by Andrew Beery
After a few more grumbles and a threat to have them clean every toilet in the building, the two that the sergeant had designated Dingbats One and Two grabbed my arms and half dragged me down the hall.
I have to admit, I felt sorry for these guys. First, to have your NCO call each of you a Dingbat and a number was dehumanizing. Second, I was about to prove their sergeant right.
As we turned a corner, I let my legs buckle.
“Sorry, guys,” I slurred. “I gotta close my eyes. Just for a second.”
“Oh, for the love of...,” the one on my right said.
“Let’s just get this done,” the second grunted as he wrapped my arm around his neck and shoulder.
His partner in crime followed suit and the two began to drag my now totally limp form down the hall. I let them drag me a good fifty feet. I didn’t mind the rest and I wanted them a little tired for what was coming next.
When I judged they were tired enough, I suddenly tightened both my arms. You must understand, I’m an abnormally big Marine. I had each of these guys by about a hundred and twenty-five to a hundred and fifty pounds… and all of it was muscle. Still, trying to choke two guys at once was a tall order, but I’d like to think I was a ‘can do’ type of guy.
In a few moments, when the last of them stopped struggling, I laid them carefully on the ground and made sure they were still breathing. I really didn’t want to kill anybody that absolutely didn’t need to be dead. My momma had always taught me to do right by others. It was that ‘good conscience’ thing again.
Newly promoted Sensor Clerk First Class Jamie Thompson swiveled in his new chair. Unlike lower-class peons his seat allowed him to turn from side to side. This added functionality was commensurate with his added supervisory responsibilities. There were now two other sensor techs that he was theoretically senior to and therefore in charge of. Sadly, as they each worked different eight hour shifts, he rarely had an opportunity to lord over them but still progress was being made.
Chapter 6: Fear Nothing
I pulled the plastic bladder I had brought with me and opened it. I placed a few drops of its contents on the knuckles of smaller of the security guard’s right hand. It would look like he had gotten a good hit in before he was overcome. I wiped a small amount on the wall. I needed to make sure they noticed it.
The blood was not mine. It was a cloned sample of Major Clarkson’s blood. With any luck, the major would be implicated in the break-in… apparently while attempting to look like a known drunkard -me.
I pulled two small adhesive medical patches from my left cargo pouch pocket and carefully removed the backing. I placed one on the nape of the neck of each of my victims. Chemicals in the patches would keep the two unconscious long enough for my team to accomplish our mission. They would absorb into the skin and be virtually impossible to detect.
I grabbed both their ident-tabs and pocketed them. If Mashuta Industries tracked their employees, and it seemed likely they would, it would appear the two were moving about as a pair. It also meant activity recorded by motion detectors would be correlated with Dingbats One and Two. I wondered briefly what their real names were.
I tapped what appeared to be an ordinary button on my BDU shirt collar. It was a short-range comm device made at a clandestine fabrication facility used by smugglers. The facility guaranteed their produces to be free of corporate eavesdropping tech. Since the Queen indirectly financed the operation, I was inclined to accept their claims.
“Kathleen is home. She’ll be at the side door in five.”
I didn’t expect a response since any such signal had the potential to be triangulated. Even if they couldn’t decipher what appeared to be random static.
Three minutes later I had run up several flights of stairs to the floor with the main lobby. I passed several workers on the way. They looked at me strangely. I smiled and pointed to my watch as I hurried past them. Often just pretending you belonged someplace was all it took to convince somebody you did. In this case, I had the advantage of looking nothing like the stereotypical corporate spy.
It took me about two more minutes to reach the lobby with the door whose biometric scanner I had damaged. I could have made it there sooner, but somebody had been inconsiderate enough to place a large number of security cameras in the place.
I had three mimics in my pocket. I deployed all three of the little drones and directed them to scan the side lobby and then feed a fake image to the two cameras watching the entrance and the third to a camera covering a hallway we would want to take once the team made it into the building. There was a fourth camera I would have liked to block as well but if we were careful, we could avoid it.
The surveillance taken care of; I made my way to the actual door. As expected, it was locked as a result of my having destroyed its biometric scanner.
I was sad to see my hover-bike had already been taken. We hadn’t known each other long but I had taken a liking to that bike. Still it was a mixed blessing. Forensic analysis would discover more of Major Clarkson’s DNA and fingerprints. I wish I could be a fly on the wall when he got dragged in by his Mashuta ‘sponsors’ to explain his actions.
I double-tapped my comm. Mel, Chief, and one of the Lance Corporals, a kid named Elroy –what can I say… his parents must have hated him at birth –pushed their way out of the bushes. They were dressed like any other mid to low-level executive. The suits were clean but just slightly out of fashion. The kind of things a person trying to present themselves as slightly higher in station than they actually were would wear.
Michaels placed two small electronic doohickeys just above and below the door handle. I pulled two smaller doohickeys of my own from one of my cargo pouches. Mine looked like thumb-sized tightening wrenches as might be carried by somebody with an airbike. Did I mention I missed that bike? The innocent-looking wrenches were in fact sophisticated pieces of electronic equipment… also constructed by our clandestine fabrication facility.
