Troyuan Chronicles...Book Six

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Copyright © 2016 by Ernest Velon

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T R O Y U A N C H R O N I C L E S

BOOK SIX

By Ernest Velon

FOREWORD

THE MUNSHINE AFFAIR

THE ARCH IVAL AFFAIR

THE DAY-ZANO AFFAIR TWO

FOREWORD

The farmer’s son brought me the fragments at my Villa in the late afternoon.

My wife and I had just finished cleaning various pieces of statuary when the door knock broke us from our endeavors. The two husky boys gave us a bundle of dirty cloths wrapped within was what they found. After carefully removing the broken stone slabs we realized they had found a lost treasure beyond the mounds. Paying them a decent sum I followed them to where they found the precious specimens. With two strong backs we removed the remainder of the broken slabs from their field and returned to my Villa late in the evening.

Cleaning the full fragments and assembling them revealed a priceless find.

What the two farm boys discovered is a porcelain plaque, part of a structure long since crumbled into ruins, or the veneer stripped off for building materials, discarded as useless; a testament from an age long since forgotten by the uneducated people of this future time. Something so far in the dim recesses of the human mind it has been buried with the original origins of our species, a darkness so deep, the mental depths have crushed its validity and smothered the majesty of past revelations. But now, a tiny spot of light has broken apart the sedimentary layers of history.

When I paid the two fine boys from the local farm they were laughing at me for such a generous amount over a few pieces of broken stone. I caught their youthful innocents, a misunderstanding of what may seem as garbage to one is another’s precious find. They are too young or lacking in education to have higher priorities in their lives. What I gave them will be wasted on base pleasures at the local tavern and a pretty face. But, at lease they had a sense of primitive purpose to collect what they found and seek me out. This is not the first time a local farmer has knocked on my door with a gift from the forgotten past. That in itself maybe the start of something the text books can not teach.

It is that distant and obscured past that I toil at.

The porcelain plaque assembled, cleaned and now preserved spoke of things that legends and myths are made from.

"Hark! All you dead Kings and Emperors, witness the brave acts and cry not over the iron bounded warriors,

With strong hearts, swift swords and braded pretty hair, remember those who fought cruel monsters and brought to defeat the brutal hoards,

It be them, who fought those of vast evil, which shackled the world, and laid low the cities from year to unending year,

Recall and say to me, oh heavenly divine Matriand, dance to the song of our heroes, speak of their terrible sway of the sword, the stamping of sabatons, in whose great deeds are spun by our children’s dreams,

Learn from their powerful limbs, from their hardness, to make the character as iron, but soft as clay, so by their conquests we are all made anew,

Hark again! Sing the songs of mighty deeds, of those who now dwell amongst the memories of our gallant race, to this we will grow and cherish, nurturing our sons and daughters,

To keep the destiny that is our heritage intact, as mentors of the past let this stone cry out, so Seminia stays free."

We both stood in wonder. As my wife and I, who spent so many years puttering in the mounds and dusting off the ruins of the ancient Amazians, too find this. As our gaze sought some explanation, one of our data readers suddenly became activated. Assembled, the plaque generated its own signal. Further investigation found embed within are some data crystals from those distant times. Anxiously we are able to download their contents and made a great discovery. This ornament is a time capsule, a hidden record from the lost articles of the past. Was there a Seminian temple to Matriand, or did this just happened to be discarded during the dim times when the off planet barbarians came to destroy? Was this a mere twig cast aside by some brut from past plunderings? Dropped by a passing hoard of drunken aliens seeking a refuge? We both came to the conclusion we will never know.

Determined too seek a long term experience, found within the data new Chronicles of the greatest Seminian of all, Alack Troyus. As we read of his adventures the fathoms of centuries folded away and we returned to glorious days, when the Universe was alive, a playing field for the gallant and the restless.

Ernest Velon

Larentia, 5/31/9827 U.C.

