Not Alone

[Mithra]

The spook sat at his table for a few minutes past when the Junker and the girl left. He was the best in the business, was Kent Markey. He hadn't survived to become the chief homicide detective by making rookie mistakes like being noticed. So, he mused, the girl is now onboard a slaver headed for Omicron Alpha. Unless we can catch the ship before it leaves Texas, we've got nothing in this case. Kent hated putting cases in the "Unsolved" folder. It had gotten entirely too large over the past ten years or so. Kent stepped out into the warm Houston evening and left his unfinished mixer on a table by the door of the Hustlin' Marmot bar.

He walked quickly, following the slaver and his obviously drugged companion to a semi-concealed landing pad on the outskirts of town. It didn't hold any ship that was apparently a slaver, but Markey was no man's fool. CSV or not, it carried slaves. Most likely as a shuttle to a larger transport. CSVs aren't made to survive a trip out to the edge systems. He jotted down the transponder code, ship number, and landing permit, then headed for his apartment. Sure enough, the transponder and ship number didn't match. The permit was issued for another ship three weeks ago. That was enough. Kent placed a call to One Police Plaza.

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