2: The Skip Trace

(1)

Solara was barely through the door to Director Rale Moth's office when he spoke to her. "We have a default on a small cargo vessel out of Astrid. I've already sent the file to you. This is fresh and should be easy."

"I have other plans. Can't this wait? Or maybe someone else can take the job?"

"You are the only one with a ship large enough to bring in the cargo hauler. And no, it can't wait. You'll just have to put your plans on hold."

Solara sighed loudly. "Fine." She turned and stormed out the door. Returning to the Banshee, she broke the bad news to her new co-pilot, Hippolyta Jens. Solara liked Jens. She wasn’t afraid to express an opinion or make a suggestion. She also wasn’t afraid of Solara popping up suddenly out of thin air.

"The Eldritch Cartel isn't going anywhere. Let's earn our pay." Hippolyta wasn't in a rush to return to Eldritch space anyway. She had recently escaped from the Cartel, and it nearly got her killed. The Harbinger had saved her and given her a job after returning the other escapees to their homes. Her home was long gone, destroyed by the Cartel. But she felt at home on the deck of the Banshee

Solara opened the file on the skip and sent it to the big screen. The cargo ship was little more than a glorified moving van, small enough to fit into the Banshee’s main cargo hold. The owner had rather pretentiously named it Laissez-Faire. “Heh,” Hippolyta remarked, “that name alone should have been a warning that the owner would default.”

“Our job is to recover the cargo. Failing that we impound the ship. Trans-Galactic Indemnities insured the cargo for thirty million standard credits.”

“Not exactly chump change. Where do we start?”

“We start with the client. We should arrive at Astrid in an hour. Memorize the manifest. We’ll be out of the ship for a while. The less we carry, the better. Stunners only.”

(2)

Astrid was an Earthlike planet roughly the size of Mars with two major cities. A private collector had contracted the Laissez-Faire to move several works of art from his personal mansion outside of Bergen to a museum in Odessa. The shipment never arrived. Their first stop would be the client’s mansion to verify that the objects in question were missing from his premises. Phillipe Lucian was waiting for Solara’s arrival in his private office. “I hoped that our next meeting would be under better circumstances. Remy didn’t give us a moment alone the last time we met.”

“Remy was trying to keep me out of trouble. He said that you collected exotic artifacts and feared that I would end up locked away in one of your vaults.” allow me to introduce my assistant,” Solara nodded to the red-haired woman standing next to her. “Hippolyta Jens, meet Phillipe Lucian, our client.”

Hippolyta extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mister Lucian.” Phillipe glanced down at her long fingernails and submitted a weak handshake in response.

Phillipe had gathered together all the necessary paperwork regarding the arrangements made with the Sunshine Museum in Odessa for a showing of selected works of art from his private collection. “I’m more interested in the arrangements with the shipper. Did you oversee the loading of the art onto the Laissez-Faire?”

“Yes. I crated the items myself and oversaw the loading of every crate into the ship’s hold. I have a copy of the manifest signed by the shipper.”

Solara sat down at the desk and shuffled through the paperwork making mental notes as she examined each one. There was nothing on the manifest that she hadn’t seen during an earlier visit, and she had already spotted a few empty spaces that the objects had once occupied. “Everything appears to be in order.” Solara smiled, “Let’s go, Hippolyta. It’s time to check out the shipper.”

(3)

The office of Laissez-Faire Shipping lay on the outskirts of the city near the local rail hub. The locked office was empty when the two women arrived. Except for a lone vehicle parked at the far end of the hangar, the place looked abandoned. Solara transported the two inside the cluttered room. While searching the desk, Solara noticed that there were multiple unanswered messages on his desktop. Solara played them while Hippolyta searched through the file cabinet. Most of the messages were from the Sunshine Museum and Phillipe Lucian asking about the shipment. The most recent message was from a debt collector. “Listen, Mister Bobby Jones,” the message stated, “your payment is way overdue. You promised to repay it soon. Well, it’s soon and we are coming to collect.” Solara added the debt collector to the list of people to interview.

Hippolyta found corresponding paperwork for the shipment in the files and had just placed them on the desk when the message started to play. She recognized the voice as someone from her past. Someone that she hadn’t told Solara about.

