Lockdown

“Lockdown.” A calm feminine voice intoned over the speakers. “Please, return to your cells for lockdown in five solar minutes. Thank you for your attention and have a nice day.”

“I think it constitutes cruel and unusual punishment,” Lady Hakira, late of the Mystral Cluster’s Opposition Party, said in an aggrieved tone, “to expect inmates to ‘have a nice day’.”

Kasen Pettigrew kept her eyes on her surrounds, searching for danger. “Psychological manipulation, my lady.” She said. “It’s supposed to calm the prisoners into acceptance of their fate. But more likely,” she held out a hand, blocked Lady Hakira, as a group of captured male Castellan raiders walked in front of them. Kasen considered the threat level as minimal and continued. “But more likely, it’s to infuriate, cause intemperate actions and eventually break the prisoners, again, into accepting their fate.”

Lady Hakira raised a perfectly plucked blue eyebrow and regard Kasen with speculation in her violet eyes. “I think that’s the longest speech you’ve ever made, Pet.”

Kasen ground her teeth. Only her mistress got to call her ‘Pet’; anyone else felt the wrath of a highly trained bodyguard. And usually apologised in short order.

“I submit to you there is little to do but observe, think and discuss.” Kasen murmured as they walked into the cell.

Now came the hard part.

‘Lockdown’ literally meant locked down. The women each lay on a pre-warmed slab of bunk. The material flexed and accepted the body lying on it, created the perfect shape of the inmate. Then the manacles came out and clamped down on wrists, ankles and throat, held the prisoner immobile until released at the guards’ pleasure.

Misbehaving inmates could, and were, be kept in ‘lockdown’ for as long as punishment required. No need for the outmoded concept of solitary, the inability to move served as deterrent enough as Kasen discovered for the first three weeks of their incarceration.

But it wasn’t the immobility that taught Kasen the lesson, it was her failure as a bodyguard. In lockdown, she couldn’t protect Lady Hakira and the bruises her charged returned with were lesson enough.

“Lockdown in thirty solar seconds.” The voice said again. “Please, to avoid injury or punishment, remain still and have a good evening.”

“Oh, for the love of…” Lady Hakira muttered from the next bunk. “I swear, when I get out of here, I’m going to hunt that woman down…”

“And I shall help you.” Kasen replied. “But first we have to escape or be released.”

“An impossibility. I am too much of a radical for the Ruling Council to ever release and this prison was especially designed for the worst of the worst.” Hakira said bitterly.

Kasen sighed. Her mistress’s words were all too true. Hakira was a political prisoner, not a criminal, nor a pirate, nor a prisoner of war. Kasen, by association and by employment shared Hakira’s fate whether she agreed with the woman’s politics or not.

Pre-warmed manacles eased out of their receptacles, clicked shut around Kasen’s wrists, ankles and she tipped her chin up for the throat lock.

Lady Hakira’s constant opposition to the Border Wars, and her growing popularity landed them here on false charges of treason. Unfortunately, Hakira spoke often enough about the war for the Ruling Council to cobble together an audio communication of her voice plotting against the government. The fact the recording remained untested by an independent evaluator merely indicated how far the Council were willing to go to silence the voice of reason.

“Either the Cluster will be defeated in the war, or the Council will, eventually, have to declare peace. In either circumstance, they have no legal reason to hold us.” Kasen said.

The lights dimmed, though did not shut completely down.

“Ah, but you forget: treason is a war or peace sentence.” Lady Hakira said. “In the case of war, we are lucky not to be executed.”

“And it is your high status that stopped it.” Kasen said. “If they tried, I’m sure revolution would follow. This war is not a popular one; never was, never will be.”

“But, Pet, it’s the most lucrative enterprise the Council has found.” Hakira oozed in a reasonable tone. “Why, all those barbarian colonists, failing to pay the high taxes on their mineral rights, it’s all so… wrong. They must pay their share.”

Kasen’s lip curled as Lady Hakira repeated the justification for the Border war. But the barbarian colonists weren’t so easily defeated. No, they were more canny, smarter and had the money to buy superior technology from the Jovian Corporation.

Lady Hakira’s speeches served to inflame the population of the injustice of what the Ruling Council tried to do and gave support to the colonists. She also warned the populace that their own taxes would increase to pay for the war machine while Councillors profited. It was that accusation, and the evidence Hakira supplied that led to her - and by extension - Kasen’s incarceration. Freedom was a distant dream.

Kasen’s mouth twisted with disgust. Lady Hakira remained upbeat while she, who should be planning an escape, slowly succumbed to the tedium of the day-to-day schedule and the calm, understanding of counsellors, therapists and those who were considered ‘rehabilitated’ but not ready for release.

She had to shake the malaise off. Kasen couldn’t protect her mistress if she accepted this life sentence, if she fell into depression.

“Goodnight, Pet, maybe tomorrow we’ll be free.” Lady Hakira murmured sleepily.

Lady Hakira said that every night. ‘Maybe tomorrow we’ll be free’. Kasen didn’t believe her, but replied as she did every night: “Good night, my lady.”

Kasen stared up at the ceiling in thought. Somehow, she had to get Lady Hakira, and herself, out. She fully expected Hakira’s supporters were trying every legal manoeuvre, but she feared it would take an illegal measure to secure their release.

But how? How did you escape a fully automated prison system? Inmates were in lockdown by remote at night and constantly under surveillance during the day. Cameras she could circumvent, but the pressure plates, they were the problem. They registered the barcodes on the soles of the footwear, compared that barcode to the physical parameters of the inmate, including weight. All those aspects were measured while the inmates slept.

No one escaped from Marist prison. Ever.

Kasen drifted off to sleep still attempting to find a flaw in the system.

* * *

“Lockdown complete.” The woman’s achingly pleasant voice woke Kasen. “Please arise for the day. Breakfast will be served in one hour in the dining hall. Until then, please avail yourself of the cleansing unit and fresh uniforms. Enjoy your morning.”

Kasen threw an arm across her eyes, a sense of futility growing.

“Cellmates Alpha 3784 dash 547 and Beta 1290 dash X932, your attention please.” Kasen sat up at her number. The ‘X’ represented her official attachment to a convicted inmate. “The Governor requests your presence in his office at oh nine hundred solar hours. Please make yourselves presentable and available for an extended interview. In the meantime, please enjoy your morning.”

“Eight months and now he wants to talk?” Lady Hakira asked with a gleam of humour in her violet eyes.

Kasen shrugged, stood by the transparent explosion-proof door and watched the cells across the concourse while Lady Hakira bathed. One of the Castellan raiders stared back at her, or, more precisely, at a naked Lady Hakira.

She watched as the Castellan wiped the body fluid onto the glass with his hands and turn away with a satisfied smile. Another Castellan stood off to the side, watched and waited for Kasen’s turn in the shower.

Her lip curled with distaste. Oversexed Barbarians.

* * *

Guards escorted the two women down a corridor with dark pink carpet and pale pink walls. It was supposed to be a soothing, feminine colour, but to Kasen, the carpet hid the bloodstains of many a victim.

Governor Courtland rose from his chair. “Good morning, Lady Hakira.” He smiled, but ignored Kasen. “Please, sit.” He held out an arm to one of two chairs in front of his desk. He gave her a slight bow, a bob of his greying head.

“Good morning, Governor.” Hakira dropped into a chair. Kasen stood at her right shoulder. “To what do I owe this unexpected… ah, ‘request’?”

Courtland’s smile dimmed as he sat. “Er, well, here’s the thing.” He cleared his throat, lowered his gaze to the sheet of recyclable plastic lying on his desk. “I’ve been given instructions as to your disposal.”

“Disposal, is it now?” Lady Hakira crossed her legs, folded her hands on her knee.

“Perhaps an… unfortunate use of the word.”

Kasen began to wonder at his demeanour: Nervous, unsettled, perhaps a little confused?

Courtland tried a brief smile. “I have here a directive from the Ruling Council, Lady Hakira, and I must confess I’m a little… worried about the dubious legality of such a demand. We, here at Marist Prison, operate with the utmost care in rehabilitating the inmates so they become useful members of society once more. I cannot understand the Council’s…. well, attitude, I suppose.”

“Then perhaps you should tell me what they want, Governor Courtland.” Lady Hakira said.

Kasen watched the man, then turned her gaze to the window. Sunshine, she thought, fresh air. Guards, patrolling the perimeter but… not watching the inmates. Their attention lay beyond the walls. What…?

“Yes.” Courtland said and Kasen shifted her feet. “Right then. I have a demand from the Council through me to you. It suggests I, ah, facilitate a confession of treason from you, or you shall be executed out of hand.”

Kasen watched the guards shift, form into groups of four; a defensive, military formation.

Lady Hakira’s laugh was light with humour. “I imagine they are under a lot of pressure to see me disposed of, Governor Courtland, and I suspect someone has proven the fallacy of the supposed treasonous communications.”

Courtland flushed. “I don’t know anything about that.” He said quickly, giving lie to his statement and shifted in his seat. “But if you refuse to make a confession freely, I’m to…”

At his subtle movement, Kasen launched herself across the desk, slammed the Governor in the chest with her shoulder. The pistol, with an attached suppressor, flew out of his hand, thumped to the carpeted floor as she took him down.

