The Trophany – part 2
If you missed part one, click here
In the ready room, The Trophany held court. The group sat in a
circle, with The Trophany reigning over a pot of coffee and a tray of snacks. A
woman in a pink jumpsuit held a yellow scarf, twisting it between her fingers
as she spoke.
“My husband deployed to the front-line last year.” Her voice
trembled. “He was gone for a week. A full week!” A tear rolled down her cheek.
From the doorway, Quinn took one look and turned to make a run for
it. Bergen grabbed her arm.
“Just kidding.” She shook her head. “This is why I never attended
the spouses’ meetings. The Trophany loves to create drama over nothing. That
woman is complaining about a week TDY? She should try a real deployment.”
Across the room, The Trophany nodded sympathetically. “Being the
wife of an admiral’s aide is difficult. Not as hard as being the commander’s
wife, but difficult.” She leaned across a stone-faced woman and gripped Pink
Jumpsuit’s hand. “We’re here for you, Marielle. We feel your pain. Now
pass the talking scarf on.”
Obediently, the young woman passed the scarf to the large, bald
man on her left. The Trophany smiled, her blue-white teeth flashing. “Tell us
your name.”
The man rolled his eyes. “I’m Doug, and I’m good.” He held out the
scarf to the woman on his left.
“No, Doug, you aren’t good,” The Trophany said, placing one hand
over her heart. “This is a difficult time. Open up to us. We’re here for you.”
She beamed around the circle, and several heads nodded obediently in response.
Quinn shuddered then stepped forward, ripping the yellow scarf
from Doug’s fingers. “We have a problem.”
The Trophany’s eyes narrowed. “Quinn Templeton, if you want to
join the sharing circle, find a seat.” She pointed to an empty chair. “You
can’t just ram your way into the middle.”
“I have the ranting rag, Tiffany,” Quinn said, waiving the scarf.
“It’s my turn to talk, and we’re in trouble.”
The Trophany leapt to her feet. “It’s a talking scarf, not
a ranting rag. You must honor the process!”
“Look,” Quinn said, holding the scarf aloft. “I just talked to the
comm guys on the Elrond. They know nothing about the shuttle coming back
for us. Their orders are to rendezvous with the four shuttles, take them aboard
and immediately depart for the jump point. No waiting for us.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” The Trophany said. “My husband would never
allow us to be stranded.”
“Maybe you should call him, then,” Quinn replied. “Because the Elrond
isn’t waiting.”
* * *
The door to the Control Center opened, and Bergen paused in the
entry. “The Trophany requests your presence.”
Quinn, seated at the console, ignored his statement. “Tony, check
this out.” She waved him over, clicking on the panel. “This is a vid from the
shuttle bay oversight cams.” The view on the screen sped forward then slowed,
Quinn narrating as she manipulated the vid. “Here we are, leaving the shuttles.
They get everyone out, then they move the passengers from Delta to the
empty seats in the other three shuttles.” The view panned right and zoomed in.
“Now they’re loading some crates onto Delta. We were removed to make
room for cargo!” She turned to look at Bergen, arms crossed over her chest.
“What do you think they packed in there?”
Bergen’s eyes narrowed. “I think we can find out easily enough.”
He pointed at the screen. “They left some behind.”
* * *
Tiffany Andretti stalked across the small office, stopping
uncomfortably close to Quinn. The Trophany glared, eyes narrowed to slits,
mouth set in an ugly scowl. On the doll-like woman, the effect was less than
menacing, and Quinn bit back a grin. Then she sneezed as the trophy wife’s
perfume smothered her.
“You’re telling me those sons of bitcheskicked us off the
shuttles to bring in a haul of gold?” The Trophany’s unusually soft voice cut
through the room like a scalpel.
Quinn shivered. Usually she found The Trophany entertaining, if
irritating, but maybe the woman had unexplored depths. “They loaded dozens of
crates onto that shuttle, and the three that were left behind contained these,
so I think that’s a safe assumption,” Quinn said, holding up the lump of gold.
The Trophany snatched the heavy rock from her. “How much?”
Quinn shrugged. “I didn’t count. Several dozen crates, I guess.”
“No, I mean how much is it worth?” The shorter woman licked her
lips and caressed the palm-sized lump of unrefined metal. “The whole shipment.
How many credits?”
Quinn shook her head. “No idea.”
“If I may,” a light male voice cut in. The man who had been
standing by the door strolled over to them. He held out his hand, and The
Trophany reluctantly relinquished the gold. Medium height and weight, with brown
hair, brown eyes and tan skin—the man was completely unremarkable in every way.