Solara opened the interior door leading to the hanger. Before she could step through, a man with more teeth than hair appeared in the doorway and forced her to back up. “Where’s Bobby?” the grinning gunman demanded.

“He’s not here, Moose,” Hippolyta replied. “And put that toy away before you hurt yourself.”

“Hippo?” he lowered his weapon. “I thought you was a goner. Word was the Cartel offed you.”

“Well, I’m back now. And my friend and I are looking for Bob Jones and his ship.”

“His ship ain’t here. He owes a lot of credits on some bets he made that didn’t go his way. Boss said to take the ship if he didn’t pay.”

(4)

Back on board the Banshee, Solara entered the flight plan filed by Bob Jones for the Laissez-Faire into the navigational computer. The anti-planetary rotation sub-orbital arc would pull some serious gravitational forces requiring both women to strap into their seats. It was essential to follow all standard safety protocols during the flight. As an added precaution, Solara linked her flight recorder to the nearest Trans-Galactic satellite. The Banshee completed the hop without incident. Noticing that the Banshee had flown close to the TGI satellite, Solara requested a download of all observations made by the satellite in the past forty-eight hours. She planned to review the footage after her visit to the Sunshine Museum.

The Special Exhibit Curator, Edvard Munich, was waiting for Solara and Hippolyta at the Sunshine Museum main lobby. He walked them back to his office to discuss the missed delivery of the loaned artifacts. “We should be opening the exhibit by now but, as you know, it never arrived.” He gestured to two guest chairs. “Please, have a seat,” he said before sitting at his desk. “I understand that the artworks were insured with Trans-Galactic by Phillipe Lucian. Our museum also has a policy indemnifying us against loss. If we cancel the show, the museum stands to lose a great deal of money.”

“And our job is to see that no one loses,” Solara asserted. “We would like to inspect your paperwork as well as the preparations made to secure the gallery against theft.”

(5)

Upon returning to the Banshee, Solara started her review of the data from the satellite with Hippolyta acting as a second set of eyes. She started with the radio intercept between the Laissez-Faire and Astrid Space Traffic Control. Bob Jones made the usual clearances and narrated his ascent until transmission abruptly ceased. A short conversation with a records clerk at Astrid STC confirmed that it was Jones who broke the transmission.

The optical data was next on her agenda. Both women watched as the ship changed from being a small dot to suddenly disappearing. The clerk at Astrid STC had been kind enough to relay the optical data gathered from six other satellites. “Boss,” Hippolyta suggested, “how about we run all seven together? Maybe we’ll see something we’re missing.” Solara had the Banshee’s computer synchronize the video streams. After a few run throughs, she rearranged the satellite views on the big screen. Hippolyta used the visual data to construct a three-dimensional representation of the images. Both women watched as something unseen swallowed the small cargo hauler.

Solara made another request of the clerk. She asked for all available radar and infrared data from any satellites watching that area of space. The clerk sent her four sets of each type. An hour later, they had a rough visual of the ship that swallowed the Laissez-Faire. All that they had to do was track it down and recover the stolen articles.

It was time to take the case to the Constable Corps. Tracking the mystery ship was going to require accessing data from both civilian satellites and Constable Corps monitoring stations. That also meant bringing a Constable on board the Banshee.

(6)

The trail led the Banshee into Eldritch Cartel space. The Eldritch carrier appeared to be adrift, but the Eldritch had shown that they were not above subterfuge. And it wasn’t easy to fool Solara. But the situation had piqued her curiosity. She slipped off her boots and grabbed a few weapons, just in case, before translocating to the damaged vessel. A foul odor informed her that something had damaged life support. Hippolyta informed her that a scan of the ship showed no life signs except for a single faint heat signature in the cargo hold. A quick check confirmed that its crew had abandoned the ship with the Laissez-Faire still contained in its hold.

Solara found Bob Jones holed up in a compartment not far from the bridge of the Laissez-Faire. Despite his weakened state, he still managed to point a weapon at her. She approached him slowly, giving him a chance to see that he was in no danger. Bob stared at the approaching mallow-skinned being. Her voice was surprisingly human as she spoke to him. “Mister Jones, I’m here to rescue you from the cold. My ship is nearby. I can take you there.”

“But what about my cargo?” he asked.

