Sleeping in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 1) Page 3

  Through it all, Major Krag Marston changed from a loyal United Federacy Space Force officer into an angry man, trapped in his position and fervently wanting to get out. The heavy planet farm boy had signed up with the United Federacy Space Force to protect the vulnerable and innocent. He did not sign up to kill them. Those three days fostered a sickness in his soul and self-loathing in his heart. Those emotions lit the match that kindled the hatred for the Federacy and everything that it stood for. As the hatred grew in the Major, it did not overcome his natural risk assessment mindset. From that day forward, Major Marston hid his new feelings a continued to be the dutiful wing commander. From that day forward, he began planning his exit strategy.

  Novius

  Lawrence Gregor didn’t look remarkable. His portly shape reflected the good life. He, his wife of thirty years, and single daughter, Harriet, lived the lives of the wealthy, the powerful. In his early sixties, silver-haired, always immaculately dressed, with a few rings and expensive tie tacks, he didn’t present an intimidating image. His love for his wife and daughter was authentic. His image was a façade. And, surprisingly, much like many criminals he was very patriotic and very much for the free peoples of the Federacy.

  Lawrence Gregor worked, fought and killed his way to becoming the undisputed crime boss of the Novius system. Although kind and loving to his family, his brutality and mercilessness showed when it came to running his criminal empire. Gregor controlled all of the organized crime on the system’s two inhabited planets and their moons. His four distribution lieutenants ran the prostitution, gambling, narcotics and black markets. His enforcer ran a well-trained, well-equipped quasi-military force. Lawrence personally ran his own espionage network-collecting information, bribing, blackmailing or terrorizing bureaucrats and industrialists, keeping his protection shield in place.

  Although his revenue came from the Novius system, his manufacturing, illicit drug production and black market warehouses were all based in the Arium star system. It was there that Gregor had built secret labs and plants, scattered throughout the extensive asteroid ring surrounding the star. It was there that Krag Marston had picked up the latest shipment of psy-crystals.

  Sitting in his richly decorated ground-floor office, Gregor tapped the com link on the large touch screen imbedded in his oversized desk. His personal secretary, Jeff Chandler, answered

  “Yes, Mr. Gregor?”

  “Please open a link to the crystal lab.”

  “Yes, sir,”

  Mr. Gregor went back to work, knowing that it would take a day to get his response.

  Just before the workday ended, Chandler pinged him. “No answer from the lab, sir.”

  While repeatedly rapping his knuckles on his desk, Gregor ordered, “Get me Thomas.”

  Gregor waited with the patience of a successful administrator while a minute passed. Then Donald Thomas, his production chief, came on the screen. “How may I help you, Mr. Gregor?”

  “I can’t reach the crystal lab.”

  “One moment, Sir.” Gregor watched his video screen as Thomas dropped his eyes to his own desk, and tapped in a few commands. Gregor watched as Thomas lost focus while listening to his com link inserted into his ear canal. Thomas listened, tapped more icons, spoke, waited, tapped, spoke, waited and then looked at his boss.

  “According to Federacy chatter, the lab is scheduled to be raided, sir. It should have already happened, sir.”

  “Damn, Damn, Damn. I hope Marston got his shipment. Thank you, Mr. Thomas.” Gregor thought, then continued. “Contact the shipyards. And Sanctuary. Have them button up. While those Federacy ships are flying around the belt, I want everything hidden.”

  After hearing the positive response, a frustrated Gregor thumbed the disconnect.

  Sasania

  From the time that she was a small child, Keiko Suzume loved contorting her body into unbelievable shapes. By the time she grew into being a young teen, the small Japanese woman would show off to her friends by standing on one leg, grabbing the ankle of the other and pull it up behind her back until the foot reached under her chin. By her twenties, at five foot even and less than a hundred pounds, she could collapse, dislocate and hyperextend herself into a ball less than thirty inches across. For the next fifteen years she used that ability, along with others to rebel against her family and the government it represented.

