Aboard the Mandoleer’s Folly, the interrogation room was stark and dimly lit, casting long shadows across the cold metal surfaces. Gordon Sinclair sat rigid in his chair, his usual composure crumbling under the stern gaze of Captain Spacedawg. The air was thick with tension, the silence punctuated only by the distant hum of the ship’s engines.
Spacedawg leaned in, his voice low and menacing. “You don’t want to see me angry, Sinclair. Trust me on that,” he growled, his eyes narrowing into slits.
Ed, standing just off to the side, chimed in with a half-grin, though his tone carried a serious undercurrent. “And when he gets really angry, he goes into a feral state. You might end up a head shorter, and I’m not just making conversation.”
Sinclair’s attempt at bravado faltered, his eyes flicking between Spacedawg and Ed. Swallowing hard, he finally nodded, his voice barely a whisper. “Alright, alright, I’ll talk. Just… keep your captain away from me.”
He spilled everything—names, locations of stash houses, and details of their operation. Sinclair and his accomplices had been diluting high-quality maple syrup with water, then selling the adulterated product at inflated prices to unsuspecting refineries.
Once Sinclair had finished, Spacedawg stepped back, a look of satisfaction crossing his features. He activated his communicator to update Celine at Order 93 headquarters. “We got him to talk,” he reported, his voice steady. “Sinclair’s given up his accomplices and the locations of their stash houses. I’m sending you the details now.”
Celine’s response came through clear and concise, “Excellent work, Spacedawg. We’re dispatching teams to apprehend the rest of the maple syrup bandits. This has been a major breach of trust in the market, and we’ll make sure they pay for it.”
As Sinclair was led away to the holding cells, Celine’s voice returned, tinged with urgency. “Spacedawg, there’s another matter I need your team to look into. It’s sensitive, and I’d prefer to discuss it when you’re back, but be prepared. This one goes deeper than just contraband syrup.”
Spacedawg frowned, curiosity piqued. “Understood, Celine. We’re on our way.”
As the Mandoleer’s Folly charted a course back to Order 93 headquarters, the crew was left in a state of wary anticipation. Whatever Celine had in store, it promised to be just as challenging, if not more, than the syrup scandal they’d just unraveled.