“I’ll also recover your ship and its cargo. Trans-Galactic doesn’t like to pay out on large claims. That’s why they sent me to find you and your shipment.”

“Trans-Galactic?” He stared into her hazel eyes. “You’re her, aren’t you? The Harbinger.”

“I prefer to think of myself as the galaxy’s best skip tracer, but yes.” Solara reached down to help him to his feet before jumping back to the Banshee. Once back, she handed Jones over to the constable.

Freeing the Laissez-Faire from the alien carrier was not going to be easy. The ship had lost power and that meant that opening the doors would be a challenge. The Laissez-Faire was also without power, but the Banshee could easily winch it out of the carrier and into her own hold. Except the carrier doors wouldn’t open without power. Solara needed to know more than she had gleaned from her first physical contact with Jones, which was next to nothing because he was so focused on her. She grabbed his arm. “Tell me everything you know about the carrier.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” Jones lied.

“Tell me everything you know about the attack that led to it being abandoned,” she tightened her grip on his arm. “I guarantee that lying to me again will be a painful experience.”

Jones winced. “I don’t know much. They chatted about a strange ship appearing. It fired something at them, then the power went out. I tried to restart my engines, but I couldn’t. Everything was frozen.”

Solara smiled and released Jones. While Jones massaged his sore arm, Solara grabbed a weapon from her armory and disappeared. Hippolyta noticed Jones interest in the armory, “Don’t bother. You’ll be out for days.”

“Do you read minds too?” Jones backed away from her.

“No,” the Constable laughed, “she’s speaking from experience.”

Solara waited inside the carrier’s cargo bay, lying prone on top of the Laissez-Faire, looking down at the bay floor, anticipating the bump that would raise the ship off the deck. Once the Laissez-Faire was free of contact with the carrier, she would jump the ship into the Banshee. It was a risk to transfer that much mass, but it was what Trans-Galactic paid her for. Hippolyta maneuvered the Banshee into position parallel to the carrier’s cargo decking. A short burst of the thrusters would result in a hull bump. She took a deep breath before tapping the screen. “Here goes everything.” Although Solara completed the transfer is under a minute, the interval felt like hours to Hippolyta while she waited for Solara to return to the Banshee’s bridge. Just before she lost consciousness, Solara was able to return to the bridge of the Banshee.

1: The Harbinger

(1)

Solara appeared suddenly aboard the doomed yacht, wrapped her arms around the nearest crewmember and just as suddenly disappeared. With its engines offline and its life support compromised, the luxury yacht had drifted into the gravity well of a small moon. There wasn’t time to launch the SRS Banshee and capture the ship before impact. Solara was their only chance of survival. As the powerless luxury yacht plummeted toward the surface of the small moon, Solara continued to rescue its eight crew members, depositing each of them within a confinement element attached to the modular freighter Exodus. Seconds before impact, Solara had safely transported the last members of the yacht’s crew into the module.

Solara was transporting the prefabricated prison cell to Central Station for the Constable Corps. The CCS Sentinel was escorting the shipment and had been closely following the Exodus when the two ships detected the distress call. The yacht Fancy Squirrel claimed it was under attack when the Exodus and the CCS Sentinel arrived. The CCS Sentinel pursued another ship that was fleeing the scene while Solara set out to rescue the Fancy Squirrel. Besides having the ability to translocate, she also was a contact telepath. And it was information gleaned from the Fancy Squirrel's crew that troubled her.

(2)

Captain Hippolyta Jens performed a head count of her crew. Satisfied that everyone was safely onboard, she turned her attention to their host. Although the female looked outwardly human, it was obvious to Captain Jens that she wasn't. The woman’s ability to translocate limited the number of species to which she might belong. There were only half a dozen corporeal species with that ability, but only one that resembled humans - the Harbinger. Seeing her host standing outside the cell, Captain Jens raised her voice in protest. "Why are we being treated like prisoners?"

Solara turned to face the human who accosted her. The speaker was a stout female with a mop of red hair flowing from the top of her head down to her waist. Her green eyes made her look more alien than Solara. She smiled at the woman. "You aren't prisoners."

"We are in barred cages. If we are not prisoners, then what are we?"

"Guests," Solara sighed. "There are no other quarters on this ship."

"Then unlock the doors," Captain Jens demanded.