THE MUSHINE AFFAIR

An idea from Bud Burzinsky

By Ernest Velon

And in conclusion, fellow voters, if those of the Bigarde Cartel attempts to try their hand at strangling my efforts then I shall hammer them down as does a carpenter with a nail. The sanctity of the voters on this planet can not be fooled by those who think otherwise. The ancient days of the dictators of thought, who controlled your lives and told you how to live, are long gone and dead. If the Bigarde people want to try and revive those dark times in our history, then a roaring Lijon (tiger) I shall be!

The thousands who assembled at Falmijen Square exploded in a vast sea of thundering shouting. Their excited fists raised in the traditional arm pumping of approval. As waves of vocal antiphons rolled forward, Curlator Poga Afabian smiled and gestured happily at the multitudes. His finger waving, the custom of Mistabar III, gathered more from action than his inspiring words from his followers. The campaign season is almost over. Afabian has made the grand tour of all the ten major cities. He has traveled over eighty thousand Sectals (miles), crisscrossing the planetary equator six times and going through that ridiculous customary ceremony to please a jaded media. Every public speech, every nuance of a political message, every stopover at an opposition area, every dinner and fund raiser, he attended. Leaving behind his wife, his family and friends, Afabian became a recluse. Planetary custom and law dictated he must appear alone, only with political aides, during the hectic days on the campaign trail. To have wife and children at his side during the massive media blitz is unlucky and untraditional.

For fifty days, one Amazian Agel, Afabian hit the campaign offensive for third term re-election to the most coveted position on Mistabar, Curlator; governor of five billion happy humanoids. Now he is done, exhausted, the polls are open, and the populous vote. The position is more than a fancy office at the Capital city of Mistovhen, of a fabulous salary, of half dozen vacation estates in different climates, of a small flotilla of luxury yachts for family and friends, of retirement perks beyond the norms of Republican Security; it is the prestige and dignity of public trust. A planetary Curlator on Mistabar is like a king, but without the crown and scepter. Already Afabian has served two five year terms. His first run was very successful, his second loved by all who elected him, and is now seeking re-election for a final third.

He has governed well, so claim the Novians and all the pollster people.

Even his opponents say he was a good governor and will be hard to beat. Those of the opposing parties are only putting up their slate of candidates just to fulfill constitutional requirements. They claim their chosen runners will lose by a landslide, only bodies to be seen and put names on a ballot. A formality that covers the election laws and shows there is a three or four party system; a healthy and active political environment.

What Poga Afabian did not know this is his last stint on the campaign trail.

What the opposition failed to realize their mediocre candidates might get elected.

What the people are about to learn their favorite person has vanished!

We have searched and re-searched everywhere. Stated SSG Captain Ky Malhollen of the planetary Praetorium at Mistovhen City. We found his campaign Zo bus out on the Seratic Plains only two days ago. His entire Staff is okay, but a nerve gas called Anastra B, used in hospitals to subdue unruly patients, was used to put them asleep. Only the Curlator was missing. Our entire electoral procedure is in limbo. The Arch Magistrate of the judiciary has given us one Agel (50 days) to resolve this, if not, the voting cycle ends and the courts decided on the other slate of candidates to win. Those who did this terrible act left this data note.

The dark skinned fellow tossed the reader at Alack Troyus. A fast fingered hand grabbed it quicker than the Captain could realize. Those deep brown intense eyes squinted with disdain at the man’s sudden outburst. Alack’s long auburn hair bounced as his head moved with super agility. The toss was more like a fast pitch throw. Moving slightly in his navy blue uniform with the yellowish gold trim, Alack pressed his lips together studying the reader’s text. I already have this, Sir. Your SSG Prefect gave me a full briefing when I arrived. But this one fails to mention where they stole the anesthetic from. Alack tossed it back at the Captain leaning on his desk.

Responding to their request, Colonel Alack Troyus found himself on Mistabar III, the third planet in a solar system of twelve. Located in the habitation zone around the star Iolata Berilla, Mistabar is an average Class A world. Called the gateway to the Forth Forsex, it resides in the Barriklar Star Cluster (M11, NGC-6705) a little over six thousand light years from the edge of the Fylight (Milky Way) galaxy’s southern arm, and Amazia.

The slim rectangular reader bounced off the fellow’s chest and fell to the floor, the screen going dark. They told me you guys from the Special Services can be difficult.

