Generations Closure
14 Feb 2018MMMMMalcolm
Personal Log: Commander Kay WantzMalcolm was nervous. He kept asking himself the same questions over and over again.
“I wonder what they look like? Do they think I’m dead, or are they still looking? Do I have any brothers or sisters? Will they like the gifts I got for them?”
He was making me nervous, but there wasn’t anything else I could steer his mind to. It took forever to calm him down to this point when he found out the admission office would not just give him a permit to Alioth.
“Commander, you of all people should know access to Alioth is restricted.”
Malcolm glared at the holo-com transmitted onto Breathless’ bridge.
“Yes, I know that, but I’m an Alliance citizen born on Argent’s Claim. I should be entitled to a permit by default?”
The clerk looked away from the transmission for a minute.
“I can confirm you were born on Argent’s Claim. Unfortunately, all records of your existence ceased twenty-seven years ago. Your citizenship status has long since expired. You must apply for a permit like everyone else. Now if you will excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to.”
The transmission ended and Malcolm let out a scream in frustration. Luckily, he didn’t have anything to throw.
So, for the last few weeks we have, or I should say I have, been ferrying goods for Alioth Independents. I don’t mind since my father is a successful merchant on Earth. I’m familiar with all the intricacies of shipping and receiving. Plus it gave me an excuse to avoid Malcolm’s storm. He has been in his quarters most of the time, an emotional wreck. In return the clerk promised (unofficially of course) to fast track our permit applications to the top of the pile.
“Delacy Mike-Mike-Mike, this is Vasilyev Vision control. Please submit a request before attempting to dock at this station.”
“Control , this is Alpha-Whiskey-Echo ship ‘Breathless’ requesting permission to land.” The line went silent for a long time before I heard a click and a new voice answered.
“Permission granted Commander; you are authorized to land on pad zero-two. This is Advisor Milan Salazar. I am sending a delegation to meet and escort you to Alioth Independents headquarters. I look forward to your arrival. Vasilyev out.”
I was pondering the strange invitation when Malcolm entered the bridge. He was wearing some sweat pants and a white tank top clung to his upper body. He was wiping sweat from his face with a small towel that was wrapped around his neck.
“I was running some laps when I felt the ship lurch. What system gets the honor of manipulating us this time?” He may have changed his routine with this on-a-whim workout, but he was still irritated with the whole situation.
“We’re in LP 131-66, Vasilyev Vision. I had planned to deliver the Gold in our hold and call it a night; but it appears that won’t be possible.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Advisor Salazar has invited us to Alioth Independents headquarters. A private escort has been sent to meet us on the landing pad once we dock. I doubt we have the choice to refuse.”
“Great.” Malcolm muttered as he turned to leave the bridge. “I better go clean up.”
I turned back to the helm and engaged Auto-Dock. Normally, I would have followed him to his quarters, but he’s been so schizophrenic lately I just showered and changed in the First Officer’s quarters instead. It felt good getting out of my Remlok suit. The hot shower quickly washed away its residue. My whole body was starting to feel like fingers that had been submerged in a tub for far too long. As a peace offering, I chose to go full commando in a shapely high collar, low back, sleeveless dress that stopped mid-thigh. It was emerald green and I matched it with black four inch heels and a black clutch to hold a small revolver.
When I emerged from the ship the security detail began to fidget. I was sure the chill of the docks wasn’t helping matters either. Good, I thought. If I can loosen their focus maybe their commanding officer will let slip what this summons is really about. That thought faded when their commander stepped forward. SHE was the epitome of my opposite. She was older, shorter, and heavier. She wasn’t fat, but she was as close as you could get without being so. Her skin was pale and her blonde hair was cut short to mask the thinning spots. She wore an expensive slate gray pant suit with black pumps. But, despite its quality, it did little to compliment her figure or mask her age.
She extended her hand with a friendly greeting that seemed sincere, but her eyes flashed her contempt as she looked me up and down.
“Greetings Commander Wantz. Welcome to Vasilyev Vision. I am Felicia Duncan, Advisor Salazar’s personal assistant. Will Commander Goodwin be joining us?”
I shook her hand with a smile. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for looking down on the shorter woman. Most times I would relish the dominant positon, but this time the advantage felt hollow.
“Thank you Ms. Duncan. Malcolm will be joining us soon. Vasilyev is known for its tourism. Hopefully this meeting won’t hinder our plans to test the limits of that reputation.”
She didn’t take the bait. Instead, she gently pushed past me to greet Malcolm as he walked down the ramp.
He wore black leather shoes and sharply creased black slacks held up by a black leather belt. An emerald green, fitted, collarless shirt tucked into the belted slacks completed his outfit; its three buttons and short sleeves straining at his developing physique. A tinge of pride welled in me when I noticed our outfits matched.
“Thank you Ms. Duncan,” Malcolm replied. “But is all this security really necessary?”
Felicia seemed to hold his hand a little too long. Was she fidgeting now? Whatever uneasiness I had about looking down on her, it left when he freed his hand and extended it to pull me close to his side. Again daggers flashed in her eyes.
“Unfortunately, there are those who would want nothing more than to undermine our influence in this system and harm those who support us. Certain precautions are indeed necessary. Follow me please.”
