Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (34 page)

I looked to Brold and then to Mer. Their view concurred with the captain’s.

The captain sat up straighter. “You have been found guilty of a class-two assault upon a superior
endued service skilled investor of Negral Corporation. Do you have an official statement before your sentence is handed down?”

“I do.”

Unfazed, she leaned back. “You may make it.”

“I request that all forensic evidence of this incident be secured and isolated from possible tampering or manipulation. To include all security and recorded files of the incident, any records or interviews of witnesses, and personal clothing and equipment of all involved personnel examined as evidence for this case, including blood and tissue samples. And that the evidence be secured in storage such that access is not routed through any manner of ship-wide computer network. Accessible only through direct and simultaneous action by any two of the three individuals present at this judgment and sentencing.”

Only the captain appeared surprised. “And the purpose for this stated request?”

“To insure integrity of the evidence as I intend to appeal.”

She looked to her associates. Distracted, Mer nodded. The chief followed suit. “Chief Brold,” said the captain. “You handle the details.”

I knew she was about to pass sentence, so I stood.

“Security Specialist 4th Class Krakista Keesay, the penalty imposed for your class-two assault upon a superior Negral Corp service investor is as follows.” She read from a clip. “Three weeks of solitary confinement in the brig. All contract compensation from the time of the incident until this transport reaches Tallavaster shall be transferred to the personal account of the assailed individual. All opportunities for promotions or other advancement within Negral Corporation will be denied for four years from this date. This binding recommendation will be attached to transfer of contracted services to any other organization including but not limited to corporate, governmental, or military. All privileges onboard the
Kalavar
are revoked. Upon release from solitary confinement, two months of confinement to assigned quarters except when on official duty will follow.” She looked to her right. “Any additional comments?”

Chief Brold cleared his throat. “Specialist Keesay, your sentence is lenient, owing to your recent action in putting down the terrorist. Any further infractions, major or minor, will result in long term incarceration.”

“Understood, Security Chief.”

“You have,” said the captain, eyeing the ship’s chronometer, “twenty minutes to report to the brig. From that moment you have four weeks, two days to petition for an appeal, should sufficient cause or evidence be brought to this judging council’s attention. Dismissed.”

Anticipating a result involving the brig, I’d locked down my equipment and prepared a satchel of approved items for confinement. I ignored the stares and hisses of fellow crewmembers along the way. Gudkov’s echoing laugh found me at the last turn. My regulation 1.1 by 2.5 meter cell awaited. Refuge to plot revenge, or redemption, or both.

Corporations go to great lengths to ensure that ample security is onboard interstellar vessels. The primary reason is to keep order and enforce civility while traversing vast interstellar distances.

The second reason is to safeguard the ship and corporate property. Security is entrusted to deter and foil hijack attempts and to repel external boarding efforts aimed at wresting control of the ship. A vigilant security presence substantially decreases onboard incidents and the potential unlawful acquisition of a ship.

Metallic water is nasty stuff. I swilled some around in my cup. Any time now.

The door opened. “Keesay,” droned the chief.

I stood, turned toward the voice, but didn’t grab my bag.

His gaze narrowed. “Time’s served.”

Silence reigned all the way to his office. Liu nodded to the chief, but ignored me as I passed. The door slid closed. “Sit.”

I waited while he tapped away at his desk. The office’s recycled air was refreshing. He slid a file of papers toward me. “Had two visitors and a stack of letters.” He waited. “Visitors were turned away. Letters held.”

I nodded and remained silent.

He flipped the folder open, revealing a stack of crinkled, handwritten letters. Authentic paper. The top one was in carefully blocked manuscript. “Bullfrog?” He flipped to the next. “Athena.” And the next, “Skids, Little Elvis, Chopper, Spinner?” He flipped to the last. “Slugger.” He closed the file. “Certainly not code names.”

“Nicknames, Chief Brold.”

“Does this have anything to do with the Chicher?”

“The letters? I do not know their contents.”

He sat back. “What’s your game, Keesay?”

I suspected what he was after, but I was going to make him spell it out. “The Chicher diplomat served as umpire during recess time. I approved and monitored.”

“Did you issue alternate names to the colonist kids for the benefit of the diplomat?”

“No, Chief Brold. I provided a nickname to Michael Watts who indicated he did not like Michael or Mike. The other children desired nicknames. I cleared it with the parents.”

“Just a convenience for the diplomat?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Sure you do, Keesay. Don’t play dumb.”

Sure I followed, but pretended it just struck me. It wouldn’t fool the chief, but if he wasn’t going to be straight up with me. “You’re referring to the fact that Chicher do not call by name anyone outside their pack?”

