Galaxy Warrior_Favian Page 7
Several warriors gathered the materials and distributed them before getting in line to place their orders. Bridgett and Sherry made sure they all sat together at the largest table and discretely directed their husbands and the kids to spread out between the warriors. They weren’t going to tolerate humans on one side and Pzians on the other. It reeked too much like discrimination.
Commander Gharm helped gather the food, sat down and asked for everyone’s attention. He pointed to each warrior present, and told the MacKennas the warrior’s first and last names, as well as their positions. He then introduced the MacKennas to the warriors, using only their first names. On an afterthought, he informed the MacKennas of the two warriors currently manning the bridge.
Aideen decided to tell them about life on Earth, well some of it. She then asked random warriors, including the Commander, about life on Pzianian. The conversation started stilted but then began to flow freely. The elder MacKennas were also urged to share stories about life on Earth from a historical perspective. Robert then joined in with telling jokes and explaining favorite pastimes such as sports.
Bridgett, Sherry, and Warrior Adal Lucia drifted off to another area of the room to discuss the differences how women are treated on each planet. The three of them had quite a number of wow moments, and pledged to spend more time together. They also discussed their children. Robert didn’t want to join his mom at the women’s table, and Aideen was too busy ogling the warriors to care what her mom and aunt were doing.
Adal has one daughter who is an Environmental Control Specialist on the warship Promise. Bridgett and Sherry liked that warship’s name. Adal explained that sometimes that warship carries a promise of protection, other times a promise of death. “The same holds true for all of our warships.” Her explanation was greeted with curiosity and understanding.
The dinner and post-dinner conversations lasted more than two hours and Commander Gharm was surprised he found himself enjoying his time with the MacKennas and his subordinates. Dorn asked Ivanoff to join him on the bridge to relieve the two on duty, while the others went to the entertainment room. He had many questions for Ivanoff, and assumed that as time passed that he would have even more. Once in the lift, Ivanoff mentioned how much the humans loved Slotan’s cammor and how the cammor helped make the humans feel at ease. Dorn instructed Ivanoff to contact the two supporting warships and see if either of them has a cammor onboard that they could shuttle over.
Commander Gharm and Ivanoff spent the next four hours on the bridge together. Dorn had many questions for Ivanoff about his time spent with the Fleet Commander, his crew, and the honored guests. Dorn listened as Ivanoff spoke about human interactions with each other and with the crew, and the friendships formed. He learned that the honored guests provided both guidance and vital information to the Fleet Commander and his crew. Dorn had no doubt, with the tone Ivanoff used, that he enjoyed the comradery between the humans and the warriors.
Ivanoff spoke of how Honored Guest Olivia Phillips-Scorpak taught him how to track humans by bank records, and how L.C. taught him how to view a location with the use of what humans call social media on the internet. Ivanoff credited every honored guest with one or more assists.
Dorn sat back and reflected on what he has learned, some of which was a self-evaluation of his own style of commanding and the way others perceive him. He picked up his data pad and sent a message to the warriors aboard the transporter informing them that they are allowed to use first names for the duration of their time here. He would follow the Fleet Commander’s lead and become, as Aideen had put it, a team.
I am not on the Guardian Warship. I am now a mission commander on a transporter hovering Earth. I can transition between two roles, he thought. Dorn found that thinking of himself as a mission commander, for the time, wasn’t in anyway demeaning. In fact, the prospect of interacting with a crew, as he had done prior to his promotions, was welcomed.
Chapter 8
Not for the first time, Gabriella felt as if she were the poster child for divine insanity. Why they chose her of all people, she never understood. The idea that this mysterious father of hers being the one responsible for her oddball behavior has crossed her mind many times. She was happy to help but was constantly worried about being discovered.
Gabriella was already on several police departments’ radar and had come under suspicion on several occasions for not clearing out before law enforcement arrived. Saving a victim and hightailing it out without said victim being able to give police a semi-accurate description, or appearing on some do-gooder’s cellphone camera was becoming increasingly difficult. Although one of Gabriella’s gifts was the ability to sense energy, she wasn’t able to manipulate it. If only she could send out waves of undulations and short-circuit those videos and security cameras, her tasks, and her life, would be easier.
*.*
Gabriella sent a voicemail telling of her whereabouts to her private work number, which she would delete upon her return, if not killed first. She then tossed the phone in the trunk, put on thick medical gloves, changed clothes, secured her hair under a beanie, placed a medium sized temporary tattoo on the right side of her neck, armed herself with her sports store women’s lib arsenal, and then hoisted herself up and over the gate. The crunching of the gravel under her boots echoed loudly in the quiet of the evening. She moved off the side of the makeshift road in order to walk a little bit quieter atop the fallen pine needles. The terrain, so far, was not conducive to stealth and this worried Gabriella.
There were only a few rays of quickly diminishing light left and no moonlight worth mentioning, so she readied her small flashlight. Gabriella learned many years ago not to carry a high-powered, here-I-am, light. The flashlight she carried was palm-sized. She attached a strap to it, which she looped around the band of her watch with the added security latch, so if she let loose of the flashlight while panicking or attacking, then it wouldn’t fall to the ground. She’d keep the light angled down, near her feet, and would cover part of the lens so only part of the illumination shone.
