Floxham Island ~ Sinclair V-Log AZ267/M

Sinclair V-log
AZ267/M

Published by
Merita King

Smashwords
Edition

© Merita King
2013 all rights reserved

Cover art by J
L Stratton copyright 2013

Sinclair V-log
AZ267/M

This novel is a
work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the
author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights
reserved.

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DEDICATION

For Swan

Thank you for
your encouragement, assistance and for being proud of me

INTRODUCTION

Hi there, my
name is Sam Sinclair and I thought I should explain a little about
what follows and tell you a little about myself. I’m a Freelance
Law Enforcer, which means it’s my job to catch and restrain those
wanted in connection with crimes; escaped prisoners, rescue kidnap
victims and that sort of thing. I used to work for the
Intergalactic Law Enforcement Agency behind a desk back home on
Sigma Prime but after several years I got bored and decided to go
freelance. My contacts in the Law Enforcement Agency give me my
jobs and so long as I get the right guy and deliver him to the
right authorities, I make my own rules which suits me just
fine.

There are many
others out there trying to do the same job as me who aren’t
recognised by the Law Enforcement Agency and they’re known as
Mercs. Mercs just want the payout and they don’t give a damn
whether they have the right guy or not and they don’t mind killing
them to bring them in. It’s even been known for them to bring in an
innocent guy who just happened to look like the wanted guy, claim
the payout and then make a run for it before the Agency officials
found out. I hate Mercs; everybody hates Mercs but most folks tend
to lump all us freelancers into the same heap under that same
distasteful label.

I’m not a
detective as such. My job is to find a particular person, restrain
them and deliver them, not to find out if they’re guilty or not nor
work out why they did what they did. Over the years I’ve been doing
this job I’ve met some mighty weird people and had some very
strange experiences and I thought it would be cool to keep a video
log of the more memorable of these encounters. I have this notion
that when I retire I might release them up onto the Intergalactic
Comm Web and you never know, they may even end up as Vidicom
movies.

Anyway, I
thought I’d test one or two out on a select few first just so I can
get used to using the video uplink system and get comfortable with
telling my story in my own words; it’s a bit surreal sitting here
talking to myself and even more so watching it back. Man do I
really sound like that?

Welcome to The
Sinclair V-logs, I hope you enjoy them.

CHAPTER
ONE

Hang on a
second while I try to fix this vidicom. There we go, that should do
it. Okay this is V-log reference AZ267/M, data log reference point
2458712/6540.

Well how did it
all start? A contact of mine in the Agrillian system gave me the
heads up concerning a suspect they wanted to question in connection
with nine murders. It took place on Agrillia 3, on an
archaeological dig where a team of scientists were looking into
some ancient civilisation that once inhabited that region of the
planet. There were ten in the team who lived and worked at the dig
for three months, after which they were due to be transported back
to draw up their conclusions and official report of their findings.
When the pick up got there to take them out, they found nine dead
and one missing. The official law enforcement file says the usual
crap; an extensive search of the locale was made etc, the suspect
wasn’t found etc, you know the kind of shit they come out with when
they don’t want to admit they were too stupid to find the guy. My
contact there is a good friend so he called me up and told me about
it and said would I be interested in the job and the substantial
reward? Would I be interested? Hell yeah, that’s my job and the
promise of a substantial payout is always of interest.

The suspect
they were after was some brainiac called Professor Kluvak Nembier,
a native of Agrillia and up until that time he seemed to be your
average well respected humourless clever guy. He had no previous
record, worked hard all his life and was respected by everyone in
his field of expertise, which was ancient Agrillian languages. He
was one of those guys who is all brain and no brawn y’know? A guy
like that is clever but seldom resourceful and tends not to be too
successful at being on the run and keeping himself hidden. Having
been doing this job for a long time, it was reasonable to assume
that this would be one of the easiest paydays I’d had in years, so
when my contact asked me if I wanted the job, I almost bit off his
arm. How wrong can you be?

It took me all
of two days to find out the guy had taken off and signed up as
casual labour on a low budget, long haul, passenger liner that just
happened to stop by Agrillia 3 at the very time he went missing.
One of the whores who works the Agrillian Space Terminal remembered
approaching him and being given the brush off by him. Between you
and me, he was an idiot to turn her down; she is an expert in her
craft, but I digress. A couple of calls told me that there was only
one cruise line that called on Agrillia around that time, so after
securing the details of their course I set off after them and
caught up with the liner within a few days. Experience convinced me
that I’d have the guy in custody within a few hours and would be
able to deliver him, claim my pay check and head back to Agrillia
to revisit my new lady friend at the Space Terminal to continue our
umm, conversation. Boy if only I’d known then what was to come.

