The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission by Raymond Klein (ebook reader 7 inch txt) 📕

“Now the fun starts,” Genghis said, as he reached up with both front paws and threw the back door open. It hit the tree with a loud bang. A blast of hot, sour air hit them, assaulting their nostrils.

Jeff swept his gun back and forth as he looked into the interior then stated, “Clear.”

“What is that stink?” Genghis asked, being able to smell the odor much more than Trent.

“I’m not sure.” He looked into the back of the Divco. “But we have broken bottles everywhere, watch your step.” Trent jumped into the back of the truck, the glass crunching under his wingtips. He bent and picked up a broken bottle that had a little white liquid caked to the bottom. “Well! Here’s your stink,” he said. “Whatever it was, it went bad a long time ago.”

Genghis jumped in and surveyed the interior. Not sure if his thick pads on the bottom of his paws would cut easily or not, he cautiously watched his step. The signs of a violent wreck were evident. Broken glass and dried milk were everywhere. On the ceiling, walls and floor. Metal bottle carriers and boxes were strewn everywhere.

Along the right side of the truck, bolted to the wall were three small refrigeration units. Genghis nodded his head toward the units. Trent raised his gun and with his free hand opened the first refrigerator. Three small shelves with more broken bottles and spilled dried milk. He turned his attention to the middle one and opened it. The same. Then he opened the third. And there, they found what they were looking for. The stairway leading to the lower decks of Interstellar Police Prison Transfer vehicle 964.

Chapter Nine

Trent quickly went back to the Thunderbird and retrieved the duffle bag. Returning, he stood outside of the Divco’s opened double doors. He placed the bag in the doorway and started going through it and pulled out the D30 detection unit. It was a small, handheld rectangular device, eight inches long by six wide with a pistol grip. It had a small computer screen on the top. He jumped back into the back of the Divco with his partner. “I’m not smelling anybody down there.” Genghis told him.

“One way to find out.” Trent made an adjustment on the device and pointed it down the stairway and activated it. The detection device made a series of beeps and buzzes, then went silent. Trent read the small computer readout. “No life signs.” He looked at the Doberman. “Nobody's home!” He holstered his gun, and put the D30 back into the duffle bag, and picked it up.

They both proceeded down the stairs to the second deck of 964. Their footsteps echoed throughout the ship. There was the faint hum of the computer systems, but other than that, it was eerily quiet.

The prison transfer ship was similar in design to their cruiser. The first deck was the cockpit, which was replicated to look like the Divco interior. The second deck was where the command center, crew quarters, common room, and arsenal were located.

The common room of the second deck was in disarray. Things were scattered, chairs and tables upturned. Cabinets were open, their contents lying all around. Shelves empty. One thing was for sure, a fight did take place in this room. There were spent shell casings on the floor. Bullet holes the size of quarters, along with laser blast burns, covered the walls. Trent stopped counting the holes at fifty.

They found it difficult to walk through the debris. Genghis put his nose to the ground, then pointed it up and gave a succession of short quick sniffs. “Was this the guards' last stand?”

“Might have been. It makes sense.” They started to investigate the scene. Trent added, “The fight probably started below decks, then the guards were pushed back to this point.”

“Prisoners this far up in a transfer ship,” Genghis remarked, “would have been able to take control of everything.” He looked around, “The outcome would have been the same even if the guards had surrendered. The prisoners would have never let them live.”

“No they wouldn’t have,” Trent agreed. “But, I’m thinking they may have surrendered. Or were wounded to the point of surrendering. There’s blood splatter, but not enough for all the guards to have been killed up here.”

They walked on. To their left was the armory. The security door was open and to no surprise, all the weapons and ammunition were gone. “We’ll have to look through our reports and get the inventory on the armory. I want to know exactly what kind of firepower we’re up against.”

They exited and walked down a small corridor to the galley. Food containers were raided, water receptacles emptied. They looked around and there it was, sitting behind a food container. “Just as we suspected.” Trent said, not surprised.

The portable Replication Computer was the size of a small television set and very lightweight. It was lying on its side with the power still on. Genghis walked over to it, righted the replicator, and shut it off. “Must have been smuggled on board in one of the food containers,” Genghis said.

“Which reinforces the fact,” Trent added, “that this was an inside job.”

“So, now we know positively,” Genghis said, “that what we have are eight very dangerous escapees. All of whom have been replicated into the human form. And all of whom have the necessary documentation and currency to coexist, unnoticed in an alien world.”

Jeff Trent stood there taking in everything his partner had just said. When the mission to apprehend the escapees was planned, the Interstellar Police Force commanders had prepared the two agents for this possibility.

Trent sighed loudly and said, “Swell!”

Back in the common room they started walking toward the back. “Well, look at this,” Genghis said as he used his head to push a chair to the side. There was a small trail of smeared blood now dried to a