“Sounds like you don’t care much for Mr. McQuillen.” Danverse’s question was filled with scrutiny. He was testing Arbor’s compatibility with passengers as much as his interaction with the crew.
Arbor shrugged. “I don’t know him well enough to say much.”
“I wasn’t aware they’d started bumping uglies.” Mac watched the pair gather their meal and sit together, having a pleasant chat. McQuillen was a bit regal, making it hard to get a proper read on what might be going on between the two men.
Arbor’s nose crunched as he grimaced. “I think I walked in on their first time in the showers last night.”
Danverse shrugged as he took a drink. “It happens.”
“You don’t have a problem with stuff like that going on?”
His lips flattened as he shook his head. “It keeps the ship running smooth. It always has. The men spend long weeks at a time with only each other, bottled up on the ship. It can get a little lonely sometimes. As long as the work gets done, and everyone’s consenting, I don’t mind that they let off some steam together.” The captain paused for effect. “And they have to keep their dicks off my boy too. That’s the most important rule.”
Arbor snorted and Mac rolled his eyes. Marc Danverse would never change. He was possessive and gave Mac no reason to believe he wasn’t completely devoted to him. It went both ways. The two of them were hopelessly besotted with one another. Mac could live with that.
“A word of advice, Arbor.” Danverse spoke up, the authority never leaving his voice. “Priest is a good man, but he’s got great expectations of what he wants. Passengers are often like a new rocket to play with on the Santa Claus, especially the pretty ones. New toys always lose their shine.”
“I guess.”
Mac chimed in. “Most passengers just come and go. No pun intended.”
Danverse chewed his lip while he controlled the grin threatening to break his composure. He reached out and bopped Mac’s forehead with the heel of his hand. “Hush, boy, the captain’s being serious here.” Danverse turned back to Arbor. “As I was saying… Eventually, Priest’ll find someone who will let him be himself and leave him with something good. Until then, think of this voyage as a chance to meet new people and make yourself part of the family.”
Arbor’s head tilted as he absorbed the captain’s speech. “I hope I can figure out how to be around long enough to see that happen.”
“If you relax and learn to take everything as not being a new way to fuck with you, you’ll manage. I pick all my crew very carefully, Mr. Kittering. They may be thoughtless at times, but they’re not cruel. And with a few exceptions, they all enjoy each other’s company at any given time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to worry about. Sometimes a fuck is just a fuck. Learn to enjoy it and things get a lot easier for everyone involved.”
“Are you saying I should start sleeping with everyone in the crew?”
“Only if you want to, and not to be worried if other men want do the same thing. It doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t like you.”
ARBOR HAD BARELY slept for the last two days. Reports of occasional malfunctions had sprung up in various places on the ship, so Mac had him tracing down anomalies in Mrs. Claus’s subroutines. With no evidence of hardware degradation, it pointed to coding flaws, which was why he’d been hired.
He scoured the lines of data for hours at a time, but not finding a conflict in the code wasn’t what was keeping him up at night. He was already convinced of the cause, and it all pointed to Costa McQuillen.
It was a giant accusation and Arbor knew better than to blurt it out loud. Due to his outbursts since stepping on board, his reputation was frayed enough, so he had to be sure before saying anything. The biggest question still loomed over him: should he say anything?
Stories of pariahs were used to frighten children when he was little and, since so few were known to exist outside of Earth’s territory, hard knowledge in the cluster was limited. Many people believed them to be dangerous. Was it true?
Was the crew of the Santa Claus at risk with Costa McQuillen on board? He watched Costa turn the showers on and off before he seduced Priest into… It was best not to dwell on details outside of the code. What else had Costa done? Were the malfunctions a remnant of his presence?
His personal distaste for the man aside, Arbor couldn’t prove enough to make an issue of it. He couldn’t bring anything to the captain’s attention without proper evidence. More reliable data was required.
“Mrs. Claus, I need a secure, encrypted Link back to Earth databases. Upload my personal sniffer program from my secure server and use it for all data transfer.”
“As you wish, Mr. Kittering. Secure Subspace Link connection to Earth will be established in two minutes, forty-six seconds.”
Arbor could feel perspiration dotting his brow. Using his personal hacking software was against the magistrate’s decree and all copies were supposed to have been deleted. All except one he hid on his personal datapad, buried deep inside other software as a series of fragments waiting to be assembled. He hadn't planned on breaking the rules, but a lot of time went into making it, he couldn't destroy it outright. Following these orders, he hadn’t touched any of the applications he’d written that landed him in prison, but this was important.
The sniffer would be able to bypass dynamic firewalls and go unnoticed on the Link once it had copied itself into the proper information centers. When all was complete, it would self-delete, leaving no evidence. He knew he shouldn’t be using this, but until he verified his suspicions, he needed to keep any knowledge of his task away from prying eyes.
“Connection established, Mr. Kittering.”
“Activate sniffer, scramble all incoming transmissions and decipher on my personal datapad.”