Gabriella had also rigged a lightweight rope for her baseball bat and superglued it just below the endcap. This she carried on her shoulder like a purse. In the pockets of her bulky jacket, was the remainder of her stash, all readily accessible.
One of these days, she swore to write a how to creep along and spy manual for inexperienced dumb-shits who listen to voices in their heads. She would include chapters on where to buy common clothes, shoes, and gloves that won’t leave prints behind, and equipment at cheap prices. She’d emphasize paying cash in small bills, and buying the articles here and there at different stores that see hundreds of customers a day, in different cities. Another chapter would include, locating the perfect rocks to throw, how anything can be used as a weapon, where to practice with them, and where to aim for maximum pain without killing. And, most important would be a chapter on stealth.
This manual, if she ever did write it, wouldn’t come out for a very, very long time…well into old age and at a time when she was no longer dogged by police detectives.
*.*
Clair and Nayen, if he were even present on this outing, were silent. This could only mean that she was close and they didn’t want her to break concentration. Gabriella slowed her pace, moved from one tree to another as cover, and chose her foot placement carefully so she wouldn’t absentmindedly snap twigs, snag her foot in a gopher hole, or step in something unpleasant. She stopped and strained her eyes. Just ahead, the path forked and she wasn’t sure which way to go. It was clearly too dark to see any recent full-sized footprints without uncapping her flashlight like a homing beacon. She also didn’t see any hint of unnatural light in any direction.
“Some help, please,” she whispered. She snapped her head to the right when she heard the repeated hoot of an owl, and headed that way. “Thanks,” she acknowledged. The trees were dense and avoiding dry bushes between the trees was impossible, so she slowed her pace. Gabriella sent up a si
lent plea that she wasn’t brushing against any poison oak.
A little more than twenty minutes later, she spotted a large family sized, light-blue, nylon tent nestled within the trees. No campfire, but there was a dimly lit lantern on the inside that gave the tent an eerie glow. She flipped off and pocketed the flashlight in the back of her jeans pocket, placed one hand over her jacket pocket flap that contained her pepper spray and her rock, and with her other hand brought two fingers under the flap on either side of the snap. Slowly, she unsnapped the pocket. Her hands absorbed the noise.
Gabriella moved as close as she could to the tent without giving herself away and spotted the perfect spot to pitch her rock. She heard muffled cries and the distinct sound of someone being repeatedly slapped. Angry, she rolled the large rock around in her hand several times before letting it fly. It hit hard against the tree just beyond the other side of the tent. Inside, the large silhouette of a man stilled, but made no move to investigate the noise. “A little bit more help please,” she pleaded just above a wisp.
Gabriella next pulled her baseball bat down off her shoulder and grabbed the baseball from another pocket. She kept the bat at the ready in case the abductor spots her once he exits the tent, and threw the baseball so it hit the same spot as the rock. A ruckus ensued when a possum family scurried out. There was one large, hissing, mother possum, who was trying to guide nine babies away from the assault. Gabriella hoped she hadn’t harmed any of the babies.
The man unzipped the tent and stepped out with his flashlight and handgun in hand. The possum turned in the direction of the bright light and they hissed at the same time.
Gabriella knew she would only get one swift shot at the man while he was distracted by the possum family, so she moved up quickly behind him and swung her bat. She never checked slime balls she took down to see if she had killed them, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle the guilt if they did not live. Gabriella also made it a point to not pick up a newspaper or listen to the news for a few days following one of her missions. For the sake of sanity, some things are better not known.
As soon as the large man was down, she kicked his gun and flashlight away in different directions, then dashed into the tent. The spontaneous heated flash of anger swept through her veins, right before tears formed in her eyes, when she saw how young and brutalized the girl was. Gabriella got a grip on her emotions and hurried to the frightened girl.
Speaking urgently, she assured the young teenager that she was going to untie her, and that she needed to follow her out quickly and quietly. “Very, very, quietly,” she stressed. As the girl nodded her understanding, between sobs, Gabriella pulled out her pocketknife and cut through the rope. That was faster than figuring out the fancy knots the dickhead had done. Seconds later, she had the girl untied and was pulling her to her feet.
“Follow me. I’ll get you to safety.” Gabriella took her hand without regard to the noise they were making, and ran as if the perp would wake up and hunt them down at any moment.
Gabriella was pleased that the girl followed her willingly, without argument and without much noise. It was obvious the girl was in a mental state of shock and probably wouldn’t be able to give authorities an accurate description of her or her car. They made it back to the car in less than half the time it took Gabriella to find her.
She instructed the young girl to get into the passenger seat. Gabriella opened the trunk and quickly changed her shoes and pants. She put them, along with her jacket and supplies into a large black trash bag, inside the trunk and then closed it. Satisfied that most of the equipment and clothing that could be used as evidence was secured, Gabriella got into the driver’s side and started the car. She had kept the beanie and tattoo on in order to make it more difficult for the girl to identify her.