Courtland gasped for breath as Kasen held his throat, not squeezing, but with enough pressure to let the Governor know she could choke the life out of him. Her other hand formed a fist over his heart and his eyes widened with acknowledgement.

Where she came from, the gravity was heavier. She was stronger and faster than the other inmates, probably the guards, too. With one strike, she could punch through Courtland’s sternum, pulp his heart and break his spine.

“Kasen! What are you doing? What’s the meaning of this?”

“Look out the window, my lady.” Kasen ordered without taking her eyes off Courtland.

“Oh… my. There are soldiers, scaling the walls, fighting with the guards! Colonial soldiers! But…”

“One word, my lady.” Kasen ground out and lifted her eyes to Lady Hakira.

“Word? What word?” Lady Hakira turned from the window.

“There’s only one reason the Ruling Council would arrange for the Governor here to assassinate you, and probably cite the insanity you suddenly suffered during your incarceration.” She grinned down at Courtland, saw acceptance in his expression as he relaxed with defeat.

“And why would they do that?” Lady Hakira stepped back and looked down at Kasen, puzzled.

“Revolution.”

© 2009 Jaye Patrick

Snow Job

Jerrod smoothed his hair back, curled errant black strands behind his ears and grinned at himself in the mirror. “Today is the day you make head salesman.” He tilted his head, raised an eyebrow and tugged down his tight-fitting, short-waisted jacket. He held on to the hem with one hand and waved the other.

“Allow me to show you the latest in the Hyunsford 300, madam. Turbo-charged, cerama-steel shell, the latest in safety and comfort.” Women always went for safety first he mused and cleared his throat. He should try for a deeper, more seductive tone.

He lifted the corner of his mouth and leaned slightly forward. “Polymer bonded, you know. The absolute latest in safety. Warming seats for your comfort, full auto-chef and bar, integrated entertainment system for the littlies, auto-drive, coded directional navigator and… a Starion drive for jaunts in the inner system.”

Kissing noises sounded from behind him and his face turned red. Jerrod closed his eyes. Mongo. Enemy number one, as far as he was concerned. The bastard had no shame when it came to selling cars; it was why he was also the number one salesman.

Jerrod pasted on a fake smile and turned from the mirror.

Mongo was movie star handsome, with blond hair and dark blue eyes, chiselled features and a physique he had to have bought. Too bad he couldn’t have purchased a better personality while he was at it.

“Mongo.” He greeted the man.

“Jerrod.” Mongo mocked then bumped him aside to check his own look in the mirror. “Gonna be a mother today. Have you checked the weather out yet? Maybe you should stay inside and practice. You need it, you know.” He grinned at himself, watched the dimples flash and white teeth gleam.

Jerrod thought he looked like a neo-shark. Why anyone bought from him was a mystery in itself.

Rather than reply to the barb, one of many he’d get during the day, Jerrod turned and went to the window. It was high summer on Mawson and fat, wet flakes of snow fell from a grey sky. Bitter cold frosted the thick glass. Still, it could be worse. It could be a full-blown ice blizzard.

Mongo came up behind him. “On second thought, you could practice out there. I could do with a nice hot cup of mocha.” He slapped Jerrod on the back. “Have at it, kid.”

Jerrod felt the burn of resentment. One day, he’d wipe that smirk off the evil bastard’s face, but for now, he’d go outside and check to make sure the vehicles’ shell warmers were all on and functioning.

***

Of the fifty cars in the lot, Jerrod had checked nearly a quarter when he heard the whine of an approaching vehicle.

He raised his head and looked around. There was very little street traffic, most people preferred to stay indoors than enjoy the light dusting of snow.

To the left, a long black car slowly came down the street, snow shovel deployed. If he wasn’t mistaken, and he knew cars, it was Drover 1000 SR turbojet. He admired the sleek lines of the all terrain vehicle as it cruised towards him. One day, when he was rich and shameless, he’d buy one of those beauties.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the yard. The turbo engine’s whine decreased as the driver shut off the engine. No one got out. The car just sat there. Jerrod continued to stare at the luxury vehicle until Mongo leaned out the door.

“Oi! Jerrod! Get back to work!”

Jerrod started and glanced back at Mongo. He was adjusting his jacket, smoothing back his hair as he came out.

He stopped for a moment by Jerrod’s side. “Watch a professional at work.” He sneered and approached the car. He reached out and opened the back door.

Legs. The long, smooth, sleek legs were the first thing Jerrod noticed and he swallowed against the sudden dryness of his throat. His eyes travelled upwards as the woman held out a long-fingered, elegant hand for Mongo to clasp and allowed Mongo to help her out. She was stunning with long sable hair, pale face, full, lush lips and a figure that deserved up close and personal attention. Mongo bowed over her hand, kissed the back, as was the style of welcome these days.

She gave him a dazzling smile and thanked him. Then she turned her attention to Jerrod.

“Your doorman is most gratuitous... um, gracious.” She said as she walked towards him. No. She didn’t walk, she… glided, as if she were floating.

Her comment brought him out of his fantasy and he tried hard to suppress a smile. The look on Mongo’s face was priceless.

“Indeed, madam, he has his uses.” He replied in a deep voice, knowing he’d pay for that remark later, and took the hand she held out to him. It was uncommonly cool and… rubbery? But he brushed his lips across her knuckles anyway.

He dropped her hand. “How may I assist you on this fine summer’s day?”

She tucked her hand into his elbow and he felt that odd squishiness again. “I’d like to look at some produce… product.” She murmured.

Jerrod felt his smile slip at her words. She didn’t have an accent, yet her words were… odd. “Of course. Was there anything in particular you were interested in?”

“Yes, I’d like to trace… trade in my car for something more…” She waved an elegant hand, but Jerrod had no idea what she wanted, the car she had was the best all terrain vehicle money could buy. She had no need to get rid of it.

“Something more… shyer! Yes, I want a shy car.”

A… shy car? What the hell was that?

Mongo took the opportunity to come up on her other side. “Perhaps I may be of assistance. Jerrod is one of our juniors here.” He said with arrogance and tucked his hand into her elbow, tried to guide her away. She held firm and turned to him.

“I have no need of you, thanks be. You are… unnecessary. An errata.”

Errata? Did she mean ‘extra’? Jerrod quickly accessed his implant as Mongo’s face went grim and his cheeks glowed red.

A mistake. An error in writing or printing, his implant told him and he grinned, barely kept the choked laugh back.

Mongo released the woman. “I’ll speak with you later, Jerrod.” He promised with a glare and left them to it.

“Now, about my car.” The woman said and guided Jerrod around the lot. “I need something to go. Something natural that will blind in with others. The one I have is too obsequious.” She spoke in a rush, her eyes constantly moving skywards.

Jerrod looked up, too, but could only see the snow, drifting and swirling as he tried to puzzle out what she was saying.

“You’re not from around here are you?” He asked and gave her arm a squeeze.

She seemed to deflate. “It is obsequious to you. I should have kenned.”

He tilted his head in thought and repeated her words in his head. Ah! Now he had it. “Yes, madam. I’m sorry to say, but the correct language would be: Something that will blend in with the others and the one you have is too obvious. But don’t worry, we here at Virgil Car Sales are used to out of town people, though I’m not sure what you meant by a ‘shyer’ car, but I think… you want something that won’t attract attention, yes?”

She turned to him, a plea in her deep blue eyes. Something else flickered there that was inhuman, as if he was looking at something hidden

“You are right,” she sighed, “I am not from around here. I come from a galaxy far, far away. I was trampling to… well, it batters not. My draft broke dawn and I had to insert human-speak quick. I don’t thank I got it all. If you help me, I can milk it worth your whine.” The faster she spoke, the worse her language skills became, but he understood her.

She turned to face him fully. “I had to build this skin-suit too.” She smoothed her hands over her breasts and down her stomach. “Did I get it rote?”

The words ‘skin-suit’ slipped by him as he allowed his eyes to follow her hands moving over the lush body. His heart skipped a beat, his throat went dry and a fizz erupted through his blood stream.

He had to clear his throat. Twice. “Oh, yes, madam, you got it absolutely rote.”

Funny, but he’d thought one of the military missions would get first contact. He didn’t feel scared or nervous or even surprised at meeting an alien and he didn’t care as long as she kept looking at him as if he were her saviour. But he was a car salesman, a junior one at that and he had no idea what to do.

No, wait. Yes, he did. He rubbed a hand over her false upper arm. “I think I have just the thing for you.” He guided her towards a cherry red vehicle. He cleared his throat and deepened his voice.

“Allow me to show you the latest in the Hyunsford 300, madam. Turbo-charged, cerama-steel shell, the latest in safety and comfort. Polymer bonded, you know. The absolute latest in safety. Warming seats for your comfort, full auto-chef and bar, integrated entertainment system for the littlies, auto-drive, coded directional navigator and… A Starion drive for jaunts in the inner system...”