I don’t like things thrown at me... Alack removed his Calcomp from inside his black cape. Now, I’ve studied this Affair...the evidence in question...and Poga Afabian...

Curlator Afabian to you, Colonel.

Okay, as you insist, Sir. Curlator Afabian has a list of enemies he made in his first term, notably the Bigarde Clan...and the note from the kidnapers definitely points to that crime family. My question is, have they been arrested and interrogated?

Yes and no, Colonel... Alack’s heavy eyebrows bent not understanding. Yes, we arrested all the family, down to a few toddlers, and no, we learned nothing. We searched their homes, businesses, confiscated hordes of files and trillions of data bits but found no evidence beside that data note. The only one who we can link by signature recognition was the grandfather, and he died a day before the kidnapping of natural causes.

Alack shifted screens on his Calcomp to the file displaying the note. He made a swift dialysis with the steganography application and nodded his handsome face. What they did was take the old man’s signature from a simple document and transposes it onto the bottom text, knowing the Grandfather wouldn’t be long for this life. That way it clears the others, who committed the crime. A pinprick of pain rumbled through his belly reminding he sat in this office to long. I need to see the bus, talk to the Curlator’s family, and to see the digitized interrogations...and bios on all the political Aides and the Bigarde Clan. The note is a note, it simply states the Curlator has been kidnapped and we will contact you for demands. One more question, did they take him off world? Mistabar has three moons, twelve space stations and two container facilities. Your world is one of seven major trade hubs in the Byfuler Regent. It has a steady flow of commercial and domestic traffic to and from the Forth Forsex. You and seven others share the exclusive ‘gateway’ title. Did you implement a GPA Alert?

No Colonel, this I can stick out my neck on. He did not go off world...he’s still here on Mistabar.

How can you be so certain, Sir? With all the private, commercial and public travel, he could be in disguise, subdued in a transport container or abducted aboard an exclusive ship? As I said, this is a major planet of the Imperium, not some backwater place where everyone knows another. Alack broke a delighted grin, he has the high ground. He can be arrogant and insult this fellow.

His BTS...bio-transponder signal...all high level public servants get them...a way of locating yourself when you’re lost, or on constant call. Some of these guys, who do crazy and weird sport stuff like climb mountains, camp out in the wilderness, vacation in remote places or hunt in the jungle...

What’s weird about hunting, Captain? I’m Seminian, my family is native hunters.

What I am saying Colonel, we can locate Curlator Afabian at anytime anyplace on Mistabar...

Then why am I here, Sir? Dead men cast no shadows?

Why don’t we take a little walk to the PSC...Planetary Surveillance Center?

Alack turned off his Calcomp and stood up. His 158 Illo (over six feet) form glared down at the 125 Illo (five feet) dark skinned Captain, and gave his long flock a gentle nod following.

Two other men are waiting in the hallway, the SSG Prefect of the City, Mira Cos Jevolkn and his chief Aide. Is he treating you okay, Colonel? Alack broke a funny grin with the ends of his lips turned up. He liked this man, they had a meeting earlier. Jevolkn feels his shit stinks, whereas Malhollen does not. He made me wait out here, no consideration.

Gentlemen, what I do is for planetary security, as per the acting Curlator. This way please... He guided them passed a security check point.

Not even I’m allowed beyond this point...what a lucky day.

This facility is not a social club Jevolkn, so stop complaining, you’re giving our guest the wrong impression about us.

If he’s tasted the food in the cafeteria he’s passed an opinion, not to mention something else...no consideration.

They came to a sealed door with another check point. I don’t know why I tolerate you. This way Gentlemen.

Six thousand local SSG people in uniforms will argue the matter. They entered a large high ceiling room with dozens of personnel at workstations and a huge wall spanning monitor with smaller ones on the side. Each workstation has a similar setup but tiny in scope; each station represented a portion of the planet. My grandchildren would love this place...can you get the sport networks or game channels?

From here we can monitor every Illo of the planetary surface, began Malhollen ignoring the Prefect. Every home, every building and street corner, even into trash bins if necessary...

How about the nude beauty contest out at Sandy Downs?