"They aren't locked,” Solara replied. Captain Jens reached forward and pushed against the door. It didn't budge. Before she could protest, Solara laughed. "Try sliding the door to the left." When Captain Jens tried again to open the cell door, it slid open coming to rest silently against the cage bars.

Captain Jens stepped out of the holding cell and extended her hand. "Please accept my apology for my behavior. My ship was fired upon for no apparent reason and left to drift into that rather large asteroid."

Solara declined, stating "Your anger is understandable, but I did not fire upon you. We are currently in pursuit of the offending vessel. If you wish, I can drop you off at the nearest human station."

“I’d prefer to maintain the pursuit.”

“And your crew?”

“My crew does what I tell them to. You’ll get no disagreement from them.”

It wasn’t entirely truthful to say that they were guests in the hospitality sense. Although they could leave the locked cells and intermingle, they only had access to the module’s amenities. Solara had stripped them of their weapons and the means to communicate outside their confines. The holding area had no access to the rest of the ship. She also had lied about the pursuit believing that the less Captain Jens knew, the better.

Confident that she had securely confined her passengers, Solara made her way down the main corridor aboard the cargo ship Exodus. She unlocked the clamps securing the salvage and reclamation ship SRS Banshee to the Exodus. Disengaging the SRS Banshee, she took the salvage vessel down to the surface to examine the debris. She was particularly interested in the cause of the engine failure. The very low level of infrared emanating from the intact engine core confirmed her suspicions. Someone had shut down the ship's engines setting it adrift. She scraped the surface of the moon where the debris field was, collecting a layer of moon dust in the process.

A records search revealed that the Fancy Squirrel was an unregistered ship. Using an infrared laser, Solara examined the layers of paint on a hull fragment. The ship had recently been repainted and renamed. Beneath the freshly painted word " Squirrel", she could clearly read the letters "ng Duck". Checking her employers' records, she found the Flying Duck listed among missing ships presumed stolen by pirates. Solara was glad that she trusted her instincts with its crew when she brought them aboard. She sent a summary of her findings in an encrypted data packet to her employer before informing the Constabulary about her passengers

(3)

While Solara dealt with rescuing the crew of the damaged yacht, the CCS Sentinel took chase after the fleeing ship. Although the Constable Corps cruiser could easily have overtaken the smaller corvette, Captain Remy Lucian wanted to follow it back to their base. They shadowed the small craft as it made port at a small asteroidal outpost.

Captain Lucian checked the registry files to see if it was a licensed listed outpost. It was and seriously overdue for an inspection. Lucian opened a communication channel. "Attention, Groddy Haven, this is the Constable Corps Enforcement Division. I am Captain Remy Lucian in command of the CCS Sentinel. We are coming in to inspect your records. Please prepare for our arrival."

The port manager at Groddy Haven put down his bottle of scotch and wiped his chin before replying. "This is Groddy Haven. We'll have our records ready for your arrival. How soon will that be?"

"Our shuttle should arrive within the half hour."

"Acknowledged," the port manager replied. He flicked off the radio and took a final swig of scotch before capping the bottle and stowing it away. "Damn bluecoats," he muttered as he started to organize the box of slips that he had been ignoring since the last inspection. He had hoped that the authorities had forgotten about the outpost when the time for the latest inspection passed without a visit from the Port Registration Bureau. He could handle those paper pushers. Bluecoats were another matter.

The port attendant who met the shuttle wasn't sure how to greet the Constables. He stood stiffly at what he assumed to be attention and saluted the three men who exited the craft. Captain Lucian laughed, "at ease, please. We're here to see the port manager."

The attendant relaxed. "Of course. Master Braxx said to show you to his office as soon as you arrived." The three constables followed the young man up the six flights of steel stairs onto a metal deck outside the port manager's office. The man tapped on the reinforced glass window before opening the door. "Master Braxx," he cleared his throat, "the Enforcers have arrived."

Braxx was still sorting through the box of docking slips when the three officers entered his office. "I see that you are a little behind in your filing," Captain Lucian commented. "Perhaps my two officers can finish sorting out your records while the two of us have a chat."

