Raw Justice

by Martyn J. Pass

  “She's not for hire,” I said. “Is there anything else?”

  “No sir,” he replied. “I'll be off.”

  He turned to go but I called him back.

  “You've done a good job. Expect a bonus.”

  The man brightened and rubbed the oil streak on his brow.

  “Why thank you, sir. It's been a pleasure.”

  Then he was gone, and I was left alone with the pulsing heart of the Hikane. I walked up and down the gantry, inspected the readouts on the command console and put my hand on one of the chambers.

  “It's not a hard life,” I said. “Just get the job done and it'll go easy. Deal?”

  The ship didn't reply. They never did.

  An hour passed before our cargo arrived and, true to his word, it was delivered by guys in brown suits. They met Mason and I at the loading bay and quickly began shunting pallet after pallet into the hold. Some of it was more of Thor's stock parts, the rest were simply plain-looking crates with no markings save a single stencilled number.

  “Am I missing something?” I asked Mason as he signed for it all. “What the hell is this?”

  “I haven't wasted a minute of our time here,” he began. “As you know, the ship has weapons and so do we. Sharky gave our name to Alan and, in turn, he passed ours on to a start-up company west of Setti, located in the Urloc mountains. After all the trouble we've been having with FARGO-”

  “What trouble?” I cried. “A glitch with my spine and some issues with the suits in the extreme cold? That hardly calls for brand betrayal, does it?”

  “I think we can go deeper than that, pal,” he said.

  “How deep?”

  “FARGO has been slipping. Everyone knows this.”

  “Who's this 'everyone' and when can I ask him some questions? FARGO had a setback, it isn't the end of the world.”

  “It could've been the end of our world, don't forget. We had to wear our old kit, well beyond its safe working limits thanks to them.”

  “So, you're telling me that these crates are basically CHERICA-AUTO suits? You've gone over to the other side after one saved your life, is that it?”

  Mason laughed and shook his head.

  “Alan told me to look at the online specs for a new company that's just begun producing its first line of exo-shells. He suggested we think about trying their product.”

  “A new company? How new are we talking?”

  “Six months actual production time but they've been designing for years now. Remember the old GAMMA vests we had last year for that Toi job?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was their patent.”

  I sighed and shook my head.

  “So, these crates...?”

  “Three suits made to order. I took the specifications from the FARGO sheet.”

  “Have you seen one of them in action?”

  “That's why I'm down here. Time is running out. Let's crack one open and see what we've got.”

  Feeling like I could already hear Alice shouting at me when the invoice landed on her desk, I reluctantly agreed. Thor joined us with Baz and together we moved the three largest containers into a clear space and let the bot do his work.

  “I'll just pop these open in a jiffy, sirs,” he said and spun the tool holder on his back, selecting a pneumatic chisel. The first crate shook with the carnage he wrought on one side and splinters of metal and wood flew into the air. He moved around to attack the other side, but we got there first before there was nothing left.

  Together Mason and I tore off the panels and unveiled the suit rack and the unit suspended in its curving arms of molanium. Baz whistled his appreciation and even Mason began to smirk.

  “They sure look attractive,” I said. “Doesn't mean they're going to work.”

  “Ye of little faith,” he replied.

  “Where's the instruction book?” I asked.

  “It came with a sim disc. We just upload it and climb inside.”

  “How?” asked Baz.

  “How what?”

  “How do we get in?”

  The suit was indeed something else. Much lighter in construction with much less bulk, these exo-shells were a fraction of the material but boasted a stopping power beyond that of the FARGO suits we'd just worn to help take the Aurelius. The plating was smooth and rounded, more like something an athlete might wear and certainly not something that looked able to withstand the trauma we'd put it through. Unlike the FARGO suits, these hugged the physique of the wearer and still managed to make him or her look massive.

  “They're nice – I'll grant you that one,” I said. Then, seeing a red ribbon hanging around the back, I yanked on it and the suit gave a three-chime alarm. We took a step back. The exo-shell was lowered to floor height and its back parted, separating at the spine and all the way around to the side.

  “You first, Baz,” said Mason.

  “Why me?” he cried but was already moving into position. When his whole body was inside, the plates slid back, and the suit became alive with static.

  “You still breathing?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” came back an almost identical voice. “Can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” I replied. “What's it like?”

  Without warning the helmet slid apart and Baz' head was there, gaping at us.

  “That's cool!” he laughed. “I hope it's shielded though.”

  “Walk about,” I said. “Give us a Waldo check.”