“Right, Keesay. Like I’m, ‘Top Security Man.’”

“And I am, ‘Security Man.’ I learned of that practice while reading up.” I figured Specialist Liu had retrieved all accessed files for him, so I added a little to the pot. “I discussed the nuances with Father Cufter. Like the diplomat will not give out his name to anyone outside his pack.”

“Yes, and Cufter was one of your visitors.” He leaned in again, closing the file. “Did you pass something on to the preacher?”

“Did I give the missionary something before my confinement?”

“Let’s cut to it, Keesay. Did you pass information to the Chicher?”

I did and he knew it. “Affirmative. Regulations were not violated.”

“What was it?”

“A probable lead for my appeal.”

“I advise you to give it up. I warned you to steer clear of McAllister.”

“Chief, I intend no offense, but the warning was equivalent to telling the proverbial fish in the barrel to watch out for snipers.”

“I instructed you how to turn the tables on your accusers.” He slid a cinnamon toothpick into the corner of his mouth. “If your assertions were true. You rejected it.”

I looked around. “Is this room secure?”

“Would I tolerate it otherwise?” he huffed.

“Are you sure? I’m not.”

He bit into his toothpick. “It is.”

“I’ll trust you on that,” I said, and went on before he could vent. “If you really know Corporate Inspector Karlton Simms, you might realize why I refused the injection.” I leaned back and let that sink in. “Protocol dictates that I would have to be questioned under truth drugs to show plausibility for my claim, before McAllister could be forced to.”

“Why didn’t you say something about that?”

“Because you already threw the towel in on me. Don’t worry, Chief. I won’t bring you in on this.” I looked around. “Now consider the implications if even part of my assertions are accurate.”

“You’re a real turd-stirrer, even if you’re right.”

“Chief, I’ve already lost. That doesn’t mean there has to be a winner.” I stood. “When do I go back on duty?”

“You have an hour to shower and eat.” I grabbed the file and made it to the door. “And, Keesay, your second visitor was that exotic dancer, Ms. Jazarine.”

My return to duty was one of the worst experiences I’d ever encountered. I immediately sought out Security Specialist F
rost, and found him outside of Medical. “Specialist Frost.”

He continued on his way, pretending he didn’t hear me. The hitch in his step gave him away, and he knew it. Or maybe he though
t something else, but he turned. “What is it, Keesay?”

“Inaccurate duty reports, that’s what.”

He checked his watch. “Aren’t you confined to quarters when off duty?”

I stopped less than two feet away, looking him in the eye. “Follow up on reports is considered part of my duty.”

“What problem do you have with my reports?” Frost asked, examining his fingernails.

“They indicate all is running smoothly with the colonists.”

“Everything was fine up until this morning, when you took over.”

I spotted an almost instantaneous rise and fall of his eyebrows. He wasn’t a good liar. “I’ve received complaints of seven reported assaults not followed up on, and one possible rape.” I took a calming breath. “And that doesn’t include the minor incidents.”

“I properly followed up on every incident reported to me.”

“You did nothing. What about the incidents reported through the sec-bot? What
about the injuries treated in Medical?”

“They’re R-Tech. Probably too incompetent to interface with a sec-bot.” He leaned against the wall while suppressing a grin. “I did all that was required. I’ve been reassigned now that you’re out of lockup.” He glanced at the ship’s chronometer.

“I know,” I said, “that Colonist Lowell Owen can properly interface with a sec-bot. The incidents reported through the sec-bot were deleted, without follow up. That is against regulations and will be reported.”

He checked the chronometer one more time. “Well, Specialist Keesay, I’m off duty now. Therefore, this conversation is no longer considered in line with your assigned duty. I suggest you scuttle off to your quarters.” He started to walk away but turned. “Report whatever you like. Your opinions and assessments mean nothing.”

I filed my report from my quarters anyway. And I placed a formal request to alter my duty hours to coincide when Potts, Putin, and the ring leader, Stosh Meadows, had been allowed to regularly harass and have their way with the other colonists.

Benny hadn’t much to say to me that night, and was up and gone before I awoke. I checked my electronic messages and pulled the one from Medical marked urgent. I washed up, dressed, and ate a breakfast packet on the way to Medical where I found Specialist Tahgs on duty. “I would like to see Colonist Owens.”

She looked up, frowned, and said, “One moment.”

“May I access the terminal?” I pointed to the public wall-mounted version. She activated it. “Thank you.”

It took a little longer to access my account than usual, or maybe I was simply impatient. Several general information messages appeared, but nothing about my request. I’d finished scanning when a nurse approached.