Copyright© 2005 Jaye Patrick

The History Test

His mother’s distant voice took on a stridency that made him wince. But, damn it, he nearly had it! Nearly… the slight distraction cost him.

The two-tone bleat and Game Over flashing across the screen told him he wouldn’t be ‘getting’ it today. His narrow shoulders slumped and he gently placed the ‘joystick’ next to the ‘keyboard’ with a sigh. He shut the ‘computer’ down, covered it with the magnetic dust repeller and hung his head.

“Tomorrow,” he patted the box. “Tomorrow, my escape from Castle Wolfenstein will be complete.”

The wood polymer door flung open behind him and scorching sunlight streamed into the shed.

“Jakariah Mobius Thomas Cretchley, you get your butt inside and take that test!” His mother screeched.

Jak huddled in on himself and stood, slouched past his mother. She followed him out. “I swear Jak, I will put a DNA lock on this shed if you don’t start paying attention.” She threatened.

But she always said that.

“Mom,” he whined but didn’t look at her, “it’s part of my Ancient Tech course, you can’t!”

“I can certainly monitor how much time you spend on it, young man.” She said briskly, then her tone softened and she slung an arm around his shoulders. It was a familiar feeling that surged through him, even though he knew he was too old for such comfort and if any of his friends saw, man, he’ never hear the end of being a Mommy’s boy.

“I want you to succeed in all that you do. Heaven knows you’re smarter than me or your father.” She gave him a squeeze and walked them back to the house. “You cannot imagine how proud we are of you, how much we love you. How much we…” She sighed and he heard a note of wistfulness. “We know how well you’re doing, but look at it this way: In studying ancient tech, you need to know about the times the stuff was invented; to look at the society that created it. The good and the bad. That’s why this History test is so important. Understand that, and Ancient tech will be more a breeze than it is now. I can only imagine what you’ll do in the future, son of mine, but it will be grand, no matter what you decide.”

Her faith in him was appalling. He wasn’t that confident. He wanted to study ancient tech until he knew the ins and outs of it, that was all. But her words about the society struck a chord in him. What had those people been like? Not the comp techs, he knew all about them, but those outside the area?

“Okay, Mom.” He said, without really knowing what he was agreeing to. It just seemed the right thing to say.

“Good lad. Now go on in to the Comm Room. It’s all set for you.” She used her hand to lift his slightly furry chin – he was trying to grow a beard, but it wasn’t working too well. He was proud of the growth anyway.

And there it was. That familiar smile in her eyes, in her face. That quiet look he didn’t understand but felt all the way to his toes. “Good luck, Jak.” Then she gave him a quick hug. “I’ll get your half-time snack ready.”

Jak stood in the foyer and watched his mother wander off towards the kitchen. How could she make him feel like a truant idiot and so filled with love for her at the same time? She made him feel like he could conquer the world while chastising him.

He clicked his tongue in frustration and went into the communications room. He stood on the threshold.

Inside the room was a recliner chair. In pockets on either side of the back were the wired tabs he would put to his temples. On the arms were gloves.

Had he studied enough? Did he know enough? God, if he failed… He looked over his shoulder at the freedom the front door represented. He could hear his mother, humming some inane tune, in the kitchen. No, he couldn’t disappoint her, but the fear of doing just that nearly made him run.

Jak forced himself into the room; to sit down and attach the tabs to his temples and don the gloves. He wriggled around to get comfortable, knowing that it wasn’t his body that was uneasy but his mind.

With a few bracing breaths he closed his eyes and initiated contact.

The comm room disappeared and was replaced by an old-fashioned university lecture hall. Everyone in the room was holographic, and kids were popping in and out at random.

“Yo, Ri-uh.” His friend called and nudged him. Through the confines of the chair, he felt the contact.

“Yo, Bradders, wassup?” He turned to his best pal, Bradley Albert Grendal Munce.

The two boys were similar in appearance, with long, unruly brown hair and baggy, ill-fitting clothes. They were the epitome of school fashion.

“Nutin’. Ready for this?”

Jak shrugged. “Dunno. What’s the dig?”

Brad leaned towards him. “The ride is multiple.”

“Oh, man.” Jak groaned. “Everything?”

Brad nodded with an evil grin. “You be doin’ the tech again?”

“Yeah. Nearly had it beat, too.”

“So sad, too bad, move on.”

Jak punched his shoulder.

“Okay, okay, listen up.” Professor Gant popped into view at the front of the class. He smoothed his grey comb-over into place and went on without waiting for silence. “Today’s test is on history. All of it. So those of you who studied particular eras are gonna be pissed.”

There were groans from the auditorium.

“Hey, did I not tell you assholes to be prepared for anything? Is that not a big enough clue?”

“Bugger did say that.” Brad said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, yay.”

“As a relief to you all,” Gant went on, “the break will come at, oh, the mid-19th century, if you make it that far. Remember that you can exit the program at any time, but should you do so, it will be up to that time that you will be marked on. Ready to engage?”

“See you on the other side of the Industrial Revolution, bud.” Brad murmured just before Jak’s immediate surroundings dissolved and he found himself watching a battle. The noise and the smell were indescribable. He was splashed with blood and other viscera, had soldiers yelling in his face, the occasional sword or axe pass through him on their way to the opposing soldier. He flinched anyway and shook his head.

He studied the uniforms, such as they were, the weaponry and listened for the language involved. When he was satisfied, he rolled his shoulders and spoke: “Rome versus Boudicca.” He said clearly.

“More information, please.” A woman’s pleasant voice crooned in his ear.

“Ah.” Damn, who were they? When did this happen? “Suetonius with the Fourteenth and Twentieth legions battled Queen Boudicea in 62 A.D. after his treacherous treatment of the… the… Iceni…? The Roman legions were victorious and the Queen poisoned herself rather than be captured.”

The scene dissolved to an area where white-robed men mingled. They wore strange head gear and spoke in an odd dialect. Still… it was familiar enough.

Oh, yeah, he knew this one. “The assassination of Julius Caesar in March 44 A.D.”

“You are in error.” The voice said and Jak winced. He had one more chance at this. He watched as one man went down on one knee to another. He didn’t understand the language, but he turned when the kneeling man pointed.

Riders on horseback approached, yelling and screaming. They wore chain mail, with surcoats and brandished swords, maces or lances.

“The Crusades,” he breathed with awe. “1100… Um… to 1300 A.D. when Jerusalem was finally lost to Islam. Noted for King Richard of England, Saladin, the Knights Templar and the atrocities committed on both sides, more than any religious significance.”

Again the scene dissolved and Jak wiped the sweat from his forehead. This was going to be a tough ask, he thought as a new scene developed.

For three hours he wandered down the history time-line of humanity, until he hit the stinking, blackened factories of the Industrial Revolution. Dirty, smelly, children dressed in rags begged in the street, their pale faces shining through the dirt. They were bare foot mostly, emaciated or were missing limbs from the lack of safety in the factories.

“A time of great upheaval,” he said and walked around a particularly disturbing hollow-eyed waif. “Many people who’d previously worked the land went to the cities to find jobs, but only found long hours and dangerous working conditions. They were paid a pittance and were poverty-stricken for most of their lives. The death rate was appalling by accidents and chronic illness, but compensated for by an increase in birth rates to ensure that some of the children survived to work in the factories. Education was for those who could afford it and not work in the mills and factories. Medicine was still in its infancy and barbaric by current standards, but there were riches to be had for those savvy enough to invest in the inventions that created mass production. It was also a time of social unrest and the genesis of modern society. It was the end of a solely agrarian society and the Western World, as it was known then, made the leap into technology. The Revolution segued into the Atomic Era and…”

“Thank you, Jakariah Mobius Thomas Cretchley, we will resume following an hour’s break.” The woman broke into his speech. “Please be aware that failure to complete this test will result in a downgraded of your marks.”

Jak tugged off the gloves and the tabs and slowly opened his eyes. He lay there for a moment to re-orientate himself to the twenty-sixth century.

History, while interesting, sure could be a drag sometimes.

And that kid, he thought. I wonder what happened to him or her?

He climbed off the recliner and wandered into the kitchen where his mother was watching the soaps on the dimensional projector. A blond-haired actor held a brunette woman in his arms, professing undying love for her and not to go to Capricornica Five with his half-brother by his mother and the man who she thought was her uncle but in reality was actually his uncle who…

“Days of our Lives?” He asked and reached for the sandwich she’d made for him. He bit into it. Neo-beef, coolio.

She waved a hand at him. “Corinne is about to find out that River is really her brother and that his child by his second marriage, that’s Brook, by the way, is actually her…” She turned and looked at him. “Oh! How did it go?”

He shrugged. “Let me put it this way, Mom: I’m sure glad we live in a modern society.” He shook his head and looked at his sandwich. That waif could have done with this. “What those people had to go through, it’s depressing.”

“Without them, we wouldn’t be here, sweetie.” Her eyes drifted to the almost solid holograms cavorting naked in front of her.

“Yeah.” He slumped down next to her and chewed on his sandwich, watched the show. “Think this will get another Oscaremmy this year?” He asked.

“Absolutely, Jak. History, my boy, is all well and good, but you can’t beat real-life drama like this.”

