Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (29 page)

“Move as quickly as you can,” I urged. “I’ll wait until you pass before I fire on him.”

She rolled onto her side to see under the chairs. She clutched a maimed left hand below where the terrorist’s weapon had burned away part of her little and most of her ring finger. She breathed steadily despite the pain. “Do me a favor,” she said without accent. “Don’t wait. Just kill that bastard!”

Above the ringing in my ears, I heard distant sizzling of metal followed by renewed screaming. “That’s the plan,” I said. “Keep moving.” I peered over a row of the chairs. The terrorist had hunkered down in a corner. With obvious deliberation, he was pointing above the main docking hatch. I spied a large area of corroded metal near the ceiling. His goal was to burn through the outer hull.

I stood and fired at the terrorist. He ignored me, his shield absorbing everything. His long-range fire proved accurate. I slid in my last load of shells, wondering if he was almost out. I pulled my bayonet. “If he burns through, we’re all dead anyway,” I mumbled, fixing the blade to the end of my shotgun.

I hopped over the first row of chairs. The dancer turned and looked at me from a distance. I shrugged and hopped over the second row before moving toward the end of the row. Some of the passengers had managed to pry up the hatch leading to the colonists an inch or two. I couldn’t hear the hull sizzling over the pounding and screams, but my eyes confirmed continued progress. I steeled myself. “Be seeing you soon,” I whispered to God.

Flashes sped by. I glanced over the row to see Club standing about twenty yards away, laying into him with her heavy laser. If her recovered firepower couldn’t burn through the Crax shield, my shotgun never would. But my bayonet might penetrate. Club’s fire would cover my final move. Oblivious to me and ignoring her, he continued his assault on the hull.

Just after I spun around and charged with bayonet raised, Club’s blast burned through, taking the man in the chest. With a grunt of surprise, he collapsed.

I looked over my shoulder at Club who simply shook her head and laughed. The engineering tech next to her stood, puzzled.

The terrorist’s body began frothing from within. I maneuvered my bayonet and stabbed at the right hand of the terrorist, detaching the little finger before it was consumed. My eyes began watering as I flicked the severed digit across the floor before backing away from the gruesome sight.

I coughed and blinked, attempting to clear my eyes. Club barked orders to the engineering tech, who ran toward the hatch. The dancer was standing, holding her injured hand. Tahgs ran toward me, while the fearful clamor subsided.

“Kra!” cried Tahgs. “Are you okay?” She pulled up short.

“I am.” My throat stung but my vision was better. “You are, too?”

She nodded. I surveyed the scene. “Tahgs, I have to secure the area and see to the passengers.” I spotted the approaching dancer.

“Right,” Tahgs agreed, still trying to catch up with events.

“Escort Ms. Jazarine to Medical,” I said. “Report the incident. Remain with her until relieved or directed otherwise by Security.”

“Who?” Then she turned to see the dancer. At first Tahgs looked upset until she spotted the dancer’s hand. She bit her lower lip. “Please follow me, Ms. Jazarine.”

The dancer was stiff with pain, but still gazed at me, and then along my shotgun to the bayonet. Her eyes sparkled. “Thanks for trying, Specialist,” she said, reviving her accent. “But your superior got him first.”

Mankind’s knowledge base increased exponentially early into the 21st century, but the learning curve wasn’t able to keep pace. Efforts to overcome this with artificial intelligence, including neural assisting microchip implants, ended in dismal failure. As a result, the knowledge curve leveled to a slow, steady climb, with occasional sporadic increases. This appears to be the model for all intragalactic species.

I finished dictating my incident report and waited while Specialist Club completed her debriefing in the captain’s office. Ensign Selvooh, working at his desk, ensured no one disturbed me. He was the only other crewmember besides the captain, her XO, and the navigator who’d retained their active military rank. In a crisis, would he be fourth in the chain of command after the chief navigator? Or would Chief Brold or the chief engineer? I refocused and re-ran the violent sequence through my head, straining to recall any unrecorded detail.

The door opened and Specialist Club strode past, exiting without acknowledging Ensign Selvooh or myself. I stood. Selvooh advised, “Captain Tilayvaux will signal when she is ready for you, Specialist Keesay.”

I sat back down, knowing that at least I was second. Tahgs, and the rest of the involved crew were waiting in isolation. Ensign Selvooh kept his dark, freckled face straight as he worked. “Routine work, Ensign?”

“Not exactly, Specialist. I’m organizing the crew’s individual incident reports into one summary brief.”

“For the lawyers?” Two passengers killed by the offender and fourteen injured, the majority being sprains or light contusions brought on by panic.

“Among others.” He sighed. “You know the procedure.”

“Correct.” I knew the lawyers wouldn’t want any corporate representative to influence recollections. “How long will this delay departure?”

“The departure schedule hasn’t changed.” He held a hand up to his ear. “They are ready for you.” He went back to work.