  Using her singular ability and learned skills, she surreptitiously got into the First Governor’s mansion. She had curled herself around her custom-made waist belt of thieves’ tools and hid in a wooden crate labeled as very expensive, very old wine. Anyone handling it handled the box with extreme care. For there was no one on the planet of Sasania, in the Yeni Persia solar system, that wanted First Governor Al-Amin Ardishar coming after them. The truck carrying Keiko stopped at a well-guarded gate. The guards checked papers. They waved the truck through. Upon stopping at the loading entrance, two laborers carefully carried the fragile, expensive case of wine to the cellar and carefully placed it on the floor, all under the watchful eyes of the lead butler. After the laborers left, the butler turned off the lights, exited and closed the door. Keiko listened and finally heard the lock clack.

  The tiny, contorted woman waited an hour, softly breathing, meditating on staying relaxed and keeping all of her muscles loose. She heard no close noises. No one came back. No one arrived to unpack the crate of wine. Carefully, using only a finger, she slid the lock, lifted the lid a couple of inches and peered at her surroundings. All clear. She saw nothing but shadows cast by the soft light mounted on a wall.

  When she had contorted herself into the box, she had insured that her fingers were within reach of the light bending button on her chameleon suit. She pressed it. Noiselessly lifting the lid on well-oiled hinges, she slithered over the crate’s edge, pressed up against its side and noiselessly closed the lid back up. Still laying pressed against the crate, Keiko carefully searched the entire room. No cameras. She stood.

  Anyone watching the room would have needed to stare very intently to see anything out of the ordinary. If anyone had been staring intently they would have seen only a very minor rippling of the images, as a small form moved around, light being bent around the suit, masking any reflection from the small Asian intruder.

  Keiko switched off the light bending. With the amount of power drain and minimum battery power she carried, she needed to nurture its usage. With the chameleon component of her stealth suit deactivated, Keiko stood in a mat-black one piece bodysuit that so sculpted her body that there was no doubt that she was female. If someone had dipped her in a vat of dark chocolate, the suit couldn’t have been anymore formfitting. It completely covered her, including crepe-soled slippers, surgical gloves and a hood which clung to her head and covered everything including her eyes, ears, nose and mouth. The part of the hood that covered her mouth and nose absorbed her carbon dioxide exhales and cooled her breath. Sound collectors pressed against her ears, magnified her hearing tenfold. Wraparound light sensing glasses under the hood gave the Asian woman a bug-eyed look and turned any level of light into day normal.

  She found the sound sensors. But her training and soft-soled booties took care of them. She found the body heat sensors. She had planned for that. The suit dispersed her radiant heat. Finding a dead spot, Keiko took almost half an hour to stretch and limber up, undoing all of the dislocations and hyperextensions that she had gone through to get into the box.

  After returning to physical normalcy, she padded over to racks filled with various wine and liquor bottles. If anyone had been watching they would have seen Peter Pan’s shadow floating around the room.

  She eyed the riches, all covered with dust, laying in each of their own cubby slots. “Big Money here,” she thought, as she lifted a twenty-five year old bottle of wine from Old Earth. “So much for religious abstinence.”

  She found nothing of value that she could carry so she moved to the door, squatted down and looked at the lock through her light-adjusting gla
sses. It was simple. A turnkey. Reaching into her belly pouch, she pulled out a set of lock picks and, in less than a minute, the tumblers clicked. Moving extremely slowly, she replaced the picks and, knowing that the room was filled with sensors, most of them trained on the door, took more than a minute to pull the door open less than an inch. Still moving extremely slowly, the tiny, Asian woman pulled out a small fiber optic camera. Clicking it on, she snaked the lens through the small crack in the door and slowly scanned the wine cellar’s entranceway. Being wireless, the camera displayed the images on one eyeglass of her wraparounds. She saw a ten-by-ten landing, a set of stairs leading up and another door. So far the plans she had purchased and put to memory had proven to be accurate.