Copyright © 2006 Jaye Patrick

Animal Planet

“…And then I said, “Pal, you wouldn’t know a Xerxitis Scoliatus if you fell over it!” Loria roared with laughter; his companions merely smiled out of politeness.

“Loria.”

The companions cleared their throats, picked up their dinner plates and ambled away from the fire side. Loria turned, squinted up at the woman. “Wassup, CC?”

Cordelia raised a black eyebrow and firmed her mouth. “I will tell you again: Don’t call me ‘CC’. You call me ‘Cordelia’ or ‘Professor Carrington’.”

He touched two fingers to his forehead and flicked them forward. “Right you are, PC.”

“Loria.” He either missed the warning in her tone, or didn’t care.

“Hey, you’re too young to called Professor, and Cordelia sounds like my grandmother’s name.” He gave her what she could only assume was his idea of a charming grin.

Cordelia crouched beside him and lowered her voice. “It seems I wasn’t clear: address me with respect or you will be back at Sirius University cleaning the toilets. I will have your study licence revoked; I will have your teaching privileges suspended or cancelled. Is that simple enough for you?”

His grin turned sour. “Yeah, P…” He cleared his throat. “Yes, Professor Carrington, but…” he shrugged. “It’s a misdemeanour. A slap on the wrist, a chastisement, a note in my file. Every other field trip leader didn’t mind.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep, why old man Gurenburg….”

“Warned me of your disrespect; as did Professors White, Arundel and Vespian. So don’t even try it. This is your last chance, Loria. Those ‘misdemeanours’ have piled up until they have come to the attention of the Dean.”

His blue eyes were hard when they glared at her, but for once, he kept his mouth shut.

“Now, you’re learning. We’ll leave it at that. On to the next item of our agenda. I saw the red-flagged path.”

Loria glanced away, the firelight and shadows emphasised the tightness and rebellion of his shoulders.

Cordelia waited in silence until he finally jerked a shoulder. “This jungle sucks the life right out of a man. It’s hot and wet during the day, hot and damp at night. I ran out of energy.”

“Then you’d better take plenty of water with you tomorrow. I need those traps set by noon. We cannot afford to get too far behind schedule, Loria.”

“Yes, Professor Carrington.” Loria muttered.

Cordelia rose and wandered towards her tent. Loria Drake might be a waste of academia, but he was right about one thing: the planet, nominally called, J-169/3a was a hell of a hot and humid place.

She brushed aside the tent entrance and picked up a towel to wipe her sweating face. Then she sat down at her camp desk and made notes about the day’s discoveries.

J-169/3a had an abundance of wildlife. It was her team’s responsibility to catalogue as many species as possible; and it was a large team: trappers, physiological scanners, zoological sociologists, statisticians; the list went on. And then there was Loria. He was supposed to be an expert zoologist, but Cordelia was beginning to wonder. He was a screw up and a jerk. So far, all he’d been good for was labour. His insights into the animals of this planet were obvious and unhelpful.

But just maybe, she’d instilled in him how dire his situation was becoming.

She shook her head and began writing.

* * *

“One-point-seven-nine-two kilograms, Professor.” Elias Grange picked up the six-legged pale grey furry creature and set it on the ground. It scampered into the undergrowth.

“Excellent.” She wiped her forehead and squinted up. The red-tinged canopy kept the heat and moisture from escaping. For once she wished for a giant buzz saw to cut it all away.

“When do we get to name them?” Grange asked and she lowered her head, smiled at the Doctorate student.

“Name them? Why, that honour belongs to the higher ups, I’m afraid.”

His mouth turned down. “Well that’s disappointing. I was all set to name that creature ‘Fred’.”

“You’re incorrigible, Grange.” She grinned and went to the next trap… or where the next trap was supposed to be.

Grange searched the undergrowth but couldn’t find it. He turned to her with a shrug and went further up the trail.

Cordelia fumed. She warned him, officially and unofficially and still he chose to disregard her; disrespect this mission. Loria was going to be on the next shuttle out.

Grange came back down the path, shaking his head. “There aren’t any more out, Professor. I thought Drake was supposed to be out here early this morning?”

She dragged in a deep breath. “That was my understanding as well.”

“Well,” he scratched his scalp through thinning blond hair. “I saw Loria up and about at dawn loading up some traps, I assumed… but I shouldn’t have, should I? I should have made sure he was going to set them.”

Cordelia slapped his shoulder with affection. “Not your fault, Grange, this is Loria’s. Let’s get back to camp since there is nothing more we can do out here. Get Roger and Melanie out here after lunch to do it. I’ll deal with Loria.”

* * *

The camp was deserted when they arrived, but that wasn’t unusual: all the scientists were out in the field; the admin staff remained to keep the camp in good order and to provide food and communications.

“Grange, could you hunt up something cool to drink for me please?” Cordelia asked and looked around the camp.

“Sure thing, Professor.”

“I’ll either be in my tent, or in the com centre.”

He nodded and wandered over to the open-walled mess tent.

Cordelia went straight to the com tent. She brushed aside the opening and stepped inside. Here, it was cooler with portable aircons to keep the equipment from overheating. Here, too, she found Loria, facing away from her, lounging back in a camp seat, feet up on the table, headset on, gurgling with laughter.

“Oh, Ladoca, you crack me up. Of course they don’t suspect. Hell, I set enough traps to keep them busy for weeks.”

Cordelia stood still; listened to the rest of his conversation, her hot anger easing into cold fury.

“Nah. The planet’s full of ‘em. They’ll fetch some amazing prices at market once we’ve gone. Well, yeah. Another week and this planet will be open to you… Co-ordinates? Yep… Cords might be a professor, but she’s way too trusting. This planet is gonna make us wealthier beyond our dreams, Ladoca, it’s the pot of gold we’ve been looking for.”

Cordelia rose up on her toes. She saw the corner of her records book sitting in his lap and she ground her teeth together. In that book was a description of every animal they’d discovered as well as measurements. Every night, the teams brought their work to her and she transcribed it into the book. If a team lost their notes, she’d have a back up copy and they lost only a day’s worth of that team’s notations.

“Yeah, well, I’ll have another download for you the same time tomorrow. Okay. See you in a week.”

He tugged off the headset and tossed it onto the table, sighed happily and rubbed his hands together.

“So in truth, you’re a black marketeer.” Cordelia said and turned so fast, he nearly fell off the chair.

“How long have you been there? You’re supposed to be out with the traps!”

“Long enough to know your ass will be in prison for a long time.” She sneered. “And we came back early because there weren’t any traps to find.”

Loria’s eyed narrowed. “They’re out on the red path, like you asked. You should be out there.”

Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “You’re done, Drake.”

He shook his head. “I so didn’t want it to come to this.” He tossed her book onto the desk and wrapped his fist around the grip of a darter pistol with a bulging silencer attached.

Cordelia looked at him, then the gun. It fired a group of four razor-sharp, high tensile steel darts.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” She said blandly and he pushed himself up from the chair.

“Nope. You wanted to be rid of me. I’m gonna grant you your wish sooner than expected.” He took a cautious step towards her. “All you have to do is act normal. I’ll go to my tent, collect my gear and we’ll go to the shuttle. We will lift off and rendezvous with the Darwinian. Simple.” He turned and fired into the com unit. It sparked and sizzled. A curl of smoke rose from the ruined unit.

“That was our help line.” Cordelia clenched her hands into fists.

“And now it’s not. Move.”

Cordelia stepped out into the compound. Still empty.

She began walking towards the tent Loria shared with three others.

Grange hailed her and she turned slightly.

“Act normal, CC, or I’ll kill him.” Loria whispered in her ear.

“I got you a lime crush, that okay?” Grange held out a drink pack with the straw already stuck in the top. “Hey, Loria, we didn’t find the traps. Where’d you put ‘em?”

Cordelia took the pack from him and sipped as if she had all day.

“On the red-flagged path.” He pointed to the right of the camp and Grange let out a whoop of laughter.

“Loria! You idiot, that’s the green path! The planetary surveyors’ route!”

Cordelia nearly choked on her drink. Drake was colour-blind? She risked a glance over her shoulder. Drake was red faced - or she thought with a grin, from his perspective, green faced - with embarrassment and anger.

“Listen here you little…” He reigned himself in.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry, but hell, that means there are… jeez, how many traps did you set? On the wrong path.”

“It’s not a ‘wrong’ path, just one we’re not doing yet.” Loria ground out.

Grange grinned at him. “That’s one way of looking at it, I guess.”

Cordelia held the drink pack between her hands, warmed it. She was running out of time. She knew well enough that Drake would not let her live. If he had his way, he’d kill them all and be the lone survivor of a tragic accident.

“Here, Grange, I’m done with this.” She tossed him the almost full pack and kept turning. She glimpsed the gun, aimed low and to the side so Grange wouldn’t see it.

She slapped the gun aside with one hand and brought up a fist, slammed it up under Loria’s chin. His head snapped back.

“Wha?” Grange began but too late.

Cordelia brought her fist up again on a back strike and caught Drake on the cheek as his head came forward. His other hand swung around and he pressed his finger down on the trigger, emptying the clip as he fell to the side.

