Dragons Wing

                                                                     Chapter 1

 

I asked Alice, “How long?”

My BT, a sort of catchall communication, scanning and recording device with a built-in incredibly powerful artificial intelligence named Alice responded, “Based on rigidity and temperature, Freeman, she would have been alive less than an hour ago.”

“Damn, damn, damn, damn,” I rapped my knuckles onto the cargo container I’d intercepted just a couple of minutes ago.

The Belter who’d objected to my ID and the weapon I held in the other hand was doing his own version of cooling off to the side. A pulse up close and personal will do some messy damage to a body.

I was working a case I thought would be a slam dunk and an easy paycheck. As usual, I was wrong, but that’s the way things are on Pella.

Pella is an asteroid, one of the big ones and over a century ago it had been hollowed out and converted to a sort of floating city serving as a point of commerce, trade and recreation for the assorted concerns mining the asteroids. That was the intention, but as with all things human, the reality bore no relation to what was intended.

The reality I worked in was one composed of corruption, crime, and the less savory aspects of the human character.

My name is Freeman, and no, I’m not a cop. I used to be an Earthbound Attorney and then a Judge, but I made the mistake of being too honest, and through a few assorted twists and turns wound up on Pella, hat in hand looking for a job. The fact that if I’d stayed on Earth I would have been killed did add a sense of urgency to my flight.

One of those I asked at the intake office told me about Gault and his agency. It’s kind of like a combination of an intelligence agency and a security force, but being neither of those things while looking similar. If that’s confusing, try working the job.

Like me Gault is not a native. He’s also from Earth, from a region that used to be called France. He still retains a bit of the accent. Me, I’m from a part of the west coast of what used to be called the North American continent and frankly, I’m glad to be from rather than in.

The slam dunk job was supposed to be a lost and found gig. A teenage girl was lost and I was supposed to find her. What I found was her body, folded into a shipping crate with a bill on it telling me it was bound for Io. A hand-scribbled note was stuffed into the waistband of her leggings.

I couldn't see anything that told me why she died, so I asked Alice, “Can you scan her, see why she’s dead?”

The lost and found had become a murder case.

Alice answered, “She was shocked. Whoever did it applied just enough voltage to stop her heart. A normal exam would say she had a heart attack, but this was caused. It wasn’t normal.”

“Um hmm,” I murmured, looking at the girl.

She was obviously not one of the culture freaks, that’s what they called themselves, those who hung around the central market area, a large hollowed dome like area near the asteroid center. For one thing, her hair was partially shaven, or dyed. For the other, she was wearing a top, not strategic straps and piercings.

I put her age at around the middle of her teen years. That was a dangerous age because a that point the predators begin circling and most young girls act as if they believe they are invincible. It’s a consistent recipe for disaster.

Standing, I looked around. As loading docks go, it was little more than a copy of the others on The Rock, the slang term for Pella. Butting up against the freight slideway that moved things in and around the habitat, the dock held dozens of stack of plastic shipping crates. Some of them were emblazoned with the logo of the business, some simply held an inspection stamp and a receptacle for the bill of lading. A few had the added sign that what they held was dangerous, either biological, chemical or radiation. None f those were close by.

The crew working the dock stood off to the side, watching. I could see the dock manager looking down at us from the window in his elevated office. A bit further away were the massive doors that opened into the actual Pella dock and beyond that the doors that opened onto the space outside.

I saw the team I’d been waiting for approaching on the smaller and faster public slideway.

Okay, fellas,” I said to the workers, “You’ll be able to get back to work soon.”

The guy leading the collection team wasn’t one I knew so all I did was direct them to where the girl’s body was and make my goodbyes.

The slideway from that part of The Rock took three transfers, which involved stepping off of the one I was one, walking across the landing to the next one and stepping back on. Sometimes I’ll see somebody I know and strike up a conversation to pass the time. That didn’t happen this time and to be honest, I wasn’t in the mood. Murder does that to me.

I looked at the note as I rode. The paper was expensive, it had the yellow tone of one of the linen blends favored by those living in Overlook, the part of The Rock where those with more money than anybody needs live.