We have more important things to do with tax payer’s credits, Jevolkn, now pay attention. Malhollen guided them thru the flanking array of workstations and personnel to one fellow. Display the Curlatorial BTS Signal.

You should learn to say please, Captain. Jevolkn nodded his funny curly head, no consideration for the lesser guys.

Malhollen ignored the Prefect’s remark again as the main patterns on the big wall screen shifted to sandy waste like desert mountainous region, crystallized. A vast basin of red rock butts and strata hills with colorful rock formations appeared. Scruffy, scraggly vegetation, sharp prickly bushes and spidery molds added colorful swaths. As if in some hidden vehicle, the terrain shifted around until an ‘X’ is placed over a valley nestled within high cliffs and a single tight entrance between a dangerous gap of volcanic cones. In the center a bluish white dot blinked, faded and blinked brighter, then faded in an out. That Gentlemen is the Dalmanutha Valley and that pinprick is the Curlator...located in the far remote province of Iadaum on the continental Land Reserve of Addahar.

It started winking again, Sir. added the young Technician.

I may be missing something here, Captain, but...

You’re missing nothing, Jevolkn, nothing at all except a serious approach to life.

No consideration…

I don’t understand...? mumbled Alack frowning.

The problem Gentlemen we have searched that valley inside outside, above and below and found nothing. Nothing I say! Not even the BTS dot...its there and its not. Look! The signal strength keeps resonating...in...out...like some type of field is interfering with it...with no discernable pattern. It blinks out for hours then a new series of dots.

Alack yanked out his Calcomp, tied into the workstations interface and downloaded a massive swath of data.

Hey... you can’t do that! stated the Technician.

He’s Special Services, he can do anything. exclaimed Jevolkn with a nasty grin.

You should ask first, Colonel. We protect our security under the Great Code. In a court of law that can be construed as an act of espionage...or violation of…

I’m only interested in the energy field interfering with your signal Sir, nothing more, nothing less. Have you checked for any man made fields?

Yes, there’s nothing within ten thousand Sectals, it’s a Land Reserve. Perfect and pristine, only inhabited by the original primitive tribes of our great ancestors, they have no modern technology, Colonel.

No Monoeatallator Towers?

Nothing but tumbleweeds, dust storms and wild animals...

Sounds like a good vacation place for the wife and kids.

It’s a Land Reserve, Jevolkn. You need permission, high permission to go there, only one small town is open to the public, and that valley is where they have taken our Curlator Afabian, Gentlemen.

Alack sat up all night as a guest in the Praetorium suites. He stretched out on the rug studying the vast amount of data streams from his Calcomp, and those supplied by the SSG Prefect and Captain. Allowing his mind to assimilate large pieces, using his conscious and subconscious as a sponge, sat long passing hours in seclusion. Alack’s keen mind dashing down endless corridors with doors, opening one and entering another fathomless hall. As the information accumulated, he gathered a piece here, a bit there, catching more fragments over there, as he opened each door on impulse. Since the Mistabar day is thirty hours long, the nights afforded more time for this endeavor. The digitized interrogations of the Bigarde Clan took up the most. Always rounded up by one SSG Prefect or another for some small infraction of the civilian law, they came to expect it in a humorous way. Joking and laughing, they gave smart asshole answers to the chief inquisitor’s questions. After a long time of sensory lie detector beeps and warnings, it seemed like a three ring circus; the SSG as the clown attraction.

But from it all Alack learned they are not the main ringleaders to this crime.

There might be another part of the family, unknown and undisclosed, that carried out the kidnapping of the planetary Curlator. The interrogations had no hints of this submerged group from the public’s eye. Either they are all master actors and actresses, able to fool alpha and beta wave emissions, or they are a unique life form unknown to Mistabar, and that is quite impossible. This family is native born, their ancestors are from the Mushine Cradle Races who were wild nomads living off the desert lands thousands of years ago. Also, every one of their alibis has been checked by the SSG as true. No criminal intent.