She felt like she’d been punched herself, but she leapt on Drake as he went down. Using his own momentum, she rolled him onto his stomach and slammed the heel of her hand into his kidneys then wrenched his gun-less hand up his back until his fingers touched his collar, put her knee into his lower back.

“Lose the weapon, or so help me I’ll break your spine.”

Drake tried to struggle as he cursed and swore and spat.

Cordelia glared up at an open-mouthed Grange. “Get the security cuffs, Grange. Now!”

His head bobbed and he turned and ran.

“You little shit.” She twisted his arm and he cried out, arched back. “Better.” She grimaced and hooked her free arm around his throat. “I can break your neck, too. Leverage is a wonderful thing, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“You… you... you’re bleeding like a stuck pig, bitch. How long do you think you’ll last?”

“Long enough to kill you. Now, if I have to.” She leaned back, building the pressure on his neck, cutting off his air.

Grange returned with not only the cuffs, but two admin staff as well, including the formidably built cook.

While she held him, Grange slapped the bonding cuffs around the wrist she held, then the other, and let him go.

Suddenly, she felt light headed and looked down. The son of a bitch winged her!

She sat on the mossy ground and held a hand to her side. Blood, lots of it, trickled between her fingers and she stared at it until her vision greyed, then faded to black.

* * *

“Professor Carrington, it is not in the purview of this university to engage in law enforcement decisions!” Dean Alexander said.

Cordelia opened one eye, then the other. Couldn’t this have waited until I’m back on my feet, damn it? But no, of course not. The head of the University was in full steam and no one, not even his wife could stop him. He would have his say regardless of whether she was conscious enough to listen.

He also had a captive audience.

“You are not Indiana Jane. Planet J-169/3a does not have priceless treasures to protect from the Nasties.”

He also thought himself as a classics film buff.

“And I will not have my people beaten up or nearly murdered for the sake of one world.”

“Dean Alexander.” Cordelia said softly but firmly. “Drake was going to kill me. He’d already destroyed the com unit. No doubt he was planning to do something with the shuttle, too, so it couldn’t come back for us. His black market is too lucrative for something as silly as the team to get in way.”

“Harumph.” Alexander crossed his arms, his tanned face grim, his green eyes concerned. And, she noted, this was the first time she’d seen his white hair uncombed.

“I’ll be fine, Morgan.”

“You’ll be happy to know then,” he grumbled, “that Drake and Ladoca Benregis, from the faculty on Virtua have been indicted and sentenced to life for their crimes.” He patted her hand. “So, you’ll be ready for the jaunt to Q-765/1b next month?”

Cordelia snorted, and winced as a jab of pain shot through her ribs. “Just as soon as the nano-meds are done.”

“No more Indiana Jane?” He scowled at her.

“I’m a xenozoologist, Morgan, I play with animals. How dangerous can they be?”

© 2006 Jaye Patrick

Khanate Justice

“Rath Khan, report to the flight deck; Rath Khan, report to the flight deck.”

The voices in my head receded to quiet whispers, overwhelmed by Commander Grey’s strident demand.

My eyelids lifted slowly. The stark, utilitarian cabin reminded me of my mission, but it was hard, so hard, to resist falling back into the comforting mental embrace of my brethren. I wasn’t ready to let them go and yet, we knew… we… feared what was to come. Most of my brethren were in a similar situation. Unless the Styrix changed their attitude, it fell to me to intervene.

I rose from my cross-legged position in one smooth movement and went to broad bed, dressed carefully in the blood red uniform of the Interpreters Corp I’d laid out earlier.

A number of species, resentful of advanced technology or cultural differences or for whatever reason, warred against Humanity and her allies. The Khanate stepped in to act as neutral interpreters.

Before InterCorp, surrendering ships or ships with peace emissaries aboard died in confrontations because human crews didn’t understand the enemy’s language. Aggressive speech patterns, assumed a precursor to an assault, and not a demand for a ceasefire, routinely resulted in the unfortunate ship’s destruction.

The Khanate prefer peace in the galaxy over the raucous violence of ‘territory grabs’ or the ‘offensive, provocative language’, that often leads to war. Younger species, however, are ill-equipped to negotiate when discovering new things, less so when they covet such wonders in disputed areas.

Few wished to provoke the Khanate, because of the long held rumour we could destroy the fleets with a few ships of our own. Not willing to enter this war as an aggressor or defender, we sent negotiators and translators. We have, after all, been around millennia of millennia and these new races argue like ill-bred children. To teach these creatures proper behaviour, we intervened - as adults do.

Today, the Humans meet with the Styrix, a tall and bulky, furry, three-legged, three-armed species known to us for their treachery. It is the Styrix who are the aggressors in this war and the Khanate have warned them often to modify their culture or risk punitive measures.

I tugged on receptor gloves over my four hands. I could translate without them, but these gave me an added benefit of understanding Styrix thought processes behind the words. I did not need to touch another being with them; they functioned by touching each other, pressed together at the palms. Humans thought we prayed, though the concept was foreign to me.

Dressed, I tucked my second set of arms inside my tunic. It gave the humans comfort, though why they still expressed squeamishness over multi-limbed species after centuries of space travel, only their primitive brains could explain. A visceral fear, I think, of strangeness. Humans were a puzzle with, what appeared to me, missing pieces. They were of different colours, shapes and sizes; sometimes they had fur on their scalps, sometimes not. Their visual apparatus were also different colours, though paired. Binocular vision, like us, and bipedal.

I wondered, secretly, how they could function with only two upper appendages, but it would be impolite to ask about such a disability.

Commander Grey had pale hair and eyes, stood tall for his species and greeted me with a nod when I reached the flight deck.

His eyes shifted to my hidden appendages. I gave him a brief smile, careful not to show pointed teeth. Humans did not like beings with sharp teeth.

“Ma’am.” He held out his arm so I could precede him into the shuttle.

Humans, compared to the Khanate, are short on stature and my knees came up to my chest as I sat in one of the shuttle’s seats, tugged the restraint around my body.

Grey smiled apologetically at my discomfort, as he sat facing me, but I had put up with less comfort and this was a minor thing.

“The Draconis ship, A’cherus, awaits us, ma’am. The Styrix have already boarded.”

I inclined my head. His impatience was obvious, but humans and the Styrix needed to learn that not everything revolved around the speed of duty. Performance mattered. Results mattered. This peace accord would take time, unless one side made a false move. Then it would be finished with a haste that would startle even Commander Grey.

“I hope the Draconians have activated their anti-tampering shields.” I remarked.

Grey stared at me. Doesn’t this silly bint understand that the faster we deal with the bastards the faster we can get out of here? He thought and I gave him a tight smile as images of the Solaran Ship Saratoga appeared in his mind, and fired on the Styrix vessel, destroying it.

“You do not have much hope in a peace settlement?” I asked and he flushed, turned to stare out the porthole.

“I doubt the Styrix are interested, ma’am, all they see is more territory and an opportunity to acquire more ships.”

“Then we shall have to convince them that to do so is unwise.”

I met his sharp glance with one of calm.

“Yes, ma’am.” He said and he sat back.

The trip to the A’cherus was short and I disembarked into a cavernous, dimly lit boat bay. The Draconian ambassador and the A’cherus’ captain waited at the bottom of the ramp.

“Madam Interpreter.” Captain Bane bowed to me. Draconians were small – barely half my near three metre height - but tough with green scales covering his body. His two black eyes blinked at me with an expression of relief. His greeting felt genuine and he firmly believed I could do something about the Styrix. Ambassador Kuros held the same belief.

“If you would accompany us?” Captain Bane smiled, displaying his impressive, double row of teeth. I grinned back at him, showed him mine.

In the conference room, three large Styrix warriors held six Draconian officers hostage against the bulkhead, multi-bladed knives at their throats.

A fourth Styrix sat on a modified chair glaring at the Draconians. “You offer insult; we will take retribution.” He snarled.

“Rust’ok, this is not the way to a peaceful solution.” Captain Bane barked. “Release my people.”

I noticed he left off any courtesy as I translated his words.

“I could claim this ship as my own. You are weaklings against the might of the Styrix.” Rust’ok sneered.

Bane stepped aside, revealing… me and the Ambassador sat up.

“Khan.” He said and his dark brown face eased to pale amber.

He’d known a member of the Khanate was coming, but from his thoughts, he hadn’t actually believed it. He’d thought it a scare tactic and now, he rearranged his thinking.

“Ambassador Rust’ok.” I bowed my head a little and removed my second arms from their bindings. “It would be more polite not to intimidate our hosts.”

Rust’ok jerked his head and his warriors eased back. They formed up behind their ambassador and the Draconians scurried to the other end of the table, behind their Captain.

“We shall get started.” I said and took a seat at the middle of the table, held my hands together.

“You have no business here, Khan.” Rust’ok glared at me. “This is between Humans and Styrix.”

The images in his head were of anger and his desire to see me tortured; his revelling in such an act. I saw that the pain of others was a joy to him. I said nothing and turned to Ambassador Kuros. “If you would please begin.”