She turned and headed away from the landing pad. Malcolm remotely secured the ship, and then extended his arm to me again as we followed behind her. The security detail took up positions around us as it escorted us back to Alioth Independents headquarters.
Vasilyev was a beautiful tourist station that aimed to impress as soon as you entered the airlock. Every available space was pre-planned to compliment and accentuate its neighbor so they all flowed seamlessly together. So a fountain right next to a landing pad not only looked normal, it made you wonder why all stations didn’t think of the same layout. Even the streets we hovered above just melted between sections of parks, shuttle stations, office complexes, and facilities. Everything was so efficient; I wasn’t surprised when we soon arrived at our destination.
Alioth Independents headquarters was the tallest structure on the docks. And it was displayed so everyone knew who owned the station and controlled the system. The titanium and glass building was fronted by a beautiful man-made lake, which was surrounded by immaculate trees and landscaping. When we exited the shuttle to enter the pyramid like edifice, I thought I heard birds chirping in the gardens. Under any other circumstances this would have been an excellent vacation spot.
Instead Malcolm and I were in a strange system, on a strange station, being led by a short, bitter woman, surrounded by armed guards, to the office of a mysterious director for some unknown reason.
The wood paneled elevator that took us to the top floor of the building opened into a large office. The far wall was all glass, overlooking the docks below. We followed Felecia into the room; our heels echoing off the granite flooring. Two guards assumed positions by the elevator. I didn’t see any other exit. The remaining guards went back down to the main floor. There was no desk, rather a large conference table stood in the center of the room. Advisor Salazar stood at its head staring at the ships entering and leaving his station. He turned to greet us with a warm smile and a firm handshake. He was an older gentleman whose reddish hair was balding in such a way to form the letter “M” on his head. His tailored brown suit hid his physical power but hinted at the political power he possessed.
“Commander Wantz and Commander Goodwin, welcome. Please have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I would love a cranberry grape juice right about now.” Malcolm replied, sitting in a seat near the head of the table that put him on the director’s left. “I’ll just have bottled water.” I answered as I sat in the next seat beside him.
Salazar nodded toward Felicia, who scurried off to fetch our drinks, and then sat at the head of the table.
“Please excuse my forward invitation. When our clerk flagged your permit application for irregularities, I personally took over your case.”
“What irregularities?” Malcolm asked.
“Well,” Salazar started. He paused when Ms. Duncan returned with our drinks. She brought her boss what appeared to be scotch on ice in a short glass. “Thank you Felicia that will be all. Take the guards with you please. I’m certain Ms. Wantz has no intention of using the gun in her purse.” I swallowed my drink of water hard so I wouldn’t spit it all over the table. Salazar just smiled then resumed his explanation when his assistant left. “It’s not everyday Alliance citizens return to us from the dead; especially ones that have been dead nearly thirty years. Care to elaborate on how you pulled that trick?” Malcolm and I sat silent; our blank stares mirroring that of the director’s. “I didn’t think you would, and I’m more curious than concerned about the answer. But, what does concern me is your resurrection includes ranks and permits to every restricted system in the Federation and the Empire, yet according to the Pilot’s Federation you’ve only been a licensed pilot since January 01, 3304. Faking one’s death is no big deal these days. The universe is a dangerous place. But, possessing personal weapons and falsifying Pilot’s Fed documents are serious crimes.”
At first I had no intention of using my gun; I only wanted the reassurance of having it. Now, I wanted to use it. But how would we escape not only the station but also the massive bounty the Alliance would place on our heads?
“What is it that you want director?” Malcolm asked.
Salazar smiled again. He was toying with us. This fat cat had two juicy mice cornered and he was staring at us like he was deciding which to eat first.
“I want a reason not to have you two arrested as spies. Who are you?”
“My name is Malcolm Goodwin. I am the son of Jim and Maurine Goodwin. I was born in Alioth on Argent’s Claim on June 19, 3274.”
“The way you say that,” Milan paused to lean back in his chair and take a sip of his drink, “sounds like you believe it. But, I know for a fact that can’t be true. Our records show Jim and Maurine died in 3276. Their only son Malcolm…”
Malcolm grabbed my purse and pulled out the small revolver inside. “How? How did they die?” He yelled as he stood over Salazar and placed the revolver inches from his nose. Despite the danger and his drink now spilled all over his lap, the director struggled to maintain his advantage. Sweat began beading upon his head.
“Commander, threatening a system official only makes your situation worse. The Goodwins were members of the Alliance Joint Navy. As such, the details of their death are classified. If you do not wish to join them…” Malcolm cocked the hammer back on the pistol. Kudos to the director for trying.
“Let me validate my clearance.” He snarled. “For thirty years I have been living a lie; not knowing who I really am. Then I discovered the truth and flew all the way out here in an attempt to put my life back together. And right when I’m finally about to get the closure I seek, some arrogant pencil pusher has the audacity to try and stand in my way.
So Advisor, denying a desperate man with nothing to lose only makes YOUR situation worse. I am a member of the Goodwin family. As such, I am privy to every detail of their death. If YOU do not wish to join them, I suggest you start talking.”