Arbor lay back on his bed as the thin plaque came alive in his stubby fingers. Convinced the data was private, he started his search.
“Define para-human.” Several sites gave similar results. He tapped the page with the most reliable stats, watching the text spill over his screen.
While it is argued para-humans have existed in small numbers throughout history, after the Great Migration, where nearly half of the population of Earth traveled to settle in the Alpha Centauri cluster, para-human appearances grew exponentially. The most commonly accepted theory is the numbers were the result of environmental damage and the genetic engineering efforts to combat it. Extra-normal abilities resulted, ranged from a wide gamut of physical and psionic effects that typically manifested during the onset of puberty. Testing of children became a political platform as sympathy fluctuated.
Arbor tapped the words “political platform.”
With the world population diminished, Human Fundamentalists argued the need to defend the human race, and Evolutionists argued para-humans were the next step in humanity’s path. Public opinion for both sides wavered but never took hold enough to force government intervention.
The name Haphic Delmedge appeared at the top in the list of relevant links, so Arbor followed it.
Haphic Delmedge was a para-human with the ability to walk through walls. He was convicted of raping and murdering twenty-three children in their own beds before authorities constructed a method to capture him. The outcry to protect the children pushed the Human Fundamentalists into the majority.
In the interests of global security, all para-humans were marked as second-class citizens, relieved of most basic civil rights, and required to perform duties in the service of their communities. Various restraints and safeguards were applied to protect the populace.
Tracing the feed into a government site, Arbor unearthed the safeguard schematics.
Non-technological controls were the use of a manufactured drug called Calm. A sodium pentathol derivative, Calm inhibits higher brain functions, creating euphoria and inducing complicity in activity and honesty. The effect also suppresses the activity in the brain governing most para-human abilities. Controlled substance. B
lack market varieties can induce sessions of heightened arousal and compulsive sexuality, depending on the dosage and formulation.
An image of a small, circular metal disk appeared on the page.
A pacifier was implanted at the base of every para-human skull, connecting directly to their nervous system. When activated by their sponsor’s remote, the device sends micro-surges of painless electricity into the spinal column and brain stem of the individual, rendering them harmless. Tampering with the device would set off its function.
Shocks to the spine and brain, painless? Who the fuck came up with that load of nonsense?
All para-humans were marked with a series of identification numbers tattooed across their right cheek. The numbers were tagged to their DNA, marking them down to the bone, preventing removal.
All para-humans not safe to be within the general population were placed in Quarantine, a facility equipped for the containment of extra-normal powers.
Touching the feed to Quarantine, Arbor looked over the blueprints for the building. Adaptable tech was placed in each room, or cell, to counteract a tenant’s abilities. It seemed appropriate. It was a prison, right?
A wave of cold nausea ripped through him as he found the crematorium on the building’s south side. Why would they need such a thing? The answer floated before him but he refused to latch onto it. Better to stick with hard facts relevant to his search, but questions kept erupting in his head. Who created this thing?
The search for Quarantine’s architect brought up the name Anthony Swaden. It took nothing to pull up his personal files the military had marked classified. The first one was about fifteen years old.
Anthony Swaden: promoted to Head of Global Security after being awarded the contract to combat the para-human problem. Unmarried, 45 years of age. Designer of the pacifier, ID number technology, and Quarantine. System updates and designed upgrades are performed through Swaden’s master connection to the Link, referred to as the Hub.
Swaden is actively meeting with heads of other districts to implement expansions of his systems. He can be found at most times with his longtime companion, servant/attaché; para-human number 006251.
Arbor touched Swaden’s name and a holo of the architect appeared with a young, slender man by his side. The mannerisms didn’t match, but he was a replica of Costa McQuillen with a short, bleach-blond schoolboy haircut. The attaché was respectful but content, despite his social status. Swaden was tall, broad, and handsome. His shirt's top buttons were open, exposing a hint of his chest, in lieu of a tie. Unusual for a businessman of his rank and status. A bit of a maverick? The pair looked close, their body language lacking the proximal distance of a purely professional relationship. Minimizing the image to one side, Arbor touched Swaden's companion's ID number 006251.
A new file appeared with a government ID image of the same young man. The data came from a classified database of cataloged para-humans. The resemblance to Costa was uncanny.
Designate number 006251. Poll Gilliard, tech-empath. Born in the British Collective, EU District. One of five on the planet. Possesses the psionic ability to read and write code to any machines with a digital brain. Allows for control of all technology that uses data for implementation. It is theorized that few data sources can be permanently blocked from his influence.
This ability marks him as highly dangerous to global security. Abuse of his abilities could be devastating unless sponsored to an appropriate service. If not, he is marked for retirement.
Subject is potentially powerful, but remarkably fragile. Projectile or other low-tech weapons are a proper defense against his abilities. Physical force recommended.
Responsible for the death of Anthony Swaden and dismantling of the Para-human Containment Program. Deceased.
What? Swaden was dead at the hands of his servant? That was a thread Arbor’s curiosity couldn’t ignore. He put in a search for the details of Swaden’s death. It didn’t take long to pull up the classified Global Security death certificate.