I placed my pieces directly opposite the devices the chief had placed. When he was satisfied with the placement, the chief pressed a button on a handheld controller. There was the slightest of popping noises and the door cracked open a smidgeon.
The Chief quickly grabbed his equipment and pushed the door open. The team quickly and silently entered. I closed the door and made sure it had re-latched. I put a single finger to my lips and then pointed to the two floating mimics covering the door. When the Master Gunny nodded, I pointed to the third camera that was being blocked. I gave a thumbs up. Mel again nodded and started to move. I grabbed her sleeve and pointed to the fourth camera. She looked at it and then at me. I shook my head and made a sideways hooking motion with my hand. We would need to go around the fourth camera’s field of view.
As we made our way forward, we found a small conference room. Mel opened her brief case and removed a security guard uniform. I quickly changed and handed my BDU’s to her to be stored in the same briefcase.
Our ultimate destination was three floors above us. For this we would ride in style using one of the elevators. Why not? As far as anybody else was concerned we belonged here.
In one of those moments when there wasn’t somebody passing us in the halls, I handed Mel one of the ident-tabs I had lifted off the ‘dingbat’ brothers. She wasn’t dressed like a security guard, but Master Gunny Porterfield had long ago perfected that ‘you don’t want to mess with me look’ that should keep people from inspecting her credentials too closely.
Finally, we reached our destination. Elroy put a hand on the doorknob and looked at me for my signal. I nodded to Mel and she pulled a stunner from under her suit jacket. I drew a similar weapon that was part of my security disguise.
I signaled one-two-three with my other hand. On three Elroy turned the knob and we rushed into the room.
What I saw inside had me shaking my head. A single, overweight, middle-aged man sat in a seat that he was spinning around as if it was an amusement ride. The look on his face said he ha
d likely soiled himself. Honestly, I think we could have taken the place with a stapler and a pack of chewing gum… and that’s only because we wanted to chew the gum.
We had decided not to try and dig through the Mashuta databases. Modern computers were heavily secured and Mashuta’s were likely among the very best. It seemed the easiest way to get access to what we were looking for was to grab the guy with the mark-one optics that had filed the initial report.
Our intel said we were looking for a guy named James Thompson. The man we were staring at met the general profile.
Mel played the boss in our little charade. She stepped forward into the room and flashed a metal badge that probably said she was a world-class waffle chef. My point is, it was as bogus as we were, but flash a shiny badge at somebody quickly enough and it will magically say whatever you need it to say in your nervous, victim’s eyes.
“Thompson? James Thompson?” The Master Gunny barked.
“Ah… Jamie. My name’s Jamie… Jamie Thompson,” the man swallowed. “Is there,” he paused, unsure what to say. “Is there something I can help you with?” he finished hopefully.
“James Thompson, by the authority vested in me by Mashuta Industries I hereby place you under arrest for falsifying records for the purpose of promotion. You will accompany us immediately or a charge of resisting arrest will be added to the charging sheet. Do you agree to comply?”
“Ah…”
“Do… you… agree… to… comply,” Mel repeated one word at a time.
“Do I have a choice?” the man whispered.
Mel leaned forward and whispered back in a velvety voice that did little to comfort, “You always have a choice.”
There was quite a lot of gulping followed by a very meek, “Yes I agree.”
Master Gunny Porterfield leaned back and managed to look disappointed. Remind me not to get on her bad side… or perhaps more correctly stated… not to get back on her bad side.
As I placed handcuffs on the fat man’s wrists he said in a very soft voice, “Will I get a lawyer?”
“One will be assigned and charged to your account prior to your sentencing,” Mel answered dryly.
Gotta love corporate HR.
***
The trip out of the building was relatively uneventful. It seemed staying out of the way of company law enforcement was a bit of a corporate pastime.
We waited patiently in a safe house for a full twenty-four hours. We needed to make sure the Mashuta counter-espionage team had had enough time to follow the false trail that we had planted back to Clarkson.
A little over a day later, we were back at Beta-118. By then our guest of honor had sung like a songbird high on fermented blueberries. I was never so desperate for a bottle as I was after spending two days with the man.
What was surprising was that despite having no sign whatsoever of a backbone, Sensor Clerk First Class Jamie Thompson was a brilliant engineer. He had graduated top of his class at University and had completed enough online studies that he could and should have earned a doctorate had he not lacked the all-important Mashuta Executive sponsor. Apparently, an ill-timed breakup with the daughter of a high-ranking official had insured that that would not happen.
The outcome of our extensive debriefing with the engineer determined that he had detected a series of anomalous signals emanating from Abimelech, the largest of the bary-moons orbiting the gravitational barycenter of the Azul-Mudball binary system.
The signals themselves were weak and appeared to be nothing more than interstellar background noise. Apparently, our bored and intellectually stifled sensor tech had previously developed a modified Fast Fourier Transform algorithm that he had used to tease out a carrier signal embedded in the background noise.