Braxx looked up from his papers and sighed. Tossing the papers that were in his hands onto the desk, he stood up and crossed the floor. Holding out his hand, he smiled. "Where are my manners? Of course, I welcome the help. My name is Silas Braxx and you'd be?"

"Captain Remy Lucian. Is there somewhere we could go to get out of the way of my officers? Perhaps talk in private?"

Braxx opened a door that led to a back office full of file cabinets and old boxes. Braxx moved the boxes off two upholstered chairs before offering one to his guest. "What brings you to Groddy?" he asked as he sank into his chair.

"I was escorting the freighter Exodus back to Central Station when she bolted on us. I don't suppose you've seen her lately?"

"The Exodus?" Braxx wrinkled his brow. Shaking his head, he replied, "no, not a hair."

"Perhaps you've seen the Banshee?"

"If the Banshee had wandered into port half the ships here would have left. That Harbinger is scarier than you bluecoats by parsecs."

There was a knock on the door. "Enter," Captain Lucian responded.

"Sir, we've just received word that the Banshee has the crew of the Fancy Squirrel in her hold and is on her way here."

Captain Lucian nodded. "Thank you, Ensign. Let Captain Solara know that we will greet her when she arrives.” The ensign nodded. “You're dismissed," Captain Lucian waved toward the door.

"Well, I guess that solves your problem." Braxx wore a confident grin, certain that he could persuade his guests to leave. When the men returned to the outer office, they found that the constables had properly sorted and matched the docking slips to the transmission records. The constables had also made notes of the various ships that had made port since the last inspection.

"It certainly looks like our work is done here. Thank you for your time, Master Braxx." Captain Lucian shook the port manager's hand and followed his men out the door. As they boarded the shuttle, he asked what they had found.

"The ship we are after is the Suleiman. It's currently still docked here."

"Then we wait for it to leave."

"Sir, why did we tell them about the Harbinger?"

"Because most pirates consider us to be a nuisance. The Harbinger, on the other hand, scares the hell out of them. And her coming here should cause the Suleiman to bolt."

By the time Captain Lucian's shuttle returned to the CCS Sentinel, word had spread throughout the settlement and the crew of the Suleiman had made their way back to their ship. Captain Lucian waited until the Suleiman had set course before following. "Where are they going?" he wondered aloud.

"It looks like they are headed back toward the Exodus," the helm officer replied.

"That doesn't make any sense."

Captain Lucian ordered the helm to increase velocity to overtake the Suleiman before it could intercept the Exodus. He hailed the ship. “Suleiman, this is Captain Remy Lucian of the Constable Corps ship Sentinel. Reduce your velocity and prepare to receive a boarding party.” The captain of the Suleiman responded to Captain Lucian's demands by ignoring the hail and increasing their velocity. When the disobliging ship arrived at the crash site, the Exodus was gone – well on its way to Central Station with its cargo. The CCS Sentinel arrived at the moon a short time later.

The Suleiman was scanning the surface of the small moon looking for debris. “You’re wasting your time,” Captain Lucian messaged the smaller vessel. “By now, Captain Solara has offloaded the remains for examination by the Constable Corps and Trans-Galactic Indemnities. You can file a claim for the remains back at Central Station.”

“Where is this Central Station?” the captain of the Suleiman replied. “We are new to this region of space.”

“Obviously,” Captain Lucian muttered at the sight of the alien on his screen. “We’ll escort you there, Captain... do you have a name?”

“I am Skipper Spicebush. We will follow you.”

Captain Lucian nodded in reply, hoping he had not insulted the alien captain. After cutting off communication with the Suleiman, he ordered course set for Central Station. “Keep the shields charged and the weapons on standby.”

(4)

Captain Jens huddled with her crew after they had spent hours examining their quarters looking for a means of escape. Although there didn't seem to be a way out, Hippolyta was convinced that there had to be one, but they just couldn't see it. The plan was to fake an injury to draw the ship captain into the confinement area and force her to let them out. Once free, they would take over the ship. It seemed simple enough. It had worked for them in the past.

Hippolyta underestimated her host. As the crewmember lay on the floor of the confinement module, Solara scanned him remotely. Projecting an image of herself into the module, she scolded her passengers. "Nice try, Captain Jens. Unfortunately, you tried to fool the wrong person. You are aboard the freighter Exodus, inside a new secure holding module that I am transporting to Central Station. I've kept the Constable Corps waiting long enough for this delivery. Although they weren't expecting it to house prisoners until after its arrival."

