Free Enterprise - Wet Work - Chapter #115
Ten minutes later Tyr and his assets were in place and ready for “the drop”.
“Do not allow them to touch your shoulders here . . . .” he said, and demonstrated to the group of twelve assets. Recalling how both Khan and Tamara had demonstrated the infamous “Vulcan Nerve Pinch” to him.
As a Vulcan, Tamara had a surer hand and Tyr felt his left shoulder and arm go numb as a result. It was not the ultimate result, which was to render an opponent unconscious, but it was dangerous nonetheless.
“ . . . . . . . do not allow any of the parties present to escape alive.” Tyr ordered, coldly.
“ . . . . . . . Finally, Solon is mine.” Tyr declared. Every one of his assets nodded their acknowledgment.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Tyr and “his people” were in place and hiding in the shadows when Solon arrived. The rouge Vulcan had chosen an ill-used deck and corridor as an exchange point. A minute later his cohorts arrived.
From his hiding place, Tyr raised his eyebrow in Spock-like fashion to hear the group switch from speaking Federation Standard English, to Romulan. He had learned from Tamara that the Romulan language was considered a “bastardized” version of Vulcan, the way Old Earth American English was of England's King's English. So he understood their conversation, somewhat.
Solon was about to go into one of his self aggrandizing diatribes, when the leader of the rouge group cut him short. Perhaps he'd sensed that death was very near. . . .
“Solon, we haven't got time. Hand over the discs.” The group leader demanded. Solon, in a monumental slip of his strict Vulcan veneer, gawked but, obeyed and handed over the packet of discs. In turn he received a corresponding packet.
Tyr gave the signal and his team swung into action. The rouge group never knew what hit them. There was a brief melee and donnybrook which ended quicly.
Unlike the rest of his group, who all wore ninja-like ski masks on their faces, Tyr made sure Solon got a good look at his.
There was a brief and mighty struggle between the Vulcan double agent, and the Nietzschean Viceroy. Solon insisted upon trying to immobilize his arch rival with his only ace in the hole. He realized at the last second before he died that The Vulcan Nerve Pinch was useless against Nietzscheans.
“It is a pity I cannot tell anyone.” Solon thought, before everything went black, and he exited stage left for the last time on this mortal coil.
In the end twelve rouges lay dead on the deck, while Tyr's group checked themselves for injuries. There were a few cuts and scratches, nothing that wouldn't take a few hours to heal.
Tyr picked up the packets of discs which had fallen to the deck and pocketed them. He searched Solon's person and found yet another packet of discs, which he immediately confiscated also.
“You have your orders.” Tyr said to his team. They all silently saluted him then neatly arranged the bodies. Their leader quietly signaled their ship, and Tyr stepped back as everything was beamed away. Tyr then headed towards the nearest lift.
* * * * * * * * * *
When Tyr arrived at his quarters, Madre, his “guest” was still seated and waiting. There was evidence that she had eaten a meal, and was now sipping a mug of Rakktigino.
She watched as Tyr removed his gloves and laid two packets of discs on the desk in front of her. He held a third in his left hand.
“Three?” she asked simply.
“These were part of the actual exchange.” Tyr explained, pointing to the packet on the right. “I searched him after the encounter and discovered these on his person.” he continued, as he indicated the other packet on the left. “ Obviously this was the payment for services rendered.” Tyr continued as he pointed at the second disc, again. Both parties present knew this was evidence of an Inter-Galactic Monetary Transfer account.
“You do realize that is considered blood money and in order for our organization to maintain impartiality we cannot accept such funds. However, legally you as the Nietzschean Viceroy, are not bound to such strictures. You are free to confiscate the funds as the spoils of war and thus use them as you see fit.” she said.
“The spoils of war? How so?” Tyr asked.
“Tyr, did you honestly believe that HaxHis' punishment of sending Solon's group off on a six month mission with the Ticonderoga reformed his views about Nietzscheans?” she asked. "It may have softened some hearts, but it also may have served to inflame him even more" Madre continued.
“As Barbarossa would say: “I was suspicious of the man from the day he was born until he died by my hand." No, I did not.” Tyr replied, coldly.
“I strongly suspect the contents of those discs. . . . . . ." she started as she pointed to the packet Tyr held in his right hand. " . . . . . . .contain a confession of sorts. People of Solon ilk always consider themselves pioneers in their madness, and leave copious records to attest to that fact. Old Earth's history is full of examples. The Uni Bomber, The Son Of Sam, John Wayne Gacey, with their manifestos and tirades. Unfortunately, this particular madman will also be considered a martyr when word gets out he is dead.” she said.
“Not if if his so-called devotees cannot find his remains.” Tyr replied. She merely gazed at him and frowned.
The expression on her face said: "I do hope you've cleaned up after yourselves."
“Nietzscheans always clean up after themselves. I am positive Solon and his cohorts are now part of a distant sun.” he continued and smiled.
“And what of his wives, Tyr?” she asked. “They were reported missing by The Ticonderoga's Captain three and a half months ago.” Tyr instantly remembered the Fleetwide Alert he had received when their disappearance was first reported.
Commander Michalla Fuchs and Lieutenant Commander Diane Stanton. Both had exemplary service records and both were Nietzschean citizens. Of course he was concerned for their safety and welfare.
“I strongly suggest you ask the Dolgarians to assist you in tracking them down. One of the talents they excel in is investigation.” she said. “After all it was they who first informed us what Solon's fledgling group was up to. And it was also the reason why Prince Bear Paw crashed his ship on Pinnacle 28 years ago.” she replied. Tyr stared at the woman, with mouth agape.
“Now, lets have a look at these discs.” she said, as she opened the first packet and placed the first disc into the slot.
* * * * * * * * *
Two and a quarter hours later, a screaming migraine later, Tyr called a halt to the session. The weapon formula disc had long been authenticated.
They then checked the Money Transfer and found a kings ransom waiting in an numbered account for the late Solon to claim. Tyr swiftly took care of the minute details and the sum now belonged to him. The next discs they began to review were none other than Solon's personal blogs.
As Madre had predicted earlier, it was filled with arrogance and self aggrandizement, just like it's author. Tyr'd had enough after 15 minutes of listening to it. The reason he had a headache was simple, he was allergic to Bravo Sierra
It also saddened him that Solon only mentioned his wives only once. He boldly bragged he'd only married them in order to maintain the ruse that he'd changed heart towards the Nietzscheans. In reality, he had not, so therefore he no longer needed them. What happened to the women was anybodies guess.
“They were just mere props.” Tyr said with disgust.
“Apparently so.” Madre replied, as she ejected the disc in mid-sentence and laid it on Tyr's desk. She stood and tucked the formula discs into her jacket pocket.
Like Tyr she was dressed in plain clothes. Anyone who looked at her would've thought she was an senior citizen on the station for a shopping spree. Indeed she had five brightly colored shopping bags filled with merchandise as a cover.
“Tyr, I must return to my ship because she's leaving for Earth in ten minutes. Rest assured, this information is in good hands, and will be dealt with properly. Thank you very much for your service. In fact, the entire universe thanks you, Viceroy Anasazi.” she continued.
“You are welcome.” Tyr replied, and watched as Madre took her leave.
* * * * * * * *
Once she was outside, Madre immediately joined up with seven other women who appeared to be the same age as she. They were all casually dressed like her. All carried shopping bags and all chatted excitedly about their "plunder", as they hurried down to Landing Bay Seven to catch their flight home.
Note To Readers: The word "Madre" means Mother in Spanish.
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