Whatever he was detecting, it wasn’t manmade… at least not with current technology.
I met her Highness on my walk to the main conference room. I had been back on Beta-118 for only about twenty minutes. We had briefed the command team via secure point-to-point laser links about an hour ago. This meeting was to discuss the ramifications of what Thompson had discovered.
“Princess,” I said with a nod as we walked.
She wrinkled her nose. She had made it clear on numerous occasions that she did not want to be called by her title unless she was at event that required it.
“Colonial Riker,” Tange answered with a slightly irritated emphasis on the rank.
I smiled and she returned the favor.
“I assume you have given some thought to our situation with Abimelech?” she added.
“I have. I think we have to try to get there first, before Mashuta. The question is ‘Can we?’”
By this time, we had arrived at the conference room. There was obviously some sort of argument going on inside. Tange raised an eyebrow. I recognized one of the voices. I shook my head. This should be a fun meeting.
“I’ve told you everything I know! Why are you keeping me? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
The voice was that of my good buddy Jamie Thompson – sensor tech extraordinaire.
The room quieted instantly as the two of us entered. Everyone stood, even Thompson. I’d like to say it was my commanding presence, but I suspect it was the regal beauty that was standing beside me.
I moved over to my customary chair near but not at the front of the room. Tange took that seat.
“Please sit, gentleman.” With a look to Mel, “And lady.”
The Master Gunny snorted but sat anyway. Calling her a lady was at odds with her ‘pound them hard first and take names later’ approach to life.
Tange looked over at Thompson. The man swallowed again. It seemed to be a nervous habit and the man was nervous a lot.
“Do you know who I am, Doctor Thompson?”
“Ah… you’re the Queen… I mean Princess… and I’m not a doctor… your Majesty… your Highness… your Ma’am,” the man fumbled awkwardly. Did I mention the lack of a backbone before?
Tange brought up a holographic display with Thompson’s personnel file. In theory, only Mashuta Industries should have access to that information, but I had stopped asking the how’s and why’s of the information the Queen’s network had access to.
“Your records indicate an aptitude for engineering, especially signal analysis. If I’m not mistaken, your doctoral thesis included an especially insightful section on founder technology along these lines.”
“You’ve read my thesis?” the fear seemed to drain out of his voice.
“I’ve read everything about you, Doctor. I suspect I know you better than many of your co-workers.”
“Former co-workers,” he said sadly while looking back down towards the table surface.
Arquat was getting stronger with every passing moment. He had managed to take control of a cleaning bot and use it to repair a handful of power feeds. This in turn allowed him to bring a handful of his normal repair systems online. The damage was extreme. He estimated his cognitive capabilities were no higher than two to three percent of his former glory. Too many of his data archives had been destroyed in the crash.
He had managed to recover the final logs of the ill-fated Diaspora. He was both saddened and pleased to learn that his friend, Admiral Riker, had been thinking about him in the end. He wished he could have been there to help. Sadly, as his friend used to say, “If wishes were ponies, we could all have a ride.”
Chapter 7: Honor
Tange dismissed the holographic display with a flick of her hand and leaned forward.
“Were you happy working for Mashuta Industries?”
“It’s all I know. It’s all I’ve ever done,” the fat man replied.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” she pressed. “Are you happy there?”
“Princess,” Thompson pleaded, “It’s all I have. Happy isn’t a part of the equation.”
“What if it could be, Doctor? What if you could be a part of something where you could make a difference and be happy?”
&
nbsp; “I’m not a doctor…”
“Bull!” Tange barked across the room. Thompson pulled back in his chair with a look of alarm on his face.
“You’ve done the coursework. You’ve written your thesis. Your professors characterized it as brilliant. You don’t hold the title because of corporate politics. Well guess what? I’m above corporate politics. As of this moment I confer on you what should have been yours fifteen years ago… the title of Doctor with all the privileges and responsibilities therein.”
I didn’t know it at the time, but a little affirmation went along way with the newly minted doctor. The jury is out as to whether that was a good thing or not.
Tange sat back in her chair. When it looked like Thompson was going to say something, she held up her hand to silence him.
“Again I ask you, Doctor, are you happy?”
“No,” he said grudgingly.
“Then join us,” she said simply.
“I will.”
***
“Increasing lateral thrust three percent for seventeen point four seconds,” I reported from the bridge of our small survey shuttle. “Rotating docking clamp to align with the Diaspora’s access port. Approaching position… now.”
There was the briefest of bumps.
“Clamps have engaged,” I announced. “We have a hard seal.”
Thompson had accomplished wonders once he had access to decent equipment and unfettered permission to make use of it. The signals he had identified where undeniably of Galactic Order origin which meant they were originating from whatever was left of the UES Diaspora… the ship that had fled from Earth all those centuries ago. It appeared that the ship had struck the small moon with considerable force.
We had been lucky. A functioning access port on the derelict was exposed and available for use. I couldn’t help but think it was a little too convenient. Kind of along the lines of ‘Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.’