As for their business dealings and illegal shenanigans within the seedy areas of Mistabarian society, nothing emerged as serious major crimes. The thousands of data bites of dockets and arrest records are only for small infractions, nothing bordering on homicide or even terrorism. Small time thugs... mumbled Alack rising from the floor and stretching, petty gambling...prostitution...some extortion and illegal booking...I’ve encountered worse...standard Zoferin stuff...no serious criminal intent...not on such a scale as this... He rubbed his thin muscular waist pressing on the stomach muscles, feeling the sudden explosion of hunger. I’ve been at this so long I’m ravenous! Without thinking, Alack pulled on his shabby knee length purple bathrobe over his sleeping shorts and hurried down to the Cafeteria. The planetary SSG Praetorium, a thirty hour operation, all facilities are open around the clock.

Except for the main eatery, it is closed!

Alack grit his teeth in a beasty way and went to the snack machines down the empty hall. Realizing he did not bring his credit disc went wild and ripped off the door. Alack filled his pockets with junk and health foods, raced back to his room to satisfy the burning raging fires below. So famished he even ate the wrapping paper on some of the more exotic and commercialized finger foods. When done, swallowed all the water and juice he bought earlier. Coming up for air, he felt ashamed but full. His sudden outbursts of eating are signs of an over-stressed metabolism, especially when your body burns three times the caloric needs of a normal humanoid. Old hunger habits are hard to break and carry their own pros and cons for a Seminian. Tomorrow he will see the cafeteria manager and pay for the damage.

Also, on the morrow, Alack will begin his investigations. He will start with Afabian’s wife and two children. The wife is not a native of Mistabar III. She is from Razorrak Pilatos Miramba, or called Razor B, Mistabar’s stellar neighbor at four light years away. Brought here by a corporate transfer from the Shydrugga Company, a temporary position at the Mistabar field office, she was an actress turned to social organizer. Some where down the corporate party line she encountered Poga Afabian when he was a small time town politician. Two years later they married after she became a citizen of Mistabar. For some inner reason Alack decided to start with her.

Siana Afabian, you’ve been married to the Curlator for twenty one years? asked Alack as he sat in a plush, over comfortable living room. Without the usual SSG escort, he knocked on the mansion’s door after passing through a security check. The sprawling castle like structure covered the top of a hill with slopping lawns and open statuary. The house itself is immense, with wings curving down the hillside like the spidery arms of a gigantic insect. Alack did not bring the SSG because Siana’s bio says she is very temperamental and prone to outbursts with strangers.

Yes, twenty one years of bliss and toil... stated the wavy auburn head of over styled hair, a face of tight skin with a reddish hue, a mouth stretched and manly, with strong creasing eyes ready to pounce. The makeup is mostly dark creams to simulate the Mistabarian color. At first I was happy but when he started that Curlator shit, it all turned ugly for me.

How so? This is a great honor to serve the planet and Emperor, Madam.

Star shit and more of it! His first term was brilliant, parties and dinners out the ass. The second term became a drag, utter nonsense as he promised this and that, wasting my time on star shit, and doing the opposite breaking promises...and I got the flake, Sweets.

You’re referring to the Bigarde people? injected Alack on impulse.

The aquamarine eyes went deep. They aren’t what they say they are...badly miss-understood... She is up, yanking on her tight lavender gown as if it did not fit. They are a pack of mud rats...these Mistars...political trash I hate! I need a drink just thinking of this crap...you want? Or are you one of those who don’t indulge until after you’ve hanged someone, Colonel?

Deciding to humor her, Alack broke a nice grin, Any Sly Wine or DeMassie?

Are you screwing me later or just playing your silly ego game...yes I have DeMassie. Chilled or room temperature?

Room temperature, please...

When your husband is Curlator you can get and stock anything. Here! She pushed the tumbler into Alack’s big palm almost spilling it. Now, my marriage to Poga Pie was like this drink, it turned rocky and cold. He was nice but became a real bastard once he sat on the throne of the world. I grew to hate and love him at the same time. They say a divided house will not stand...so did WE near the end. She downed her drink in one gulp and made another. The portable Barbot answering her every command as it spun its mechanics to please. I didn’t even vote for him...