He took the lump and scanned it with a device he pulled from his pocket. “This
piece alone is worth—” he stopped, glancing at Quinn and Bergen, then leaned
down and whispered in The Trophany’s ear.
The small woman’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! No wonder they dumped
us. How much did they leave behind?” She asked, licking her lips again.
“There are three crates,” Quinn repeated. “But more importantly,
how are we going to get off this rock? I don’t care about the gold. I just want
to get back to my kids. And don’t forget the Krimson Empire is coming our
direction.”
The Trophany waved that away as a minor inconvenience. “I’ll
contact my husband’s command and have them come get us. Where did they get all
this gold?”
“I don’t know!” Quinn cried. “Can we focus on getting home?”
The plain man stepped forward, turning slightly so he stood with
his back to Quinn. “Rumor has it this asteroid is littered with gold. There are
fifteen of us. If we can get a shuttle sent back, there should be room
for,” he paused, as if calculating, then continued, “seven standard sized
crates. More if we—” He broke off, glancing back at Quinn, then guided The
Trophany toward the door. “Let’s go call the Admiral.”
Quinn and Bergen exchanged a glance. “Who the hell is that?” Quinn
demanded after the others departed.
Bergen grimaced. “That’s Perry Cisneros. Spook. Lieutenant
commander, FSF, retired. Barely.”
Quinn’s eyes left the door through which the couple had hurried
and focused on Bergen’s face. “What do you mean, ‘barely’ retired? Recently?”
Taking her elbow, he urged her toward the exit. “A few years ago,
he was, er, encouraged to retire in exchange for the service dropping
charges. He was accused of multiple extramarital affairs with both subordinates
and spouses of subordinates. There were rumors of coercion, but they said none
of his victims came forward to provide testimony. The JAG let it drop on the
condition Cisneros leave the service. He’s here because his wife is the
personnel officer.” They entered the Command Center as he spoke. “Maybe you
should contact the ship again. I’m going to nose around the databases to see
what other options we might have.”
Quinn waved a distracted hand at him and logged into the comm
system. “Elrond, this is Sumpter Base, do you read me?” She double
checked the protocols and sent the signal again.
“Unknown caller, identify yourself,” a voice replied. The screen
remained stubbornly blank.
Giving the cam a puzzled look, she flicked an icon. “This is
Sumpter Base. Quinn Templeton speaking. I just talked to someone up there about
an hour ago.”
“Lieutenant Templeton?” the voice asked. “Is that you? What are
you doing at Sumpter?”
“I was a Lieutenant a long time ago,” Quinn replied, cautiously.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Hoover! Hal Hoover! From Port Lucretia!” The screen flared
to life, showing a grinning middle-aged man with thinning hair and an FSF
uniform stretched across the beginning of a beer belly. He waved enthusiastically.
“I haven’t seen you in years! What are you doing on Sumpter, ma’am? I thought
everyone there was getting deployed?”
Quinn shook her head. “I’m a dependent now. I separated from the
service years ago. We’ve been left behind. I’ve got fifteen non-combatants and
no active duty personnel here.”
The man’s face fell. “Damn. The guys told me someone had contacted
us. The brass said everyone had been evacuated, so we thought the Empire was
trying to pull something. But that’s really you. You haven’t been recruited by
the KE as a spy, have you?” A grin flashed across his face.
“Don’t even joke about that, Hoover. I’m sure this line is being
monitored.”
Hoover’s face fell. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“We got left behind. This blasted asteroid is covered in gold
nuggets, and our evacuation team decided to take them instead of us. Can you
help us get out of here? The admiral’s wife is with us—maybe you can get his XO
on the line.”
“Admiral Andretti’s wife is there?” Hoover gave her an
indecipherable look. “Let me see what I can do. Hang tight, L.T.”
Quinn opened her mouth to remind him she was no longer an officer,
but the screen went dark. She turned to Bergen, but before she could say
anything, the door swung open. The Trophany and Cisneros strode in.
“We can’t get through to Syed’s office,” The Trophany announced.
“Call the ship for me.”
“I just did,” Quinn said. “Sergeant Hoover is going to call me
back.”
Cisneros eyed her. “Get them on the horn. We don’t wait on a
sergeant.”
“He’s contacting the XO,” Quinn protested.
“Get them on the horn,” Cisneros demanded. “They have more than
one tech in the comm shack.”