“You are here to see Colonist Lowell Owen?” she asked.

“Correct.”

“He has already been interviewed by Security Specialist Haxon.”

“I would like to speak with him.” If she wanted more she could ask.

“Is this a personal or an official visit?”

“It is related to my assigned duty.”

She spoke into her collar. “Dr. Miller, Security Specialist Keesay desires an interview with the colonist in Room Four.” She nodded. “Understood, Doctor.” She eyed me. “Three minutes.”

“I cannot perform a proper interview in that amount of time.”

“A security interview has already occurred. Dr. Miller considers this a follow-up.”

My only contact with Dr. Miller had been brief, during Benny’s and Tahgs’s abduction on the Mavinrom Dock, so I was in no position to call in favors. Maybe our lack of contact was the only reason I was being admitted. “Understood.”

The nurse led me down several short hallways. She tapped the door access. “Three minutes.”

I checked my watch. “Thank you.”

I didn’t need to see Owen’s chart. Bruises and contusions covered his face and his right arm resting on the bedcover. I knew the white blankets concealed similar injuries.

Lowell Owen looked up, smiled and winced, showing at least one front tooth had been broken off. “Specialist Keesay,” he said with distorted speech due to his swollen lips and damaged tooth.

“I am short of time,” I said. “Who did this?”

He thought a moment. “Take care of your problems first.”

“Your problem is my problem,” I said. His eyebrows rose in momentary surprise. “What?”

His eyes flashed to the monitor. “I don’t know who.” He closed his eyes, maybe suppressing a tear. “Parallels.”

I waited a moment while his eyes remained closed. He’d say nothing else. “Heal quickly. I’ll send Father Cufter.” He nodded before I left.

I strode up to Specialist Tahgs. “I would like access to the terminal again.” She tapped in the code without acknowledging. “Thank you.”

I gained access, this time without delay. I ordered an immediate download of my sec-bot. I reviewed his surveillance files. Nothing of value, only the aftermath. It showed Instructor Watts contacting Medical upon finding Lowell injured outside the shared public facilities shortly after midnight. Why was Watts there at that time? Why was Owen?

I called up surveillance of the area during the estimated time of the assault. There appeared to be a camera malfunction. I fast-forwarded through the time frame. No picture. No sound.

I checked the log. Specialist Muller reported the malfunction at 1:00 am. At least he was on the job. I attempted to access his incident report but was denied, which was odd. Nevertheless, I forwarded a request for access to Specialist Club.

While the morning security meeting was cold as expected, the colonist interaction was even colder. A belligerent colonist forced me to cuff and detain him after I spotted him in a restricted area. I discovered sensitive scanning equipment from the restricted area in his possession. This particular colonist had never shown signs of criminal behavior. The subversive element had surged in my absence.

I decided to take an early lunch and was heading down the hall when I heard a trio of footsteps on the grating moving up behind me.

“Specialist Keesay,” called an unfamiliar voice.

I stopped and pivoted, expecting the worst. It happened to be the combat shuttle pilots who flew the
Kalavar
’s antiquated attack shuttle and fighter craft. The pilots were corporate hires and not on reserve status, and thus not considered officers. However, the civilian generic term ship’s specialist or shuttle pilot didn’t seem appropriate. I settled on, “Gentlemen?”

The three appeared an odd combination. One, wearing the markings of an attack shuttle pilot, was very dark-skinned with short curly hair. His partner, the weapons and ordinance operator, was taller and of Asian descent. By far the oldest, the fighter pilot was of mixed, possibly Middle Eastern, heritage. He was the one who’d addressed me.

“Are you available for a security consultation?” He smiled knowingly.

I hesitated. “I was going to take my lunch.”

“We’ll take it with you.” His associates nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

“I will be dining in my quarters.”

“That would even be better,” the fighter pilot said.

“Let’s be on with it then.” I checked my watch. “My time allotment is short.” They matched my pace and followed me through the line.

Veteran fighter and attack pilots are afforded a lofty status compared to others of their rank. The expense and training provided, and the rare combination of intelligence, reaction and bravery, makes pilots a valuable commodity. In their presence, stares and muttered insults were absent. I wasn’t sure of their motive, but I welcomed the temporary status elevation lent by their company.

They joked and discussed combat scenarios as we walked. I listened until we entered my room. The pilots referred to each other by their call names, and encouraged me to do the same.

I offered the console chair to the ordinance controller, Howler, and Benny’s duct tape chair to his pilot partner, Bolt. The fighter pilot, Griffin or Graying Griffin as they referred to him, I offered a seat on my bed. They rested their trays and began to eat. I followed suit.