I don’t understand, Madam. Usually such a prestigious position is welcomed and prized. Why? I look around and you’re living a wonderful life as First Woman of Mistabar. Life is good when you’re willing to work for it.

And what does that mean?

Just a…silly saying… Alack broke a fast goofy grin.

You’re such a handsome bore, Colonel. You think I have it made living in this...this mausoleum? Only my children think as you, that’s why I sent them away to a school that teaches them reality. She exhaled studying Alack’s long styled hair, his manly to a boy’s face, the big brown eyes and his fine physique under his uniform. They told me you’re a Seminian...what the hell is that like?

My race is very different than the Amazians, Madam. We are bigger, faster and more...primitive, by their standards...

Then, they’ll take anyone, and what I see they chose rightly. Are you married?

No, I’m a confirmed bachelor...

I once thought as you, innocent and silly. How about another saying? She inhaled the second drink ordering another. It’s so easy here...a verbal command and this happens, a shout and that is done, I kick and everyone is leaping, even the robots, to much satisfaction turns one into a bitch. Stay as a bachelor Colonel, your missing nothing and ahead of the game.

Strength makes all values possible. Alack sipped his wine, enjoying it. Again I ask, Madam. What went wrong?

Since you have such a nice and appealing face...the bastards won’t let me be seen with my husband at political rallies and campaign dinners. I hate them all!

But that is the law on Mistabar...

My husband is Curlator, he can change the law.

Okay…you have a son and daughter?

Two wonderful darlings! My son is brilliant, tough, like Poga Pie when I first met him, a real yacht’s man, a nautical marvel. My daughter is more like me, of the theater and the dance, both I’ve shielded from the malice in the palace.

Nice quote. Getting back to the Bigarde people, you say they are different, miss-understood?

More than the Novians think, Colonel. All that crap about their dealings is a cover up by my husband’s people to divert the public’s eye. It’s all a lie...a political sham...

Your saying all the campaign speeches to bring them to justice is false?

False as I’m a Mistabar native...when I was a child in my hometown on Razor B, a circus came to town. My parents took me to the side show where a magician performed. He did many fancy tricks delighting the crowd. I got curious and crawled under the seats to the stage, crawling to the back saw how he did his tricks. A cover up...a master of it!

If what you say is true then what are they covering up, Madam?

If I knew that I wouldn’t be telling you. Give me another silly saying?

Alack nodded pushed from his high ground to land in the mud. He sent his mind out and touched hers, a gossamer finger, to read surface impressions. A jumble of desires, petty angers and something sinister he felt. Have you discussed this with the Curlator? Of changing the law so you can be seen in public, at his side, during the campaign season?

Many times...want another? Alack jerked his head, no. With hair like that Colonel, my beautician would have a field day. Ever think of dying it blue?

My hair is precious, a symbol of my culture. It is a sacrilege to tamper with it. If so...I become violent.

She broke a funny grin, her caustic features lit up in delight, an aroused Seminian and a primitive one at that? Now what would that be like? She pointed at the vases and ornamental dishware in glass cabinets. Lots of insured breakables in this room, or shall we test your barbaric culture in the bedroom. Only sheets and pillows too be torn and tossed about, Colonel.

You have a great talent to avoid the direct, Madam...

It comes with marrying a politician.

Returning to the political, did you ever express your social concern with the campaign people when your husband was present? Maybe a word from the Curlator will make things change, did that happen?

Star shit! I hate them for it. It keeps me from the bright lights and attention. This is my life and no one tells me how to live it. I hate them all for forcing me into this jail cell...a cage without a key!

Alack left her mansion with a determined walk. His direct and indirect questioning and mental scan only forced the lid open a tiny crack. She knew more than what was intended, much more, but had over extended the interview. She tanked out faster than those he pried apart in the past during years of duty. Prefect Mira C. Jevolkn made a wide smile as Alack slumped into the front seat of the open air sport Zo Car. As he engaged the plasmatomic cell for energy motion, made a funny puckering noise.

See, I’m glad I advised you to be in formal attire, I’ve seen you in your leisure field clothes. If Siana saw you dressed like that I would need a cohort of troopers to pull you out of there.

Your right, I’m safe I took your advice.