  Taking almost five minutes, Keiko slowly opened the door just enough for her to squeeze through, quietly closed it, lightly sprinted up the stairs and repeated the ritual of lock picking. Scanning the other side of the next door, she saw a hallway, empty. She saw spy cameras, one at each end, covering everything. Reaching to the control pad woven into the suit on her left wrist, she pressed the light bending button. Looking down, she verified that she couldn’t see her body, only the floor she squatted on.

  After reaching behind her back to lift the flap that concealed her darts, Keiko palmed one in her hand. She opened the door only enough so that she could slither through sideways and again closed the door with only the barest of clicks. Pressed against the wall, with the chameleon suit turned on, twenty minutes later she reached the end of the hall. During that time, a maid walked right by her. With arms full of linens, the harried worker bustled on by, never seeing the small, Asian woman blending into the wall, like a chameleon squatting on a leaf. Having reached the door, Keiko knew that she had to go left.

  For more than two hours, the invisible, small woman worked her way through multiple security guards and mansion personnel. More than two hours of careful foot placement, slow weight shifting and controlled breathing got her to her destination. The second-to-last obstacle sat at her desk, First Governor Ardishar’s chief-of-staff. Keiko saw the attractive, buxom woman chewing on her lip, typing intently at her work station, focusing on something that needed to be done, a deadline to be met.

  “This old leach is just like all the other corrupt scum. Power buys beauty, you piece of shit.” Keiko almost hissed. But she stayed quiet, only thinking her anger.

  The door to the First Governor’s office stood open. With a very slow glance, Keiko saw him sitting at his desk, reading some document. On baby cat’s paws, Keiko slinked through the doorway, hugged a wall until she reached a corner and squatted down, placing her hands between her thighs, palms pressed against the lush carpet, resting like an invisible gargoyle perched on a monastery wall. She slowed and paced her breathing, spiritually settling in for a long wait.

  After more than an hour of holding her pose, Keiko began to worry. She knew that her batteries were draining. She started thinking about darting the pig at the desk, but waited some more. She had watched the governor read, make calls, write notes and mumble to himself. Keiko had watched as his secretary had come in, sat down and taken dictation. Keiko had heard this lecher almost demand that this office girl come upstairs after work.

  Keiko Suzume, Professional cat burglar, controlled her anger. She held her pose. She waited some more. “I am going to love making you pay,” her thoughts proclaimed.

  Finally the pot-bellied governor, in his royal desert robes, rose, strutted out of the room, proclaimed that he was done for the day and closed the door.

  During her long wait, Keiko had visually searched the room, determining that there were no cameras or sensors in the office. Obviously First Governor Ardishar didn’t want anyone to know what he did in his own little sanctum. Still squatting, she felt for and pressed the light bending button, switching off the power. Checking her battery gauge, She quietly sighed with relief. Still twenty percent of battery remained. It would be tight, but she could get out. The thief began her search.

  It didn’t take long to find the safe. The arrogant bastard thought hiding it under a pedestal holding a statue of Mohammed sitting on a horse was innovative. But scuff marks on the thickly napped carpet pointed right to it. Keiko slid the pedestal open and knelt down to stare at the spin dial of the safe. Replacing her dart, she pulled out a small wireless visual penetration unit, placed it just above the dial and turned it on. Immediately her display lens brought up the internal workings of the steel door. Slowly turning the dial counter clockwise, she saw the first tumbler drop. Going right for a couple of revolutions, the second dropped. Back to left, the third tumbler dropped. Grabbing and turning the handle, she pulled the door open.

  “There you are, my lovelies,” Keiko thought, staring into the safe and seeing its contents. She reached in and pulled out three stacks of credits. She counted them-thirty, all one hundred thousand denominations. Keiko just became much richer than before she had entered the fat governor’s office. Opening multiple empty pouches on her belt, she loaded the chips and sealed them in, checking if the stacks rattled. They didn’t. Keiko remained a silent shadow. She closed the safe, rotated the statue back over the opening and stood, preparing to leave.

