The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission by Raymond Klein (good books to read for women TXT) 📗

Prodor Moffit gave a glance to the inmate that was holding Mallton. Mallton tried to say something, but the tentacle constricted. Mallton made a guttural sound. His face turned red. A vertebra could be heard snapping. His black eyes glazed over, then went gray, and his body went limp. Another tentacle, smaller than the one that held Mallton’s lifeless body, came through the bars and removed the guard's security badge. He released Mallton, who fell to the ground in a heap. The small tentacle reached out and swiped the badge through the locking mechanism. There was a loud click and the cell door slowly swung open.

Trent stopped the recording, “We’d better get a call into headquarters, give them our report up to now. See if they can locate Mallton’s wife and daughter and get them into protective custody. If it's not too late.”

“Agreed,” Genghis said. “What I don’t get is, if Mallton was never planning on going through with getting Moffit out, why put a portable Replicator on board?”

“Well, there could have been a myriad of different reasons,” Trent responded. “If Mallton was working with Prodor’s people, he could have loaded it to show good faith. Maybe Prodor’s fans were watching his house and Mallton knew. Could have been a lot of reasons.”

Genghis began collecting evidence from around the ship. Starting with the guards. He collected everything he could. Bullets were extracted, laser burn entry wounds and bodies were photographed. Fibers were removed from their uniforms with tweezers that Genghis had a difficult time manipulating. Skin tissue samples were removed from under fingernails as well as from the knuckles. He then turned his attention to the prisoners, and did the same. Everything he found was logged and bagged. Printed on the labels of each bag was the location and time found. He then went to the second deck and started gathering shell casings.

Genghis used the TU37 teleportation unit to teleport everything to the cruiser’s science lab for later evaluation. The teleporter was a fairly large unit, a little over a foot long and eight inches tall, with a computer screen and keyboard on the top.

Meanwhile Jeff rewound and viewed the security recordings again. Something he thought he heard and just wanted to make sure. It was something Prodor Moffit said. It was something he always said, in transcripts and recordings sent to the media outlets. In messages taunting the IPF to try to find and stop him.

It was also known as his rallying call to his many followers, and he had many. Most of these individuals started out with just a morbid fascination with him after reading the many news articles and books that were written about him, before and after his capture. Of course, before his capture he was just known as the serial killer the press dubbed “The Butcher,” which Prodor detested. So, he started writing to the media outlets, correcting them on misinformation and explaining his many agendas. These writings just further enhanced his charismatic appeal to his followers.

His followers were mostly the type of people who were lost, lonely, and looking for someone to follow. A father figure for some. A mentor to others. Someone to love them. For whatever reason, they would seek him out through his large network of followers. These followers were later coined in the media as Moffit’s Fans. The IPF tried on several occasions to infiltrate this network, but could never succeed. Rumors abound that Prodor had IPF agents on the payroll, but this was never substantiated.

The majority of his fans were foot soldiers and were not well educated. Some came from broken homes, others were orphaned or just lonely, and were easily manipulated. They would do whatever he asked of them. If he needed a certain item, they would steal it. If he needed refuge, they would find it. If he needed someone silenced, they would do the silencing. And if Prodor needed someone for his obsession, they would do the kidnapping. And when Moffit was done, they would be the ones to get rid of the bodies. Moffit would instruct his fans to place the bodies dramatically in public areas where they would be easily found. He never thought of it as very sporting or fun if the IPF could never find the bodies.

Many of his fans were eventually caught doing Prodor’s bidding. But they would never betray him. Out of love, respect, but mostly out of fear. And fear for good reason. They had seen what Prodor Moffit was capable of doing when angered – and most disturbing, when not angered. Prodor had, in the past, gotten rid of a few of his fans. There were various reasons why Moffit would eliminate one of his own. Disloyalty, insubordination, cowardice. Once, he just didn’t like the way one looked. But mostly for trying to turn him in and collect the many rewards posted for his capture. Even the ones already in custody and behind bars trying to make deals for leniency would be found dead in their cells or in the exercise yard. If he wanted you dead, he would find a way. A sign to the others, to respect and obey him.

Trent found the spot he was looking for on the recording. He ran it back just a little and hit play. Mallton’s body hit the ground and flopped over. While the tentacle was swiping the security badge, he heard it. He stopped the recording and ran it back again just a little. Turning up the volume all the way, he hit play. Jeff could hear the hiss of the ambient sound. Then Prodor Moffit inhaled deeply as if he was smelling the sweet fragrance of some exotic perfume and then he said it, very quietly. Like a man viewing a woman of great beauty. A woman that he loved very, very deeply.

“Ah, the beauty of violence.”

Chapter Thirteen

After two days, they had taken photographs and made recordings of what they found. They