When the girl asked her name, she avoided eye contact and simply revealed that she was her one-time guardian angel, then warned her about traveling out alone. Gabriella pulled into the parking lot of an all-night eatery, gave the girl ten dollars and a prepaid phone, and then told her to go in and call for help.
*.*
Once the girl named Sarah was safely inside, Gabriella pulled out of the lot and drove across town and tossed the garbage bag, including the beanie and temporary tattoo, into a large garbage bin. She knew this dumpster was not within camera range of the shopping center and was placed far enough back not to draw attention. She also knew it was on a route to be emptied in the morning.
Sadly, this was what occupied a lot of Gabriella’s pitiful nonexistent social life—locating areas she could ditch evidence, and scoping out homes for sale in older, quiet, neighborhoods that had detached garages in the back of the lot.
Next, she reentered her car, and pulled out a pair of shorts and tank top from under her seat and changed. She didn’t bother with shoes. Gabriella drove to an older vacant house that was still for sale and had a side driveway leading to a garage in the rear. All of the surrounding lights in the adjacent homes were off and that was the sign she was looking for. Gabriella was familiar with these older styles of homes and knew there would be a faucet next to the garage, and that the water would still be on since the house was for sale. She kept a short hose in her trunk, which she would leave attached to the faucet as if it had been forgotten by the previous owners, just in case one wasn’t left behind.
Gabriella smiled when she saw the hose was still attached to the faucet. She slipped another pair of medical gloves on her hands, and sprayed the dirt off her car and tires, before heading to her mom’s to spend the night. A little voice in her head told her not to go home.
Over the course of the next few days, she’d stop by several inexpensive, popular department stores, in different areas, and refresh her now begotten supply. Maybe this time she’d purchase an aluminum bat since they’re not as heavy.
She just kept repeating to herself that she was saving a life, and was given this gift to do just that. Gabriella also prayed regularly that her guides tidied up after her, if she had left any incriminating evidence behind, to help protect her identity. To date, nothing was ever successfully tied to her. As it was, somewhere along the way, a certain detective had taken notice, but he had nothing to go on but a hunch.
*.*
Detective Lance Crawford heard about the missing teenage girl being found. He contacted the detective on the case, and learned that the girl either couldn’t or wouldn’t, identify her rescuer. Detective Crawford parked his car alongside Gabriella’s curb, stepped out of his vehicle and leaned his hip against his car, and waited for her to return. He researched and found that her name came up on many occasions, not only in his city, but also in cities within his state, and in Oregon and Nevada. She was always listed as a witness or person of interest in attempted and successful kidnappings. He found this suspicious. No charges were ever filed.
Every child she was connected to was returned to his or her parents and she never accepted any reward money, only requested that the families and victims consider her a guardian angel and forget she was ever there. Had it not been for cell phones and home neighborhood security watch groups, she never would have been brought in for questioning. Lance wondered how many other children were out there that she saved.
It was several years back when he had a conversation with another detective who described this gorgeous woman with a body sculpted by God, who rescued a child, did Lance begin to piece together that, that officer’s case and the one he worked on a couple of months prior might be related. He didn’t see any need to stir up insinuations based on a gut feeling, so he didn’t let on what he suspected.
Like teachers and firemen, the occupation of police officers is common within families. Detective Lance Crawford has several relatives: his father, three brothers, and two female cousins who are officers. And they are spread out in various areas of California, Nevada, and one in Oregon. During friendly calls, he’d brought up work issues, as is common, and heard tales from his relatives of this beautiful, el
usive, guardian angel who rescued a child. Only his cousin in Nevada was able to provide him tangible details from a witness who saw her drop the child off in front of the child’s home.
Had it not been for Gabriella’s attractive looks and the way bystanders, neighbors, and officers like to talk, she would never have been on his extended radar. Documentation showed that only a couple of the families provided information about the rescuer, the rest knew nothing.
His instincts told Lance that Gabriella was the one who rescued the girl tonight. She incapacitates but never kills the abductor. Oddly, all but one of the alleged abductors had been recovered, unconscious. Each one claimed innocence and had no idea who knocked them out or why. The one who died, did so after being attacked by a goat with a wicked attitude. According to forensics, there was evidence of the perpetrator chasing the child and rescuer.
Lance fears one day she may slip up and get herself killed, or accidently kill the bitch or bastard, and face murder charges. He finally shared his suspicions with his father, and they decided to keep this to themselves for the time being.
After two hours of waiting outside Gabriella’s home, he drove to her mother’s house. If Gabriella was there, she’d parked her car in the garage so he couldn’t feel the hood to see if there was any remaining heat from the engine. Her mother, the striking Isabel Mendez, would answer the door, politely ask him how he is this evening and then just as politely wish him a good evening as she shut the door. No, knocking would do him no good and he knew it.
It was evident Gabriella inherited her stunning looks from her mother. If it weren’t for the different length of hair and slight lines on the outer edges of Isabel Mendez’s eyes, she could be mistaken for Gabriella. Detective Crawford often thought of the old saying when thinking of Gabriella, “If you want to know what she’ll look like in twenty years, look at her mother.”