  Keiko took one step towards the door and it opened. She stared at the governor. Surprised, he stared back at the small black apparition standing before him. That moment was all Keiko needed. Quicker than a cobra, she grabbed a dart, flicked it underhanded and stepped towards her target as the dart buried itself in the fat man’s throat. The neurotoxin attacked so quickly that he didn’t even have time to raise a hand. Keiko reached him as he sagged and caught the Governor before he collapsed to the floor. She pulled him in, quickly closed the door and then turned on her chameleon suit.

  Squatting down, one forearm on her thigh, Keiko gently patted the governor’s cheek. “Sleep tight, buotoko,” she whispered as she pulled the now-spent dart from his throat and rose.

  Returning to the door, she again pulled out the fiber-optic camera but this time she slid it under the jam. This time she took a long while studying the receptionist office, waiting to see if anyone showed an interest. Keiko saw a security guard walk by and take a quick glance at the outer office. But other than that, everything remained clear. The building was shutting down for the night.

  Silently and slowly opening the door, still with her body suit turned on, she slipped out, closed the door then quietly, and this time quickly, padded to the office entrance. Moving out of the office, Keiko pressed up against the wall and pulled another dart from her belt. She scanned the room. Like all people with power, the pomposity of the First Governor’s foyer made her grimace. The paintings of victorious battles, the alcoves filled with statuary displaying vanity and arrogance, the expensive Persian columns holding up the ceiling. All of it testified to the self-serving, greedy men that had run this world for the past three hundred years.

  While waiting, Keiko saw the chief-of-staff enter, pause, take a deep breath and use the banister to pull herself up the stairs, in a direction she obviously didn’t want to go. “You get a night off, kawaii. Say ‘thank you’,” she thought.

  Keiko decided on boldness. Her batteries were dying and, frankly, she was getting tired of practicing patience. So she, with complete silence, walked out the front door, down the driveway and waited in back of a tree until the front gate opened. Dashing through the gate, exiting the compound, she headed a mile down the road to her stashed motorcycle and change of clothes. Half way there her batteries finally ran dry and she flickered back to the black shadow. From then on Keiko hugged the side of the road, ready to leap into the brush and hide from any kind of traffic. A few times cars passed from the Governor’s compound but they were all in a hurry, fleeing work and rushing towards home.

  Reaching the bike, Keiko unzipped her hood, gloves and booties, stashing them in a metal saddlebag. She covered her bodysuit and work belt with jeans, baggy denim top and boots .A translation broach went over her left breast, an earpiece into her l
eft ear. Racing gloves and helmet completed the ensemble. Climbing onto the motorcycle, Keiko headed back to her hotel room for a long hot bath, a good drink or two and a job-well-done reward dinner at an expensive restaurant.

  Half way back and still in the country, Keiko pulled onto a side road and followed it until she was sure that she was alone. Dismounting, she reached into one of the saddlebags and pulled out a teddy bear and sewing kit. Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, she proceeded to carefully remove the stitching on the stuffed animal’s abdomen. Once done, she removed the thirty, hundred-thousand, credit chips and inserted each one into the bear, making sure that there was stuffing in between each, avoiding any possibility of clanking or clicking. After sewing the child’s toy back up, she carefully inspected her handy work. Seeing that it looked unmodified and still brand new, Keiko held the teddy bear in front of her face and remarked, “Don’t you look like the perfect toy for my niece.” Then it was back on the motorcycle and back to her hotel, with one more stop.

  Keiko pulled to a stop in front of a shipping outlet. Pulling the teddy bear from the saddlebag, along with a previously signed birthday card, she went inside. Approaching a counter clerk, placing the stuffed animal on the counter, she smiled her best helpless smile. “Can you help me?” looking at his name tag, “Dave, is it?”

  Eyeing the pretty little Asian woman, Dave was momentarily dumbstruck. Quickly recovering, he replied “Yes, ma’am. Dave. What can I do for you?”

  Keiko’s earpiece murmured into her ear, translating his Farsi into Japanese. “My niece is having a birthday and I want to ship her this gift. Can you do that for me?” Keiko actually batted her eyes as she placed a hand on the teddy bear. The speaker in her broach responded in the clerk’s language.