I wiped the surprise from my face before the door slid open. I halted next to a hard plastic seat, across
the desk from Chief Brold, Captain Tilayvaux, and a yellow-tied lawyer. The polished mahogany desk looked old but well maintained and its inset computer was deactivated. Specialist Liu sat to my right, recording.

The captain’s face was round and soft, almost puffy. But her eyes were hard, framed by blonde bangs cut straight across the brow. “Nice to meet you, Specialist Keesay. Be seated.” Her voice was scratchy. Despite that, she spoke with precise enunciation. On the wall behind her hung an oil painting depicting a pack of wolves bringing down a bull moose.

Captain Tilayvaux glanced at the chief to her right, then the lawyer on her left. “We have reviewed portions of the confrontation provided by security monitors, until they were interrupted by the offender’s device. We have reviewed your report. It matches the security recordings and Specialist Club’s observations.” She leaned forward. “Do you have anything to add?”

“No, Captain,” I said evenly. “I do not.”

She nodded to the chief. “Relax, Keesay,” he said. “We find no fault with your actions. As a matter of fact, we had one gentleman involved who offered to buy out your contract.” He waited for a response.

Was there a question? I looked at the lawyer. The tie’s yellow was largely masked by black designs. Probably the best they could get on short notice.

“Conversing is part of a debriefing, Keesay,” said the chief. “Don’t fret. Anything said here remains with the company. It’ll never see the light of day in a courtroom.” I knew the chief approved of my caution. “Do you know to whom I am referring, Specialist?”

“I believe you would be referring to Mr. Habbuk of the Chiagerall Institute.”

“Yes, and what did he say just prior to the incident?”

“He indicated that there was going to be trouble.”

“And how did he know this?”

“I do not know, Chief.”

“Speculate,” Chief Brold said, leaning back in his lightly padded chair. “Could he have been associated with the offender?”

“He could have been, but I don’t believe so,” I answered, confirming the orientation in my head. “Mr. Habbuk is taller and was facing the scanning stations. I was facing away. He may have detected some suspicious movement or action by the offender. That may have tipped him off.”

“We reviewed the images,” stated the captain. “He warned you prior to any overt action taken by the offender.”

I remained cautious in answering. “That may be true. I cannot attest to that. I was not facing the offender.”

“Is it possible he utilized precognition?” asked the lawyer.

I almost snickered. “I don’t believe in seers or fortune tellers.”

“Then how do you explain his foreknowledge of events?”

I considered
a moment before responding. The Chiagerall Institute is well respected in many circles and its personnel, resources, and research are sought after, especially by corporations with substantial assets. But some of the articles published by its research staff are highly speculative with little foundation and outside collaborative support. Most notably, the speculative studies involving foreseeing an event’s occurrence. “He may have seen an expression or subtle movement which tipped him off.”

“Your supervisor did not recognize whatever Mr. Habbuk might have seen.”

He was a true believer. “Mr...?”

“Mr. Elzo Boyden,” the lawyer informed me, “Fourth Class Security Specialist Keesay.” He ended with a tone of dismissal.

“Mr. Boyden, I cannot speak to the observations or actions of Specialist Club. Or any of the medical or tech staff. My back was to the situation.” I reminded myself not to automatically despise a lawyer. This one was on Negral’s side, but what was his angle? Was he looking to be recruited by Mr. Habbuk?

Before the lawyer could respond, the chief cut in. “Why did you order the offender to advance on the right line?”

It was in my report but I restated it anyway. I’d have to thank the chief for redirecting the conversation. It rarely pays to upset a lawyer, especially one on your side. “Because he appeared apprehensive. I believed he was concerned with Specialist Club’s identification of potential unauthorized components. I felt he might have contraband items as well.”

“Did you direct the sec-bot to monitor a woman?” asked Mr. Boyden. “A Ms. Jazarine?”

Again, reported. “Yes, I did.”

“Why did you give this directive?”

“She approached while I was confronting the offender. I was suspicious of the timing.” I considered ending with that, but I knew Mr. Boyden would follow up. “I believed it was an effort to distract me. Also, her actions, striking me with her satchel and bumping the apparent vacationer who was under question, led me to believe that they were working as a team.” I took a breath before finishing. “I believed that he may have transferred something to her.”

The chief asked, “What was it that the offender handed to the woman?”

It was a softball question. “I did not observe an exchange. I suspected, so I assigned the sec-bot to monitor.”

Mr. Boyden followed up. “Did you direct Specialist Tahgs to tak
e this woman, Ms. Jazarine, to Medical on the
Kalavar
?”

“I did.”

“Why, if you
suspected
her as an associate of the offender or possibly carrying contraband items?” accused Mr. Boyden. “She was
not
subject to search.”