Anthony Swaden was found dead in his home, gunshot to the head by his own weapon. His DNA ID had been overridden to activate the pistol, which confirmed the criminal investigation reports that his attaché 006251 was responsible.
006251 was found dead in the Hub, Swaden’s gun beside him. Time stamp links 006251’s time of death to match the time frame of deactivation of all para-human restraints and facilities. Coroner scans show radical damage to tissues in all brain quadrants. Having reached across the Link globally at one time, it is theorized that 006251 reached beyond his limitations, resulting in multiple massive strokes and hemorrhaging that froze his autonomic functions and ultimately caused his death.
The deactivation of all passive countermeasures resulted in a massive revolution of the para-human community. Global enactment of the Pariah Revolution Control Directive was initiated.
The revolution between humans and para-humans was a common Earth-history lesson, but this directive was new. Wasting no time, he sifted through the military communiqués, finding the orders disseminated right before the final siege. When Arbor pulled up the details of the directive, he paled. Every para-human cataloged was listed providing explicit extermination instructions. There were so many. Special weapons had been designed, capable of adjusting to combat specific power sets. The para-humans didn’t have a prayer. The directive’s final report was equally bleak.
Tens of thousands of lives were lost on both sides, but the para-humans failed in their battle for freedom. The humans had long-term planning on their side, and the release of all pariahs was a surprise to everyone, including themselves. While no known survivors exist, para-human activity is illegal in all districts.
Arbor’s stomach churned at the reality. It sounded like the para-humans were disorganized and unprepared, and lost in spite of their abilities. What could have possessed 006251—Poll—to kill his sponsor and start this mindless anarchy? Was he insane? Why would Poll do such a thing?
Arbor needed to understand. He pulled up Poll’s activities using his DNA ID but found nothing of interest. Subtle dead zones in various timelines suggested he was adept at erasing his trail. Unsanctioned uses of his powers, perhaps? Outside of the blank spots, there was nothing notable in Poll’s history prior to the shooting. All records of Poll’s personality profile said he was dedicated to Swaden. There were implications of a romantic liaison between the two as well, even if it was considered illegal. It wasn’t surprising. Timelines showed they’d been together for at least fifteen years. It wouldn’t be the first time an owner bedded down a slave.
Had Swaden done something to turn his lover against him?
After double-checking his connections were still private, Arbor dug through Anthony Swaden’s DNA ID stamps. Being a high-ranking official, there was a constant feed on his location and activities, even if they were restricted. What caught his attention were a few black holes in the feed several days before the shooting.
Arbor’s hacking had shown him how Earth’s Global Security kept DNA ID traces on all citizens and archived a running log for the purposes of “maintaining freedom.” All relevant events were tagged for future investigation and forwarded to various security departments. Nothing was ever deleted.
But sections of Swaden’s time code appeared to be missing. When Arbor pressed harder, he had to admit he was impressed with the man’s ingenuity. The sections weren’t deleted, they had been marked to be ignored by standard Link algorithms. If Arbor hadn’t been looking so closely, he might have missed them.
The first altered file was a security vid. The audio data was damaged, but the visuals were intact, except for a certain amount of visual artifacting. Arbor suspected Swaden tried to delete the file but had to settle for hiding it instead.
Swaden was in the vid waiting in what looked like a lower level of a parking garage. He paced in circles, kicking at debris, edgy and snarling. Another person entered the scene. It looked like his attaché, Poll, but with long dark hair. Did he hav
e a twin? It looked like a younger version of Costa McQuillen. Was Swaden having an affair? Kinky, but seemed unlikely. A quick DNA ID cross check showed no mutual locations for Swaden and the lookalike in the history.
An argument broke out over something impossible to hear until Swaden pulled out a small device and the other man fell to the ground, thrashing and spasming as he clawed at the back of his neck until he exhausted himself on the ground. No doubt the pacifier in action. It was horrific to witness, even through the poor quality of this vid. Painless, my ass.
A chill raced down Arbor’s spine as he watched Swaden reach into his jacket and draw out a gun. He couldn’t bring himself to turn away as Swaden put two bullets in the young man as he lay on the ground, standing over him until all movement stopped.
Arbor swallowed down the nausea. There was more to know. He couldn't stop now.
The second suppressed file was a communication from Swaden for a pickup to be sent directly to Quarantine. The vid continued, showing a team of men collecting the corpse and sanitizing the area.
Arbor’s hand shook as he rewound the vid and selected the dead man, marked as Designate 006252. Following the DNA ID trail, he found two more hidden files on the man’s timeline. One was an acquisition order for 006252’s arrival at Quarantine. Immediate incarceration for unlicensed power usage. The next was an incineration order—marked complete.
Arbor set down the pad and rubbed his face in disbelief. Was there anything about this story that wasn’t a horror? He wanted to stop, but he still had questions.
Reaching into the para-human registry, he pulled up Designate 006252.
Priest and Pariahs Page 10