"I thought you said that we weren't prisoners," Hippolyta charged the hologram only to find herself on the back end.

"You weren't at first. Then I discovered why your ship was unregistered. Possession of stolen property is a criminal offense in this region of space. I'm obligated to turn you over along with the evidence carried in a salvage module." With that, Solara snapped off the projector.

The Exodus arrived at Central Station without her official escort. Solara assured the Constable Corps that Captain Lucian had a good explanation for his lateness, which he would offer on his arrival.

Solara transferred the modular holding unit with its occupants to the section of Central Station which the Corps controlled. She then piloted the Exodus around to another section of the station owned by her employer, Trans-Galactic Indemnities.

Director Rale Moth had Solara’s initial report of the salvage open on his desktop when she arrived at his office. She smiled wanly and settled into an upholstered chair, crossed her ankles and leaned back. She stared at the ceiling while waiting for the inevitable string of questions. Moth said only one word, “Well?”

Solara uncrossed her ankles and sat upright. “At first, I intended to only recover samples, but everything about the crash seemed off. I scraped the surface and recovered all of the debris. After reviewing the recording of the crash, I made an effort to recover anything that might have strayed off course. My updated report should be available soon, if it isn’t already. Nothing and no one are what they seem.”

(5)

The room was fairly austere except for the large triangular table in the center. Each side accommodated three representatives of the parties with extra seating available for any witnesses that they might bring with them. Halbert Finney, Regional Manager for Trans-Galactic Indemnities, sat in the central seat. Sawyer Pine, Chief Constable, sat to his left while Violet Darner, TGI chief Claims Investigator, occupied the seat on his right. This trio would serve as the arbiters of any dispute that might arise.

Rale Moth, Director of Recovery Services for TGI, flanked by Solara Kydd and Captain Remy Lucian stood off to the side conversing in low whispers while waiting for the arrival of the other party. “They claim that the crew of the Fancy Squirrel stole an artifact from them and are demanding that we return it.”

Solara shook her head. “I thoroughly scanned the debris for anything out of the ordinary. I even conducted a physical search. I found nothing unusual.”

“Kydd,” Rale wasn’t usually this familiar, “are you absolutely certain that you didn’t miss anything?”

“Absolutely. I scanned everything. That’s how I found out it was the Flying Duck and not the Fancy Squirrel. We own the Duck having paid out on that policy. I’ve already notified the Constables of the yacht’s ownership and submitted a record of the evidence of its provenance. The Constables conducted their own scan as confirmation.”

The alien delegation arrived wearing environment suits. It was hard to discern their features through the dark screens over their faces. The bulk of the suits slowed their movement as they entered the room. Sitting at the table did not appear to be an option. Their commanding officer approached the table and introduced himself through the mechanical device attached to his suit. A robotic voice announced “I am Skipper Spicebush. I speak for the Eldritch Cartel. We seek recompense and the return of our property.”

“What property?” Rale Moth spoke after stepping forward to the table. Captain Lucian and Solara joined him standing at the table across from the aliens.

“We seek the ship that was stolen from us and the return of the criminals who took it.”

“Ah, there we have a problem.” Director Moth responded. “The ship was indeed stolen, but it belongs to Trans-Galactic,” he paused briefly and smiled, “or rather what is left of it does.”

“The criminals on board...”

“Are our problem,” Captain Lucian interrupted. “They were apprehended in our jurisdiction after having been discovered to be in possession of stolen property.”

“We demand that you give them to us,” Skipper Spicebush raised his right arm. His crew behind him raised theirs as well. Solara smiled at their violation of the weapons ban. It gave her license to act on behalf of her employer.

“You might want to reconsider your position. These beings have zero tolerance for slavery. As it is, you have admitted to piracy by demanding the return of a stolen vessel. I suggest you put away your weapons and leave before they impound your ship and place you under arrest. And if you insist on making that difficult, I could end your lives – painfully.” Solara delivered her message telepathically at a strength sufficient to convince the Eldritch to honor her request. When the Eldritch lowered their weapons for no apparent reason, Captain Lucian looked down at Solara’s bare feet and smiled.