Maybe the lawyer was seeking to determine if my actions could stand up in court. “Five reasons,” I said. “One, she had assisted in dispatching the offender. Two, the offender fired on her with lethal force. Three, she was a potential witness. Four, she would be in the company of a
Kalavar
crewmember.” He could jump on the fact that Tahgs wasn’t trained in security, but I continued before he cut in. “Finally, she was going into shock. Despite the fact that her wounds did not appear life threatening, they might very well have been.”

“How did you come to this conclusion?” asked Mr. Boyden, continuing to see a problem with my action.

“Specialist Club identified the offender’s shield as Crax,” I said. “I am not sure how, but I trusted her assessment. The offender’s ammunition was caustic, much like standard Crax weaponry. The residual components of Crax ammunition can get into the blood and if untreated, it’s known to cause severe and possibly fatal damage to vital organs, such as the liver.” I stared at Mr. Boyden. “My assessment of Ms. Jazarine was one of a proactive individual who wouldn’t hesitate in locating a lawyer to recover damages for failure of Negral personnel to act in a timely manner.” I looked at the chief and the captain. “Considering her positive actions, and the injury she sustained, she might have had a case.”

“Relax, Keesay,” said Chief Brold. “You’re not on trial.”

“I wouldn’t rule the possibility out,” warned Mr. Boyden.

“Right,” laughed the chief. “Three passengers threatened to retain Falshire Hawks. Nobody boarding has that stature, money, or connections to CGIG.” He looked back at me. “You performed well, Keesay. And Club identified it as Crax by the way the sec-bot’s stun-net outlined the shield when it discharged.” The chief stared directly at Mr. Boyden. “And lopping that cybernetic finger was fast thinking.”

“I agree with the assessment,” the captain stated. “Do you recall how the safety door came to be elevated?”

“The one leading to the colonists?” I asked, trying to recall. She nodded, so I continued. “It appeared the locking mechanism failed and the passengers somehow pried it up.” The trio’s faces indicated my assumption was incorrect. “As I stated in the incident report, I saw the passengers seeking a means of escape.”

“That will suffice,” said the captain. “In retrospect, is there any action you would have omitted or performed differently?”

“Only one,” I said, watching Mr. Boyden’s eager reaction. “I would have carried teargas rounds for my shotgun instead of counting on a sec-bot for deployment.”

“Hell, Keesay,” said the chief. “I’m damn glad you were lugging flare rounds.”

After a long moment of silence, Captain Tilayvaux said, “Your com-set will be returned within the hour. Your sec-bot is being checked out and should be ready in two days.” She leaned back in her chair, revealing an unusually snug uniform fit. That brought my attention to the Fire-wings patch, designating her as a fighter pilot for the Red Phoenix Wing. After that I noticed the large number of combat ribbons below the patch.

Chief Brold added, “Maintenance and engineering techs are busy repairing or replacing passenger equipment damaged during the incident.”

“Understood,” I said.

“Right now resources are tight,” he continued. “Captain Tilayvaux intends to depart on schedule. Will it be a problem to load the colonists without assistance?”

I stood, giving the only answer. “Not a problem, Chief.”

He stood and offered a hand radio. “Borrowed this from Mer. Circumstances have allowed us to requisition some military equipment hardened against electronic warfare. It’ll be installed in your com-equipment, and some in your sec-bot.”

That would give Gudkov another round programming my sec-bot. “Does that upset you, Keesay?” asked the chief.

I must have frowned. “No, Chief. Just prioritizing all the duties yet to carry out before departure.”

“Well, get on them. Maybe I can scrounge you up some help. Dismissed.”

I grabbed a nutrition bar on the way to my quarters. Everyone onboard the
Kalavar
was running full speed. Although I didn’t expect real trouble from the colonists, I was out of shells. I cleaned up reloaded, and hurried to the main docking hatch. There, Corporal Smith leaned against a bulkhead.

“I hear you need help herding some colonists.” His casual grin slowed my tempo.

“I wouldn’t turn down assistance,” I said. “Know anybody competent for such an arduous task?”

“Using big words won’t impress me. I know your assigned duties.” He shifted his slung MP carbine and slapped me on the back. “Heard you had a rough morning.” He looked me over. “No new black eyes or split lips?”

I led him through the hatch to the dock. “Not yet.” Repairs to the damaged walls and floors were underway. “Is the Mavinrom Dock always such a dangerous place?”

He shrugged. “Heard you bayonet charged that fellow with the shield.”

News travels fast. “Not exactly, but if that’s what people want to believe.”

“You’re a nut, Keesay.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” We angled through the busy repairmen to the colonist holding area. “I’ll request its inclusion in my personnel file.”

He laughed. “Hey, got a recording of Pillar with your archaic firearms on the shooting range. Care to view it some time?”

“I assume you’d rate its entertainment value high?”

“That depends,” said Smith, “on who you’re rooting for.”

I entered the room and pulled out a printed list. The colonists sat, agitated and bored. Before they could voice complaint, I ordered, “Everyone line up as I call your name. If you are unable to follow that simple directive, Corporal Smith will be forced to assist you.”