What started out badly, descended into worse with demands and counter-demands, claims and counter-claims, accusation and counter-accusation. Each side clearly had images to back up their speeches, but it was the Styrix whose actions were the worst since they started the war. I saw clearly that Rust’ok had no defence, no matter what he said. In his mind, his species claimed more and more planets for the simple pleasure of oppressing the population into servitude for the might of the Styrixian war machine. If left unchecked…

When the yelling started, I had enough. When the Styrixian warriors drew their blades again, I was done being the interpreter and rose from my seat.

“Sheathe your weapons, warriors.” I demanded and held out my two lower hands.

The warriors growled and looked to their ambassador who grinned at me, as if there was nothing I could do.

“Ambassador Rust’ok, order your men to sheathe their weapons.” I said again.

“These talks are useless and the Khanate knows it. They, and by extension you, will not proactively enter into this war. You never fight. You are about talking, not action.” He rose from his own seat. “I have decided that this ship will make a nice addition to the fleet. My own ships surround this vessel as we speak.”

His hand fisted. “We will crush the Humans and any who stand in our way, including the pathetic Khanate.”

I gave him a sharp-toothed smile. “The Styrixian habit of treachery continues, I see.”

Rust’ok laughed and nodded. “Did you expect anything else?”

I drew in a breath, eased it out.

“Ambassador Rust’ok, you and your people are at a crossroad. The Styrix can continue its aggressive ways and accept the punishment involved. The Styrix can initiate peace negotiations for the current situation. The Styrix can accept they are wrong and move out of the captured territories to pre-war standings.” I paused, for effect, yes, but also because no member of the Khanate had offered what I was about to in a thousand years. The weight of that responsibility lay heavy on my shoulders. “Or the Styrix can be interdicted.” I said and Rust’ok and his warriors laughed again.

“We will only lay down our arms when all planets and peoples are ours in all the known galaxies. Surely you know this.” His smug confidence nibbled at my patience.

Rust’ok confirmed the conclusions of my mental discussion with other members of the Khanate, and it saddened me. I would do my duty, but not without regret.

“Yes, Rust’ok, I do. I trust in Styrixian deception as I trust in the Alliance’s integrity and honour. The question, however, is whether you trust me to do what I will do in light of this.”

The glee in the Ambassador’s eyes dimmed as he thought about what I, personally, could do to him. His answer wasn’t flattering.

“You cannot threaten me, little Khan, you are mine to do with what I will. Long have the Khanate sat by and watched the slaughter and slavery of billions. You are weak, as are all the older races. The Styrix are confident that you will, yet again, do nothing for fear of us. We are in the ascendancy. We will rule all. None have stood against us and none will.”

“Then you are much too secure in your own culture, Rust’ok, in your arrogance that the Khanate can do nothing, in your faith in the dominance of Styrixian aggression. That ends here, and now.” I pressed the palms of my upper hands together, then the lower ones and began to hum. A low vibration settled in my chest and built as I closed my eyes to concentrate. The fizz of power through my blood sought to distract me and I focused on the Khanate desires.

“What are you doing?” Rust’ok asked, as if he could feel the vibrations. He probably could. The humans behind me shifted uneasily.

The humming increased and I pushed the sound into my arms, down to my hands and pushed it out towards the warriors; snapped my eyes open as the blades shattered.

Each warrior snarled at me and tried to approach, but I held them still by force of mind alone. The bass of the vibrations reflected in the deepness of my voice and I said the Khanate words not spoken in generations.

“Let all who hear this know that the Styrix are sanctioned for unrepentant aggression against minor beings. Let all who hear this know that the Styrix are banished to their world for crimes against the galaxy and for as long it pleases the Khanate.” I said and cut off the humming. The subsonic words, boosted by a Khanate mind, flashed to all the Khanate minds awaiting them.

Rust’ok stared at me. “What did you do, little Khan?”

“You are done, Rust’ok. You have forced the Khanate to act.” I lowered my hands, kept them joined as his mind filled with confusion.

“Khanate ships are moving in on your positions, Styrix. We will capture any Styrixian vessel. Captured ships will then be returned to Styrixian space, their crews offloaded and the ships destroyed. All space faring vessels are sanctioned, Rust’ok; you are now a pre-space faring race.” I gave him a smile as his jaw chewed on the information and softened my voice. “The Khanate will watch over your people.”

“You have done nothing but speak jibberish!” He roared and I lifted a hand, held him in place.

“Contact your ship, Ambassador. You will find your engines off-line, your weapons inactive, your shields down, but your people safe.”

I waited while he did as I asked, his expression becoming more infuriated.

“We will find a way to destroy you.” He growled. “All of you!” He slashed a hand down as if in final judgement.

“We warned you of the consequences, Styrixian, and you chose to ignore them. This ends the war. Go now, back to your ship.” I set the command into his mind and he nodded, albeit unwillingly. He could not resist the mind of Khan, no species could. That power made us aware of our responsibilities to the universe and to its balance.

We could rule the galaxy; instead, we chose to watch, to teach, and to intervene when necessary.

The Styrixians marched out of the room, headed to their own shuttle under my imperative.

“Madam Khan.” Ambassador Kuros touched a sleeve. “What just happened?”

I felt a surge of embarrassment. I had not interpreted a single word after standing. The humans had no idea of the consequences.

“I apologise, Ambassador, Captain.” I gave them both a deep bow. “Your war is over, you can go home.”

Silence greeted my words and I stood straight, tucked my lower arms into my tunic.

Again, confusion reigned in their minds.

“As instructed by the Khanate,” I explained, “I gave the Styrixians an ultimatum of peace or sanction. They did not choose peace.”

“What does that mean?” Captain Bane asked.

“They are now a planet-bound species. Until they learn the error of their ways, they will remain confined to their own system.”

Bane whistled in surprise. “But the Khanate doesn’t…” He cut himself off, embarrassed by his gaffe.

“The Khanate does, Captain, but only when a limit has been reached.”

Kuros narrowed his eyes. “You knew what would happen before you arrived aboard the A’cherus.” He accused and I smiled.

“Species are predictable in their attitudes, Ambassador. We gave the Styrixians opportunities to change their ways; they did not. We then studied their culture all the way back to the beginnings of their civilisations. Once we understood their development, we knew they would never accept peace unless forced upon them by someone stronger than they.”

I tilted my head and looked at the Human, then Draconian. “I trust I have made the Khanate position absolutely clear?”

Copyright © Jaye Patrick 2007

Hard yards

Strip? This… man wanted me to… strip?

“Why?” I asked and he scowled. It turned his blunt features from disagreeable to plain ugly.

“You don’t ask me questions! I ask you questions and you obey without hesitation! Do you get me, recruit?”

I tried a smile. “There’s some misunder…”

“You either get your clothes off now, or I’ll take ‘em off.” He growled and stepped closer. He was the size of the counter guard and I took a step back.

“Look, Mr…”

He gave me an evil grin and pulled out a long, black stick, turned it on and the weapon buzzed. “You have ten seconds to comply.”

While I could have disarmed him, further escape would be… difficult. I had a locked behind me and the door behind him led further into Security. Better to comply and see what happened next, than be zapped unconscious and lose an intelligence gathering opportunity.

That Randall betrayed me into this situation was a given; I’d trusted him, trusted the chip he gave me and trusted the form I signed without reading it properly, well… that was on me.

“Four, three…” The man counted down with an evil, predatory grin.

I doubt any man in history could have me out of my clothes in seconds, but for this goon I was standing naked before he finished ‘zero’.

With a grunt of disappointment, he lifted the stick. I stood straight as he approached, tried to intimidate me, but I’d kick him into next week if he tried anything. I made sure he saw that in my eyes.

He sucked at his teeth and raised the stick over my head, as if to strike me down, his eyes on mine. I held his gaze and he lowered the baton, horizontally, down my body to my toes, then up again.

He stepped back and I held onto a sigh of relief. The baton beeped and again, he grunted. “Get dressed. You’re clean.”

I remained where I was and he glared at me.

“Unless you wanna try and make good on your dare?”

I waited until he moved back to the other side of the room, the grey metal desk between us, and then climbed into my clothes.

“I’m Sergeant Bakhtir, Ms Sagar…” He said and opened a drawer on the left-hand side to the desk. He pulled out a black square box and fitted the end of the stick into the top.

A data wand? Masquerading as baton? Wait a minute, did he say ‘Sagar’ not ‘Sagan’?

“As of now, you are a private in the Sagan Security Force.” He didn’t look at me, merely studied the data on the reader. “You’ve signed up for six years, which is good. You’ll go from here to the Sagan Training Facility on Amerigo for a year of intensive training in unarmed combat, armed combat, intelligence, protocol, astrography, tactics and other subjects essential to your safety, the safety of your comrades and the safety of Sagan Industries.” He paused in his recitation.

“My name is Sagan, with an ‘n’, Rhianna Sagan.”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “According to these records, including DNA, you are Raina Sagar, so don’t try and bullshit me. Though I will note down the alias.”

That evil little prick! Only Uncle Randall would have the technology at hand to falsify my identity.

“It says here you used to be a bounty hunter.” He glanced up at me then back at the datapad.