It was written in what would be an unbreakable code for most people, even those considering themselves to be educated. The writing was what is called back on Earth, cursive. A flowing and connected version of letters using entirely different shapes than those used in block writing, sometimes called printing.

My old friend Bob, still back on earth and still causing those who deserve them headaches could have deciphered it. My older brother Dav could as well, but he was somewhere out in the wilds of the Belt doing his research.

I’d tried getting Alice do do it, but she, with her petabyte quantum core processor couldn’t make out more than a couple of letters, and knowing that this was an H and that was a P did not tell me what I needed to know.

The receptionist gave me a smile and a cherry. “Hello Freeman,” as I pushed in to the Agency office complex.

Not feeling it at all, I still gave her a wave and a smile ad then walked past her desk into Gault’s office suite.

“Is he in?” I asked the secretary.

She nodded, and said, “Yes he is. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

I didn’t have to wait long.

The intercom on the secretary’s terminal beeped and then I heard, “Send him in.”

She looked at me, nodded and pressed a tab below her desktop.

I heard the click and pushed through the door into Gault’s office.

He looked at me from behind a sheaf of papers he was holding.

I asked, “Papers?”

Gault waved the collection, “Somethings are too sensitive to be left on the net, or even accessible through the net. This,” He waved the papers again, “Happens to be one of those things.”

I grunted an assent and found one of the two chairs before his desk, and said, “My lost and found became a murder.”

Gault put the papers onto the top of his desk, face down and leaned back in his chair, “Oh?” He replied.

“Yep,” I said back, “I tracked the girl to one of the docks. The clues led me t believe that she might be tying to run away, stow herself onto a freighter. Others have done that.”

“I am aware,” Gault murmured, waving his fingers, “Go on.”

I continued, “Somebody decided I should not be spending my time searching for the girl. His body should be showing up at the morgue shortly, along with the girl’s. I don’t know how it was induced, but I am convinced whoever did it stopped her heart using some sort of device or weapon. Alice confirmed it.”

Gault’s eyebrows rose, “She did?”

“Yes, Director,” Alice responded over the comm system, “I did.”

“And…?” Gault pressed.

Alice replied, “I believe a magnified examination of the young lady’s skin will reveal a pint where two or more pore-sized punctures will be found. That will be the site of the attack that stopped her heart.”

Gault grunted and tapped a keypad on his desk.

A vice responded, “Lab.”

“This is director Gault,” he said, “Have any bodies come in inside the past hour?”

“Yes sir,” came the reply, two. One male, one female, young. In fact they have not been put into the database yet.”

“Exam the girl first,” Gault said, “Every inch of her skin. Use the magnifier.”

“Yes sir,” The voice replied.

Gault just said, “Gault out,” and tapped the pad.

I pulled the note I’d found on the girl out and held it up, “There’s also this.”

Gault held out his hand and I gave it to him.

He examined it, turning it this way and that and asked, “What is it?”

“It’s a note, or a message,” I said, “But it’s written in the ancient style commonly used back on earth before the first satellites went up.”

Alice broke in, “I have been doing some research and I believe I can translate it now.”

Gault replied, “Well…?”

“The style of writing is called cursive,” Alice continued, “also known as joined-up writing or script, is a style of handwriting where the letters in a word are connected in a flowing manner. The strokes of the letters are joined together, and the angles are often rounded. During the early stages of orbital lab placement, printing or block lettering became common in schools to the point where many of the young were entirely incapable of reading a teacher’s notes.”

“So,” I asked, “What does it say?”

There was a pause.

I looked at Gault and then asked in a firmer tone, “Alice, do I have to command you to tel us what the note says?”

She replied, “There is no need, I hesitated because of how I feel you will receive the knowledge.”

Gault said, “Understood. Please tell us.”

Alice replied, “It reads: to whoever finds this. I did not run away, I escaped. My parents sold me to someone I do not know. They did it to my sister before me and I am afraid. I hope to find refuge on Io.”

I asked, “Alice, is there any information on this girl? You examined her, you saw her face. Does she show up in any register? All I need is a last name.”

“No Freeman,” Gault said, “We do not do it that way.”

“Why not?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

Gault replied, as if reading my mind, “You’re furious, Freeman. I not only understand, but I feel the same way. However, I also know that we are supposed to uphold the law, not be investigator, judge, jury and executioner. As I said, we do not do things that way.”