Quinn gritted her teeth and turned back to the console. She input
the comm keys and waited. “They aren’t responding, sir.” Bergen grimaced at the
title, and Quinn shrugged a little. Even knowing what she did about Cisneros,
respect for the rank won out over distaste for the man. Besides, being in this
environment took her right back to her active duty days. Old habits were hard
to break.
“Then. Try. Again,” Cisneros said, as if speaking to a
three-year-old. “And keep trying until they respond.” He turned to The Trophany
and shrugged dramatically. Spotting Bergen, he barked, “You there—who are you
and what are you doing?”
Bergen stared him down. “Antonin Bergen, civilian. Fiscal
services. I’m looking at options.”
“Fine. Anything you find, I want to know ASAP.” He turned back to
The Trophany. “I think we need to institute SFS protocol four-oh-one
immediately.”
The Trophany shook her head. “I don’t know what that means. Just
do whatever you need to do to get us out of here.”
Bergen glanced at Quinn and back to The Trophany. “He’s telling
you he intends to institute martial law and place himself in command. Since
he’s the ranking retiree.” Bergen spit out the words like they tasted bad.
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” The Trophany said. “Of
course, as the admiral’s wife, I outrank you. But I will certainly listen to
your counsel.”
Quinn bit back a laugh. Like the spouses of too many senior
officers, The Trophany thought she wore her husband’s rank. The two of them
could fight it out as far as she was concerned. She just wanted to get back to
her kids.
“Sumpter Base, this is the Elrond.” A voice boomed out of
the speakers.
Quinn hit the volume button. Why did it get so loud every time it
turned on? “Elrond, this is Sumpter. Go ahead,” she replied.
“Krimson agents, depart Sumpter Base immediately. All Federation
personnel have been evacuated. The facility will be purged in twelve hours.”
The voice sounded automated.
“Hoover!” Quinn slapped the video button, but the screen remained
blank. “Hoover! You know I’m not a Krimson agent. Send someone to evacuate us.
Please!” She swung her chair around. “Tiffany! Say something so they know it’s
you. They must have a voice match on file!”
“This is Tiffany Andretti, wife of Admiral Syed Andretti! I demand
you send a shuttle to pick me up!” The Trophany’s voice ratcheted up an octave
as she spoke.
“Krimson agents, depart Sumpter base immediately. All Federation
personnel have been evacuated. The facility will be purged in twelve hours.”
The mechanical voice repeated.
“They’ve cut reception,” Quinn said in defeat. “They can’t hear
anything we’re saying.”
“You’re Krimson agents?” Cisneros asked, his eyes narrow. “We
should lock these two up,” he said to The Trophany. “We could get a reward for
capturing known Krimson agents.”
“We aren’t agents! Even if we were, you won’t get a reward if
we’re all purged in twelve hours!” Quinn cried. “We need to get through to
them.” She swung back to the console and started activating alternate
protocols.
“Step away from that console,” Cisneros demanded. “I won’t have a
Krimson agent using Federation property.”
Quinn leapt to her feet. “Are you even listening to me? We aren’t
agents. And, oh, yeah, they’re going to dust us!”
Cisneros reached out and yanked Quinn away from the console,
shoving her toward The Trophany. Then he pulled out a weapon. “Hold on to her.”
He swiveled back to Bergen.” You, Burger, step away from the console.”
“Ah, crap,” Bergen said. “I hate it when this happens.” He stood,
casually dusting off his pants.
Cisneros advanced on Bergen. The shorter man waited until the
colonel closed in, then with an impossibly fast movement, kicked the weapon
from his hand. “Quinn, grab the gun.” Another lightening move, and Cisneros lay
on the floor, Bergen’s knee in his back.
Quinn yanked her arm away from The Trophany’s limp hold and dove
for the weapon. She stood and aimed it at Cisneros, feeling sick to her
stomach. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Tony.”
“It’s a terrible idea!” The Trophany shrieked.
“We need to act fast, and these two are doing everything in their
power to get us killed,” Bergen said. Digging through a drawer, he unearthed
some zip ties. With a swift movement, he secured Cisneros’s hands. Then he
dragged the protesting colonel up into a chair and secured his feet to the
console. He turned to The Trophany. “Ma’am? Are you going to help us, or shall
I secure you with the colonel until we are able to obtain transport?”
The Trophany looked back and forth between Bergen and Cisneros.
Her mouth opened and closed a couple times. “I just want to get off this rock.”
She smiled. “And I want to take some gold with me. That’s not a problem, is
it?”
Come back tomorrow to read more….
The post The Trophany – part 2 appeared first on Julia Huni, Author.