“I still am!”

Bakhtir snorted. “And yet, here you are.”

Not for long, I thought.

“I can give you credits for some of your skills, but they’ll need to be assessed, and not by me. Once your training is complete, you’ll be assigned a regiment and…”

“A… regiment? Just how big is Sagan Security?”

“Big enough to take on a system defence and stomp on it. We have ground forces, of which you’ve generously applied for, air and space contingents for rebel suppression... we are the largest, most well provisioned outfit there is in the known galaxy.” I could see the pride in his expression.

“So… Sagan Security is basically a private fleet?”

“Yep. Who do you think protects this system? The government? They don’t have the resources. They outsourced protection years ago, but you’ll get a thorough grounding in the history on Amerigo. Suffice to say we represent Columbus’s military and you’re now part of the Sagan contingent.”

Incredible, I thought and I knew only the government and Sagan knew about this. A dirty secret that contravened the World Council’s edicts on who provided security for what worlds.

“But…”

Bakhtir raised an eyebrow, turned so I could see the shoulder flash on his left shoulder: A yellow triangle with a red ‘C’ in the centre. “There a few governments who can do what we can. Just remember that.” He warned. “If the populace knew how tenuous, how thin, their protection truly was… how easy raiders could come down on them without Sagan, there’d be a major panic. That’s why Sagan has the contract from the government.”

I shifted my feet. He was right. Financing a private fleet was hugely expensive and for other worlds, it came out of taxes and high prices. But the reason Columbus flourished was because of reasonable taxes. Sagan provided manpower and materiels, but how did… and then I knew: profit sharing. Was it as simple as that?

Sagan protected the planet and the government paid up in money from local taxes, import taxes and reduced export fees?

“I see you’re beginning to see how it’s done.” Bakhtir commented with approval.

“Sagan wins all around.” I murmured. “Cheaper exports so more people can buy goods thus increasing the bottom line. Tax credits for everything Sagan Security needs, and the government also pays Sagan for services rendered.”

“Very good.”

Yes, it really was that simple. Sagan would make profits hand over fist from everyone.

“It also means we’re well paid for what we do.” He flicked a button on the data pad. “Right then, if you’ll follow me, we’ll head straight for the shuttle.”

The shuttle to Amerigo, Columbus’s moon.

I needed time to think. I didn’t want to be a part of Sagan Security. I wanted back on the Blue Dragon, hunting down evil-doers and getting paid for it. I didn’t want to spend six years in a private army. I didn’t want to be cannon fodder to whatever cause the government or Sagan decided on. I wanted the freedom of space. I wanted to hunt down Rahman and get my money back. I wanted to go upstairs and beat the snot out of Randall.

But Bakhtir waited, stared at me expectantly. Once I walked through the door, my life was over. I’d have no control at all. Six years.

And yet if I tried to escape, Sagan Security would hunt me down, drag me back or worse. And given the size of the organisation, was there anywhere I could hide and still continue as a bounty hunter?

Not unless I wanted to try the uncharted territories and I’d only find my doom sooner.

Bakhtir raised an eyebrow.

What choice did I have? Randall, once again, had taken control from me. I knew he’d be upstairs, grinning over his disposal of the one heir who could dethrone him, ruin him.

He didn’t trust me either, no matter how many times I protested I didn’t want anything to do with the company. The simple act of accessing my inheritance provoked him to action. Was he that insecure?

All I had to do was survive the next six years, return, and kill that fucker dead. Chances were, I die before my contract was up. Randall would make sure of it.

I slowly crouched and sealed my boots. The desk was between me and Bahktir and he stepped to the side, away from the door to see what I was doing. I pivoted away from him.

“What are you doing? We haven’t got all day, the shuttle leaves in an hour and you’re gonna be on it.”

“Making sure my boots are on properly.” I murmured.

“Speak up!”

“I said…” I turned back, rose from my crouch and slammed the heel of my hand into his crotch. Bahktir folded over and I followed through with a fist to his chin. He fell back, hit the wall and slid down, his eyes glazed.

I went to him, hit him again and he sagged sideways.

Breathing hard, I took the data wand and the pad, picked up my backpack. As I thought, the wand opened the door.

Now for the hard part: getting through the rest of Sagan Security.

It proved easier than expected. As long as I kept my head down and studied the data pad, no one asked any questions. With a distracted glance, I pressed the elevator button.

The expectation of a shout of alarm behind me tightened my shoulders, but I heard only the murmurs of staff going about their business.

The doors slid open and I stepped inside, still keeping my head down. I pressed the ground floor and only looked up as the doors closed.

I had to get to the spaceport fast, and once outside, I hailed a transport.

“One hundred credits to get me to ‘port as fast as you can.” I said to the driver, then groaned as I saw it was a ‘bot.

“Gratuity unnecessary.” It said and slowly pulled into traffic.

Why couldn’t I get an organic with a sense of adventure? Who saw the trip as a challenge?

I kept looking back, expecting pursuit until I realised, they didn’t need to pursue me; they could shut down the docking bay with a word to the Dock Master.

I wiped my palms on my legs and tried to think what to do. I was a Hunter, surely I could think of something?

But nothing occurred to me as the transport stopped outside the docks. I inserted the credit chip into the fare machine and the green light accepted the charge.

Outside the vehicle, I studied the area. Men and women in grey coveralls moved about the apron, shuttles zipped into the atmosphere or gushed exhaust as they landed.

“You comin’ in or daydreamin’?” The thin Sagan Security guard with wheat coloured hair at the shack asked.

Shit on a stick.

Well, he was one man. I could take him if necessary.

I walked up to him, handed over my ident card and he checked it off with a frown. I swallowed hard, but then he handed it back. “All clear on docking fees, refuelling and resupply. Have a good trip, Hunter.”

I held my breath as I strolled past him, then broke into a run towards my own shuttle.

Was Sagan letting me escape? No, Randall wouldn’t accept that. Something else was going on here. But I checked over the shuttle, then went inside to the pilot controls.

I mentally crossed my fingers and fired the engines. I hooked the mic around my ear.

“Columbus control, this is the Dragon's Egg shuttle.”

“Dragon's Egg, Columbus control, go ahead.” A man replied with briskness.

“I am preparing to launch, do you have a window for me, over?”

“Affirmative, Dragon's Egg, launch in one-two minutes.”

Twelve minutes. Twelve minutes in which the whole of Sagan Security could descend upon my head. I forced myself to wait, to go through all the pre-flight checks, and still I had another six minutes.

My neck muscles tightened as I watched the clock, my shoulders tensed and I kept an eye on the perimeter sensors, expecting a battalion of black uniforms at any moment. Sweat trickled down the side of my face and my heart pounded. Every time I looked at the countdown, seconds passed.

As a form of torture, waiting for the hammer to fall was the worst.

And then… the clock dialled down. I gripped the half steering wheel and pressed the button on top of the left edge.

I felt the gravity as the shuttle rose, but I was in the air, shooting skywards towards the Blue Dragon, my home – and no one tried to stop me!

* * *

The feeling of safety is relative. In space, for example, any number of things can kill you: a micro-meteorite through an unshielded hull, a bad fuel cell, not enough water, or spoiled food.

For my current situation, safety meant getting as far away from Columbus as possible. So I punched in a course for Agreebo, an alien planet on the far side of the galaxy and one step before the uncharted territories. On the way, I could examine my options, of which there were precious few.

The journey to the hyper-limit took time, two days, in fact, and I stayed up the first twenty-four hours manically checking for pursuit. But for a large cargo vessel, no one was heading my way.

As a measure to relax, I brought up the Bounty Board on the info-link. Maybe someone needed catching out on the border.

I ran through the system names - there were a few possibilities – and then brought up names. The good news? Rahman was listed with a blue icon for information only.

The bad news? Raina Sagar’s name had a red icon for kill on sight for the murder of a Sagan Security Recruitment Officer and no self-respecting bounty hunter would look at that name and not think of me.

© Copyright 2008 Jaye Patrick

Hard Break

Remembered fear held me in place as Uncle Randall walked around me. He’d combed his black hair back from his broad forehead, his dark blue eyes sparkled and not a line nor wrinkle or ounce of fat showed for fifty-six years of perverted indulgence.

He breathed in. “You smell so good, Rhianna, not the little girl anymore, but a fully developed playmate.”

“Not yours.” I said. “Never yours again.”

Randall laughed and walked across the dusky grey carpet to his desk. “Come, sit down, Rhianna, we have much to discuss.”

I felt the tension ease from my shoulders and neck. Once upon a time, he’d’ve been on me like a Rith catling on a Belbow rat. Now, he merely smiled.

He raised an eyebrow. “Rhianna, I’m aware neither you nor I have time for reminiscences. Please. Sit.”

I didn’t trust him. “Why did you over-ride the elevator?”

“Would you have come to me of your own accord? No, I didn’t think so.”

“What do you want?”

That broadened his smile. “A great many things, but for now, for you to sit so we can go over a few business issues.”

“I have no business with you or this company.” I turned away to the elevator doors.”

