Brithauz, GIS, Galactic Intelligence Service.”
“I know who GIS is...”
“Good...”
“Who's he?” she asked nodding in Steele's direction as she unwrapped the sandwich.
“His name is unimportant. He's a mercenary who works for the GIS.”
“Well, tell him to stop staring at me like that,” she mumbled, taking her first bite, “he's creeping me out.” She swept her hand over her severely shortened hair, “And was this really necessary? You couldn't have come up with a better idea...?”
“You have bigger problems to worry about, Ms. Portwin. You are charged with transporting fugitives guilty of Platricide - planetary murder. That makes you an accessory...”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” she countered, reaching for the bottle of water.
Derrik snatched it out of her reach and stood up, “We'll come back when you feel like telling the truth.” He patted Steele on the shoulder who rose and both men quickly left the room, the lights going out, the heat shutting off as the door closed behind them.
“Hey wait!” she screamed. “How about a blanket, it's freezing in here!”
“Now what?” asked Steele folding his arms and leaning against the corridor bulkhead.
“The room is monitored; audio, infra-red and night vision video feed. We'll keep an eye on her behavior. She's going to be real thirsty later when we go back in...”
“The sandwich?”
Derrik nodded an affirmation, “Cured meat and a little hidden spice. She'll be parched when we go back in. I won't have any water, we'll serve her soup. She'll eat it but it'll be seasoned too.” He tapped Jack on the shoulder, “Go ahead, check on your teams, I'll let you know if anything develops here.”
■ ■ ■
A second unscheduled delivery on the dock had a rather upset young man detained by the sentries, waiting for Steele's arrival. The top had already been removed, a mess of packing materials and linens lay scattered around it, the top leaning against the wall of L-7.
The Sentry handed Steele the bill of lading, “Says the same thing as the first one did but the crate's empty, sir.”
Steele locked eyes with the young delivery man and held up the digital sheet, “What can you tell me about this? And why are you nearly two hours later than the other delivery?”
“I don't know anything mister, all I know is I was ordered to deliver this here... I don't know what was in it, I wasn't there when it was packed.” He waved his hands, “And I didn't open it, honest. It was like that when I got back...”
“Got back? What are you talking about? You left it unattended?”
“I had to,” he shrugged. “The hover-dolly broke down. I had to get the crate off the dolly by myself and drag the damn dolly all the way back to Beloit's to get another one.”
“And?”
“And when I got back, it was open, all sorts of stuff laying around it like somebody searched it...” He scratched his head, “Sort of the way it looks now...” he noted. “I had to repack it and...”
“Can it be opened from the inside?”
The young man scrunched his face like it was stupid question, “No.”
“Dammit,” hissed Steele. “Where did this happen? Where did you leave it when it was opened?”
“In a service tunnel on L-42.”
■ ■ ■
Derrik Brighton slid the bowl of steaming soup across the table towards Aleese Portwin who was looking cold and frazzled. “Here, this will warm you up.”
Her eyes accustomed to total darkness, she squinted, blinking away the tears, the light stabbing her eyes. She pulled the bowl towards her, warming her hands on its sides. “I guess I'm supposed to be grateful, right? A blanket would be nice.”
He reached for the bowl, “I could trade you a blanket for the soup...”
She guarded it carefully, pushing his hand away. “Where's your friend?”
“He's a very busy man,” replied Derrik, “he has other commitments right now.”
“Since when did the UFW start using mercenaries?”
“Who said he worked for the UFW?”
She smirked, pointing her spoon at him, “C'mon, you're GIS... GIS is UFW. So, if he's working for you, he's working for the UFW.”
Derrik pursed his lips, leaning back in his chair, “The GIS does many things the UFW isn't aware of. We have a very autonomous existence. Sometimes our goals align, but they rarely concern themselves how we achieve those goals. More often than not, they'd rather not know.”
“Am I one of those... goals?”
He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his fingers steepled. “You are. Albeit a minor one. One the UFW would not concern themselves with. Which isn't good news for you.” She sipped her soup, watching him stoically. “You have a unique opportunity however,” he explained. “You can determine your own fate. I have offerings at my disposal that can be either extremely unpleasant or... comfortable.”
She shivered as the heat in the room continued to chase the chill away. “Well if I have a vote...”
“Cooperate and we can do away with all this unpleasantness. It'll be much easier for all of us.”
She eyed him carefully, trying to read him. “When you say easier, are we talking painless?”
“Painless, comfortable...”
Aleese Portwin wasn't a fool, she knew the punishment for the crimes of the operatives her crew had recovered was death. But she wasn't clear on what her participation would bring. “Are we talking in life, or in death?”
“That is your choice. And it depends on your level of cooperation.”
“Life wouldn't mean much in prison...”
“No it wouldn't,” agreed Derrik. “If I am satisfied with your cooperation, I have the option to free you.”
“I can go back to my ship?”
“I'm afraid, that option isn't available Ms. Portwin. You will be relocated.”
“What about my crew?”
Derrik shrugged nonchalantly, “Provide what I need and I don't care about your crew.”
Still shivering, Aleese Portwin pushed the empty soup bowl away and hung her head, “Can I please have a blanket and some water?”
Derrik nodded and motioned his hand in the air, the door to the corridor swishing into the bulkhead, a crewman bringing in a blanket and water. Derrik activated his MOBIUS and rotated the screen so it faced her, setting it to record. “Describe your ship in detail. I want the names of all the operatives you picked up and their destinations; any other ships involved in the operation and names of anyone who is connected with the operation on a hierarchical level. If at any time I suspect you're holding something back, the deal ends and things will become very unpleasant for you. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good, start with your name and rank and continue from there...”
■ ■ ■
Steele was heading back to interrogation to check on the progress when his MOBIUS chimed and announced the bridge was attempting to reach him. He put the screen in front of him as he continued down the corridor, “Mr. Reegan, give me some good news...”
Lieutenant Commander Reegan's expression was strained. “I'm afraid I don't have any, sir. All the teams have returned and checked back in...”
“Nothing at all?”
“No sir. I'm sorry.”
Jack stopped walking, the pit in his stomach tightening, his eyes burning. This was a last resort. “Initiate contact with station security. See if...”
“It's funny you mention that Mr. Mercury, we were contacted by station security about the same time the teams came back, they are sending over two investigators.”
Steele's eyes narrowed, “For what?”
