Tales of the Mourning Dove

[Kyte_]

Sasha collected herself and sat on the long end of the conference table, her hands upon her lap, she felt like a little girl, small and vulnerable.

Good Morning, she said.

The figures across the room remained motionless and a warm familiar voice found her ear. It was Virgil.
Did you sleep well?

I think I had one too many last night, Sasha explained.

The shapes remained perfectly still across the table, the slightly larger figure on the left spoke next, his voice was melodic and his tone suggested amusement. She sensed no immediate threat coming from either of them. Still her mind was working put everything into order. Her headache was nearly gone, but a trace of it lingered at the base of her neck and it distracted her.

One drink with Virgil is usually too many, Miss Castille, the one on the left began, We apologize for the ruse, however time was a factor and yours was running out quickly. That Cryer patrol you had so skillfully evaded, arrived shortly after you did, thanks to a tip off by the Dock Master. It seems ten thousand credits does not buy what it used to these days. He concluded.

Sashas eyes narrowed at this information. There was that name again her inside voice was whispering doubts and caution. Was she in trouble? Somewhere in the depth of her core, she felt a chill licking its way up her spine as if she were sitting upon a block of ice, naked. The one on the left continued, his voice carrying the words in an almost poetic way.

Your transport is moored at Manhattan, the cardimine offloaded and your accounts updated, consolidated and liquidated. He said.

Trouble! This is the way it always begins, her inner voice squeaked, they wine you, dine you then

Sasha cleared her throat and refocused, speaking with a confidence and command that surprised even her. Fear does that and she was becoming very fearful.

I believe there has been a terrible mistake. My name is Sasha Smokkelarr, and yet this is the second time I have been addressed as Castille. My transport was empty upon my arrival at Freeport, having just delivered a load of antibiotics to Malta. The people there need medicines and I admit there is a tidy profit there, which is not a crime. This man, Virgil, has obviously mistaken me for someone else and from the way my head is still tingling, Id say he slipped a little something into my drink because Ive never been hit so hard by three drinks in my life and everyone knows the ale is weak on the Freeports. Further, I wake up in splendid surroundings with two strangers who allude to alleged illegal activities with regard to my hauling practices. Gentlemen, I do not wish to appear rude, however, in as far as I can tell, the only persons present who appear to have violated the Sirius Codex are the two of you.

The two began to chuckle again; their confidence was slowly chipping away at her own. She paused to pour herself a tumbler of water and a holo folder came sliding across the conference table to her. Sasha tapped the upper right corner and the digital folder opened to reveal a personnel jacket, complete with flight logs, bills of lading, photos, registrations, bank account information, and birth certificates. Her whole life in a single file before her. Suddenly, Sashas mouth became very dry and nature began calling in a very loud way. She squeezed her thighs together and looked up. The unidentified man continued with his melodic, amused voice,

Sasha Smokkelarr, Liberty Native, Place of residence: Manhattan; Parents killed on a transport, Life support malfunction; No living relatives. Interned on the Jollie.Fille, where you received an education and secured flight credentials as a top rated navigator. Stellar academic marks. Impressive. No indictments or convictions, unless of course you count the incident three weeks ago, where you were pursued into the Pittsburg debris fields by the Liberty Navy on suspicion of Cardimine smuggling. Evidently, you lead the unsuspecting pilots into a group of awaiting pirates.

Then later that same day you executed a high speed vertical moor at Manhattan, holds swollen with Cardimine, ignoring commands to halt by the authorities offloaded then smugly lifted and commenced to argue most vehemently with the Law Enforcement Officials, citing that their command to Halt was lacking a name and therefore ambiguous resulting in your immediate release from detainment with a stern warning. A quick check of the Neural Net shows neither Sanctions nor alerts concerning one Sasha.Smokkelarr. We have been watching you and while your activities have been under the radar for quite some time, your recent exploits have illuminated you and brought unwanted attention. I gave the order to have you, secured. Your relations across Sirius are impressive and you have cultivated a fine group of individuals who seem to have taken a shine to you in all the major houses, in which you trade. You see We do not run Sirius, but we have an understanding with those who do.

An interesting side note, your very name originates from an old terrain country, Holland and it is Dutch for the word Smuggler. We have done our homework, Miss. We know all about you. Further, your name affiliations, financial holdings and physical property are now scrubbed and liquidated. For all intents and purposes, Sasha Smokkelarr no longer exists. There is only Sasha Castille. An independent trader with a penchant for all things Kusari. Who is currently employed by the [IND]. You own two ships, a Kusari Train Registered out of New Tokyo under the name Mourning Dove and a Border world Transport out of Newark Station. Your offices are there. Now, if you will excuse us, Virgil and I have shipments to run. It seems there are some DSE miners in Penny who need logistical support. Please inspect your Offices at Newark and Tell Thomas Kai what you may require, as he is your Second in command. Kiku is your personal assistant and she will serve you well. The term, Miss Castille, is Shanghaied. My name is John. Welcome to the [IND].

When do I get to see the Dove? Sasha asked, after she had recovered her jaw from the conference table.

My dear We are already aboard her, in the main conference hall, moored at Newark Station, John said bringing the lights up. His face handsome, chiseled features with short sliver mane, he looked just like an old terrain singer circa 1980s. The Doobie Brothers Michael something

Dont say it John laughed.

Virgil gave her a winning smile then followed John from the room without comment. That is when the song began playing in Sashas head.

He came from somewhere back in her long ago
The sentimental fool don't see
Tryin' hard to recreate
What had yet to be created once in her life

She musters a smile
For his nostalgic tale
Never coming near what he wanted to say
Only to realize
It never really was

She had a place in his life
He never made her think twice
As he rises to her apology
Anybody else would surely know
He's watching her go

But what a fool believes he sees
No wise man has the power to reason away
What seems to be
Is always better than nothing
And nothing at all keeps sending him...

Somewhere back in her long ago
Where he can still believe there's a place in her life
Someday, somewhere, she will return

She had a place in his life
He never made her think twice
As he rises to her apology
Anybody else would surely know
He's watching her go

But what a fool believes he sees
No wise man has the power to reason away
What seems to be
Is always better than nothing
There's nothing at all
But what a fool believes he sees...

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