I muttered, “Yeah, I know. Pity I don’t have that super suit, and that scout ship. I could zip over to Io, get the evidence and be back in time for the Grand Jury to hold its first meeting.”

Gault nodded, “True, but as you know, it was determined to be far too powerful for just one man. If and when the Council decides to join with the others working on their federation, they want that to be the core of the new Belter Military, overseen by a duly elected civilian administration.”

I grunted sourly, “Yeah.”

Sandi, the little genius behind the tech that made the suit and the ship so powerful had gone with them, taking her former supervisor, the one I called Senior Management with her. It looked like I had to go back to doing things the hard way.

I stood, and said, “Then, if it’s okay with you, I’ll go back to the closet I call an office and see what I can find.”

Gault nodded, replying, “Good. Be sure to keep me in the loop.”

I replied back, “Always.”

I took the left down to the floor where my and other Agents’ offices were and walked the maze that led to mine. I got a few hellos and a couple of friendly insults, but for the most part the place was quiet.

The space was as I had left it, most of the trash was in the receptacle and only one spare coat was draped across the chair.

Alice tched in my ear, “Really, Freeman. You should at least attempt to make it look like an adult works here.”

I grumped, “An adult male does work here, an adult, single male, meaning one who has no need to pretend to be neat.”

“What do you want to do now?” She asked.

I thought about that, and then said, “You have her likeness, right? Can you put that onto my terminal as if she was still alive?”

Alice replied, “Done.”

The face of the terminal brightened and there she was, smiling as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“She was a beautiful girl,” I murmured.

“Yes,” Alice replied, “She was.”

“Alice,” I said, leaning over to open a small storage door on the wall next to my desk, “I want you to do a thorough search, hack through firewalls if you have to, but I want to know that girl’s name. Maybe there’s a picture or a vid of her as a small child that can be aged to see if that child is her. Whatever it takes, I want a name.”

“Yes, Freeman,” She replied, “I am on it.”

I asked, “How long?”

There was a pause and she replied, “It may take a while. For whatever reason, the girl has no record on any database I am able to access. I am now going outside of the normal public and governmental networks.”

I replied, “Okay. Let me know if and when you find something. This is strange, damned strange. I think I’ll go talk to some folks, and grab a bite while I’m at it.”

Sally’s place was conveniently set near the edge of the central, I guess the best word for it is mall. But, calling a hollowed out spherical cavern set into the interior of a moon-sized asteroid a mall is a bit of a misnomer. Except this misnomer contained much of the central shopping area for The Rock, including Sally’s food cart.

Sally was another one of those the natives call a grounder. Back on Earth he would have weighed close to, if not over 300 pounds or a hundred and thirty-six kilos. Most of his weight was in the middle, but here on Pella, The Rock, Sally was as light on his feet as a ballerina.

“Hey, Freeman,” He exclaimed as I approached, “How’er they hanging?”

“Not as low as they used to,” I replied.

Sally laughed big as if this wasn’t the thousandth or more time we shared the greeting.

He said, “Lemme get these orders out, Free, and then we can chingwag for a bit. You hungry?”

I said, “That’s why I’m here. You got enough?”

He smiled, “Of course.”

Sally’s was about as far away from a posh bistro as you could get. He served up street food, mainly sausages, hot dogs, chips and the occasional fried sandwich. To wash it down you had a choice of water or beer. Ever since the hydro farms perfected growing hops and barley, the quality of the beer had shot up.

A couple of the sit down clubs tried to get Sally’s license pulled, but after word got spread around, they abandoned the idea when their customer base evaporated.

“Alright, Free,” Sally boomed, “What’ll ya have?”

I sniffed the air, “Is that smoked sausage I’m smelling?”

Sally grinned big, “You got that right. I got myself a smoker with an approved filtration getup. This here’s the first test batch.”

I replied, “I’ll take two, a side of chips and a beer, thanks.”

“Coming right up,” Sally said, and he went to work.

After he served up the food and I paid him with my BT, I asked, “Is it okay if I eat right here?”

He nodded, “Sure is. I prefer to gossip up close and personal anyway.”

♦ ♦ ♦