Being ex law
enforcement myself often helps when trying to encourage folks to be
co-operative and although all freelance law enforcers have to be
registered, I used to be a Law Enforcement Officer myself a few
years back. This means that not only do I carry the usual
freelancer’s ID papers but I also have the added advantage of being
able to provide them with a tag. This document proves that I’m
known to the Galactic Law Enforcement Agency as a trustworthy
person to do business with. Being able to flash a tag is second
only to flashing your official enforcer’s badge and people are more
likely trust you and do as you ask, which comes in mighty handy at
times. There are, of course, many unregistered people trying to do
this job without being officially recognised as doing so. They’re
universally known as Mercs, but the general public tend to label
all of us with this rather unflattering name. Being labelled as one
of those low lifes annoys me because I’m not a Merc. I have
standards; a code and I resent being tossed into the same pile as
all the crazies who don’t give a shit whether they bring in the
right guy or the wrong guy or even kill them to bring them in.
Mercs never engender affection from me and I would never do
business with them. There have been times when I’ve found them
tagging along behind me on a job and a couple of times they’ve
tried to relieve me of my catch after sitting on my ass and
watching me do all the work. Those types of occasions are the only
ones where you’re likely to see me really lose my rag. Knowing what
I know now about this whole Nembier business, if I’d known any
Mercs were shadowing me, I’d happily have offered them the job
without a second thought.

As I said, I
caught up with the liner in a few days and hailed them to let them
know who I was and the reason for my visit. Cruise liners and the
folks who run them are often a little unwilling to entertain folks
like me because they’re worried my presence will be bad for
business but this one was one of those low budget outfits that
don’t take so much trouble to screen their passengers and crew as
the more up market companies. This means that they know there’s a
higher than average chance that they could pick up a dodgy
character as casual labour, and as they’re more worried about
themselves than their passengers, they tend to welcome me more
openly in the hope I won’t give them any problems with the Galactic
Tourist Federation by reporting them.

“Unidentified
ship, this is Captain Hann of the Nightliner Sally B. We are
responding to your hail. Please identify yourself and state the
nature of your business.” The guy sounded calm so I guessed this
was going to be a fairly trouble free encounter.

“Captain Hann,
this is Sam Sinclair and this is my personal vessel, SC257. I’m
here on official law enforcement business and wish to dock with
you. Sending you my ID beacon and official tag now. Awaiting your
response.” A smile settled itself across my face as I sat back and
waited for him to reply. There was no doubt in my mind that he
would let me in without too much of a fuss; my official tag would
ensure that but sometimes these types of people liked to try to
psyche me out by keeping me waiting a little longer than necessary.
That doesn’t bother me too much; I’m happy to wait. As it happened,
Captain Hann came back pretty quickly and I was a little surprised
at the warmth of his welcome.

“Mr Sinclair we
have your ID and tag. All seems to be in order. Come around to the
rear dock, port six. Sending you the docking beacon now.”

Captain Hann
and his First Officer were there to meet me when I disembarked in
the Sally B’s rear dock. The place was shabby but functional, as
would be expected on a low budget outfit like Nightline obviously
was but Hann greeted me with a smile and a handshake, which is more
than I often get on such occasions. They both nodded as I returned
their smiles and shook their hands and they seemed happy when I
accepted the Captain’s offer of refreshment. Hann indicated for me
to follow them to his office to discuss why I was there. As we
walked I sneaked a look at him and smiled. He was in his early
fifties I’d guess; probably ex military by the way he walked and
his confident manner and his uniform was clean and sharp, despite
the round gut that strained against his belt. He looked proud of
his position and was obviously used to being in charge so I guessed
he’d been an officer in his military days. As we left the
functional areas of the liner behind and entered the public areas,
the place became a whole lot cleaner. Here and there passengers
passed us in the corridors and he greeted them all with a smile and
a nod. This was a guy who wasn’t used to trouble and didn’t welcome
the thought of it. He liked his easy life and his position, so
anything able to threaten that was not going to be welcome here.
This pleased me because it meant he was going to be only too happy
to accommodate my requests so I could take the problem away for
him. Over the years I’ve been doing this job I’ve met many people
from all different planets and cultures and I’ve become something
of an expert at reading people. Some of my colleagues in law
enforcement quite rightly regard me as an excellent judge of
character and Captain Hann wasn’t about to prove me wrong.

His office was
small and comfortable but still the military presence was
everywhere; from the distinct lack of anything purely decorative to
the precise arrangement of the few items on his desk. A digital log
sat to his right, placed precisely between the communication panel
and a single holographic photo viewer. To his left he placed his
cap, after carefully wiping the badge that adorned the front with a
pristine white handkerchief. Once he nudged the cap a few
millimetres to the right, he sat down. My mind mentally drew up a
list of what the holographic photo viewer displayed when switched
on. At the top of the list was Hann himself as a younger man
dressed in military uniform. Second was a group shot of him and
some military buddies, whilst bringing up the rear was him
receiving some award or promotion. The rank outsider was a dead
heat between a landscape of some kind and a family group.

He offered me a
seat and called for drinks to be brought in. “Well Mr Sinclair,” he
smiled, “what can we do for you?” He steepled his hands together as
he looked at me from his side of the desk and the way his smile
failed to reach the corners of his eyes told me right away that
this was a bid for dominance.