“Ah, but you do. Once you accessed your inheritance, certain… things changed within the company. Not the least, your role in it.”

I walked over to the desk, seething with resentment and anger. “I have nothing to do with the company. Never have, never will.”

His amusement vanished like a snowflake in boiling water. “You don’t know how much I wish that were true.”

Bitterness swirled in his tone.

“What did he do?” I asked. Randall knew whom I meant. A sick and twisted soul lived in Ryan, my evil father, and he would do his damnedest – even from the grave – to mess with people.

Randall sighed, as if suddenly exhausted. He leaned back in his chair, waved to a visitor’s seat and I finally sat down.

“On securing your inheritance, Ryan also set up caveats. And yes, I agreed with him at the time. Now…” he snorted. “It doesn’t matter. You’re going to have a role in this company or everything, and I mean everything, is to be sold off and the money given to a list of organisations that would benefit most from his… largesse. People like the New Luddites, the Organisation for Indigenous Minorities Armed Action, Gene Action…”

Anti-technology, terrorists and genetic slavery. Typical of him to want to finance the worst of humanity and alien races.

“And I care about this… why?”

“Because it includes your inheritance and any item you’ve purchased with Sagan money – corporate or personal.”

I felt the blood leave my face and a chill flashed across my skin.

My ship. I’d financed it through my own hard work and a loan from a Sagan subsidiary.

“The bastard.” I whispered. “He can’t do this!”

“Well, he did. With malice and forethought. We have to find a way around it. I refuse to lose this company to the whim of a madman. And I can see you refuse to lose everything you’ve worked for as well.”

“That mongrel dog of a…” I got to my feet, paced with outrage. “… evil prick of a scum sucking, base born, bottom feeder!” I could walk out and try another way to finance my Hunter career, but that would mean apprenticing again; starting from zero, and I didn’t play well with others. I’d spent years on my own, I couldn’t take orders from others, I’d mutiny.

“If he wasn’t dead already, I’d kill him myself.” Randall said quietly. “We both stand to lose everything unless we can come up with a solution.”

A solution? Daddy-dearest had mouse-trapped me from the great beyond! I knew what I’d done to warrant this treatment: I’d walked out on the family home as soon as I overheard plans for him to pimp me out to his cronies. I think I was fifteen, and I never saw him again – not in person. A solution would be to wake the dead and kick the shit out of him. Ryan Sagan never let anyone or any thing escape him for long.

But… was there a real solution? Best to find out how deep the shit went.

“Did he say in what capacity he wanted me to work?”

“That’s the good news. The caveat says is that you’re to work, and be paid by, the company. The bad news is that you have to choose from a list of departments.”

I stopped pacing. “I don’t want to work for Sagan in any role. I have my own life.”

“Here’s the list.” Randall pushed a sheet of paper toward me.

I stared down at the neatly printed words: Astrophysics, Construction, Contracts – Agricultural, Contracts – Corporate, Contracts – Legal, Defence Materiel, Diplomatic, Finance, Genetic Research, Personnel, Political Negotiations.

Nothing of interest to me; at all. Any of them would bore me to tears.

“I hate him. I hate him so… much.”

“With a deep and abiding passion.” Randall said and I lifted my head. “I do, too.”

“And yet you allowed this.”

He lifted a shoulder. “It was either that, or he’d cut me out totally. Worse, I was young when this was done; young, foolish, and full of malice.”

“There’s no way we can ignore my accessing the inheritance? Forget I was here?”

Randall shook his head. “Unfortunately, Sarah Carpenter is one of the most efficient people we have. As soon as you signed on the dotted line, she submitted everything electronically. It’s in the system.”

“The bitch.” I muttered.

“And if you try to get off Columbus without an official Sagan ident chip, you’ll be refused and your assets confiscated.”

“So I’m stuck here.”

“For now.”

“And that is way too long. I have places to go; people to hunt.” I sank into maudlin thoughts. Chained to an overpopulated world, with people chattering away until I went insane. Bounties laughing at me. The Hunters oozing mock sympathy as they registered for another Hunt. This was going to kill me.

Randall cleared his throat and I looked at him.

“You’ll have to choose before you leave my office, I’m afraid.”

“Or I set the sale in motion.” I said and he nodded.

I picked up the list again, mentally crossed off anything to do with money - I was useless at figures – and anything resembling talking politely to people. Astrophysics was out too: numbers, again. Construction, Contracts, Defence Materiel and Genetic Research remained. Contracts was out – too much reading of fine print, so was genetics. I knew nothing about it and didn’t want to know. So. Construction or Defence?

“Defence.” I muttered and slid the sheet back.

Randall allowed a small smile and turned to his keyboard. “Good choice. We have a number of jobs available.”

“Like what? Counting weapons?”

“No. Like… test pilot?” He glanced at me.

“I like to be sure of my ships, Randall.”

“Okay…” he murmured and studied the screen. “Personnel is out. No, not advanced weaponry, nor supplies…” He continued to talk to himself.

I stood and went to the window, stared down at the city. Buildings stretched to the horizon and beyond. Down below, I could imagine the teeming masses of people, both human and alien alike, all getting in each other’s way, talking, yelling, moving… I needed to go. Needed to get back into space where silence ruled.

“Hmm.” Randall murmured. “MIS.” And then he laughed with delight.

“What?” I turned back to him and he swivelled towards me.

“MIS.” He said with a smile. “Military Investigation Service.”

“A spook. You want me to be a spook?”

“It solves your problem and mine.”

“How?”

“Because, dear niece of mine, MIS investigate anyone who acts against Sagan. It means MIS can send you out on any mission where Sagan is involved.”

It had good points, but I’d still be a Sagan slave, beholden to the company, no longer a bounty hunter, and I had one last target to…

Then it hit me. I could track Rahman. “I can hunt down anyone who acts against Sagan? Corporate or personal?”

Randall inclined his head. “Your priority would be corporate, but any personal issues could be dealt with as well.”

I narrowed my gaze, suspicious. “Why are you doing this? Why free me from debt, give me access to Sagan accounts? Why give me a choice at all? You could stick me in Finance and be done with me.”

Randall turned back to his screen. “In everyone’s life, there should be good to go with the bad.”

Not even close to the truth, but I’d accept the answer. For now. Randall was up to something. Redemption wasn’t in his vocabulary.

I stepped away from the window, sat back down. “All right, what do I do now?”

He pressed a button and chip slid out of the bottom of the screen. He tossed it to me.

“Take that to the twentieth floor. They’ll understand and know what to do next.”

Again, suspicion snuck up on me. “Oh, they will, will they? I’m guessing you had this planned before you saw me enter the building.”

“You’d be guessing right, Rhianna. I’ve been waiting for this day for some time.”

I heard an alarm go off in my head. “Why?”

“Because if you hadn’t accessed your inheritance by the time you turned twenty five, the sale would go ahead.” He looked like a man who’d dodged a bullet; his demeanour turned back to the congenial benefactor and still I didn’t trust him. “Send me a copy of the will.”

“It will be waiting for you when you reach MIS.” He stood then, and held out his hand. “Thank you, Rhianna and good luck.” He said softly.

Whatever else he was, Randall was still family and I shook his hand.

* * *

The twentieth floor looked like a recruitment station. Men and women walked around as if they had places to go and people to kick. Their black uniforms crisp and perfect. I could see the stylised shoulder flashes: a black double ‘s’ with sharp corners instead of smooth curves of the ‘s’, all highlighted by sliver edges.

I walked up to the counter. The big Sagan Security man with chevrons on his sleeve glanced up from his paperwork with an absent smile.

“May I help you?” He asked in a pleasant and deep voice as he stood. He oozed confidence and charm from the top of his short black hair down to his highly polished black combat boots.

I handed him the chip and he inserted it into a reader. His smile grew, became infectious and I grinned back.

“Ah, Ms Sagan. Welcome to Security.”

“I thought this was Defence Materiels.”

“Oh, it is. We’re the… front, I guess you’d say. Sign here,” he put a sheet of paper in front of me, “and press your thumb here for DNA registration.” He held out a small black box. I did the DNA first and tried to read the sheet. A lot of legalese, most of which I didn’t understand.

“Since Defence is a secured area, we like to put a show of force up front to stop anyone who might not serve in the best interests of Sagan. Of course, Security is a part of Defence and we go everywhere in the known galaxy to protect Sagan – finished? No? Well, Sagan has a lot of companies off world, you know, and on the frontier. We can’t have enemies of the system trying to gazump our work.”

Gazump? Was that even a word? He continued to talk and wave his hand. Finally I just signed the damned document and shoved it back to him.

His ebullience vanished.

He picked up the paper and slid it into a slot. A green light flashed and he grinned.

“Six years. Good for you.”

Hands clamped around my upper arms. “Hey!” They dragged me backwards and looked over my shoulder. A door opened and the goons dragged me through into another room. This had a grey metal desk and door on the other side.

The men let me go and backed out, closed the door. When I went to open it, it was locked. What the hell?

Behind me, the second door opened and another black uniformed security guy came in. He looked… mean.

“Welcome to Sagan Security Forces, puke, now strip!”

© Copyright Jaye Patrick 2008