Did she threaten you with a kiss? Alack said nothing packing away his Calcomp. It could have been worse Colonel, she could’ve slipped you a sleazy... Alack frowned at him. On Mistabar a sex pill to get you in bed and act irresponsible is called a ‘sleazy’.

And if she did, Sir?

Then I wouldn’t need the troopers. I’ll be napping in this seat waiting for you.

You wouldn’t come to my rescue if I was drugged?

And save you from yourself? I’ve been around to long too breakup a painful toss dealing with Siana Afabian. What you can’t feel won’t hurt you. She can be Queen of the Bitches. No consideration for morals

Not sure he understood changed the subject. Keep an eye on her, Sir. I don’t want her to go off world.

She can’t, not while the Affair is open.

Is she sending her money to banks on other planets?

No. We’re watching if she does.

What do you know of other intrigues on Mistabar than the Bigarde Clan?

Jevolkn said nothing as they passed through the front check point and took the Zo aerial. The keel thrusters vectoring as the ground soared away. Alack felt the ‘G’ force the sport model failed to compensate. The City Prefect gunned the foot throttle with lead, the roar and wind ripped into Alack’s flock of long hair. Settling down in a quiet leisurely flight path, Jevolkn grinned at the Special Service Agent. Does that answer your question?

You’ve made your point... moaned Alack feeling his stomach in his mouth. He enjoyed doing that to others in the past with his own Zo, but now it is a different story. Did you know she didn’t even vote for her husband?

Neither did I, I voted for the other guy.

What is Captain Malhollen’s problem...the way he treats you?

Oh him...he’s harmless. He may seem like a real asshole but he grows on you, like leeches and parasites...simple household pets. He’s one of those guys you can tolerate for five minutes then you must run away. Any longer and you’ll be drained, wasted...

Yes, I know the kind, and there are lots of them out there.

Precisely...no consideration.

Fruit and shit go together. Alack exhaled changing the flow. Take me to the campaign bus and where they found it.

Your wish is my bitchy command.

Ten minutes later they landed at a SSG warehouse facility for impounding evidence. Inside the cavernous interior is the large sleek multi windowed Zo Bus. A twenty one deluxe seater, with kitchen, bathroom, beds and communications center, the vehicle is a virtual mobile command post for the boss on the go. Alack pulled off his cape and whipped out his Calcomp and crawled all over the Fraklan Zo A Bus. Crawling inside and out, checking the under carriage, the mechanics of vectoring thrust and the small load-lifter anti-gravity unit, Alack cross referenced the statements of the staff. Holding up his finger in Jevolkn’s impatient face, asked. Why did they stop and land on the Seratic Plain?

One of the staff was an imposter. There are sixteen aides and one pilot on this run, normally the bus is full...

They seized the Curlator when the staffing was at its smallest?

You win the grand prize, Colonel. The imposter has no record, no prints, no DNA. He was just recruited, a young political student recommended by the campaign manager’s friend. Who, turned out to be a distant relative of the Bigarde Clan. It’s all in my initial report.

Alack used his search engine to retrieve the data, Okay, yes...the campaign manager’s friend denies sending the Aide and his recommendation documents are forged. As for no prints or DNA, he could be using a Di-Fractor on his fingers, hands, etc. He just joined the Staff only several hours before the kidnapping. At gun point he commandeered the Bus and forced them to land a few minutes later over the Seratic Plains, used Anastia B to put them all asleep, and that’s where I want to go next. Shit rolls down hill, let’s see where it goes.

No consideration…

An hour later the suburban landscape turned rural with farms and fields. That flattened out to a seeping dryness as the forests vanished into a grass basin of small rolling hills. Large herds of domesticated animals clustered about as Jevolkn sought the right spot. Leveling for his final approach found what he is looking for and landed twelve hundred Illos (fifty feet) from the spot.

The assholes took my markers away! yelled Jevolkn jumping from the open Zo. But I’m sure it was right over there the Bus came down.

Alack opened his Calcomp looking for energy signatures. As his sensor beams sought a telltale sign of exhaust, knew he is repeating what the SSG Men already did. After several minutes scanning for other