  Baz turned to his left and, passing around Thor, took several steps towards the loading bay ramp. He seemed to move normally like he wasn't even wearing the thing.

  “Well?” said Mason.

  “It's weird,” he replied. “It doesn't feel like anything. No loss of sensation, no delays in response time. Nada. Zip.”

  “And the controls?”

  “The same as FARGO. All but a few icons I don't recognize.”

  “We should check the disc,” said Mason. “There was talk of some special features somewhere.”

  Baz went through the Waldo's and they passed just fine. Then, heading to the far end of the bay, he turned and sprinted towards us, stopping inches from my boots.

  “I can't fault the responders. There's almost zero drag.”

  “What about internals?” I asked. Baz nodded and activated the helmet again, sending overlapping plates of dark metal speeding across his face. In a split second, he was gone, safe behind a smooth, glassy window of darkest jet.

  “HUD is online. Again, just like FARGO. The direction markers are out but that might be because we're disconnected from the mainframe.”

  “What about comfort?” asked Mason.

  “All soft in here and relatively cool. There are controls for that on the HUD. Strange for a suit like this but I guess that's just their way.”

  I looked at the other two crates and signalled for Thor to open them. If they were going to be trusted, then I'd have to see for myself.

  “We've got a few hours to spare once we're underway. I suggest drills and weapon acclimatization as soon as the autopilot takes over. Agreed?” Baz and Mason nodded. “Good call, pal. Looks like they might turn out okay.”

  “As I said – things are going too well. Something has to give.”

  “Maybe not today. Maybe.”

  The night passed and I felt every hour of it. Up and down the ship we went, the three of us, checking over every room, every cabinet and every button that could be pushed. We met the Instructor for an hour, and he took us through the NavCom, courtesy of Vertigo Flyers, before telling us that the Hikane was a dream ship, one he'd had the honor of sailing out of the shipyards above Mars. Then he'd gone, leaving us with only an hour to wait before we could take her out of dry dock and into the infinite vastness of space.

  “So, we have Argo's flight plan, enough gear to start a small war and parts to build a dozen more Thor bots. What are we waiting for?” asked Mason as we sat on the bridge watching the crews clear away through the viewer.


  “Other than the harbour master to okay us, nothing,” I replied. “Is there a coffee machine here?”

  “By the door.”

  “Good.”

  The docking bay began to empty as the last of the technicians pushed their floating tool chests away. On the console, before me, the readouts began to move into the green. The harbourmaster changed our status from DOCKED to PREPARING TO LEAVE. I tapped the confirm icon and returned to propping up my chin with my fist.

  Then, coming into the docking bay, I saw two great chests blazoned with the FARGO brand come scooting towards the camera. I sat upright and stared at the person hurrying behind them with a suitcase at her side.

  “I can't say I'm surprised,” I said aloud, and Mason turned to look.

  “She'll have played that conversation over in her mind once you'd signed off. Then she would've called Alice and demanded to know what was going on.”

  “What about the Helios though?” I asked. “Who the hell is keeping an eye on her?”

  “I guess we'll just have to trust her to Alice.”

  Jo, waving at us from below, gestured that we should open the loading bay doors. She was in her usual green overalls, stained with oil and burned in places. She had her hair in a messy bun and it was held together with an elastic bobble on the crown of her head.

  “I can't say I'm not happy to see her,” I said, thumbing the controls. The doors opened and the camera followed her inside along with her tools. In five minutes she was at the door to the bridge and we both turned in our seats to grin at her.

  “How dare you!” she cried. “Are you mad?”

  “Hey there, Jo,” I said, beaming. “What brings you here?”

  “A nebulus buffer, that's what. Sailing a ship without an engineer is suicide, Carter. Why didn't you ask me to come?”

  “Has Alice filled you in?” asked Mason.

  “No. She said you would. Then she gave me a set of false papers and ID and sent me on my way. Said you'd need me. Is that right?”

  “If Alice said it then I guess so.”

  “Right.” She sat down in one of the empty chairs and sighed. “Start at the top.”

  So the Hikane, floating gracefully out of dry dock an hour later, had a crew. Of sorts. Her mission? To find the evidence needed to clear the name of one of our own, one very dear to all of us. As we left the platform behind and saw the cruise liner begin its long voyage, I felt a strange kind of peace settle on me. It wasn't going to last – I knew that. But as the ship asked for confirmation to gain speed, I pressed the icon with a smile playing faintly on my lips.

  8

  The Hikane lived up to the praise. Once we'd become familiar with our stations and inputted the data into the NavCom, we gathered speed. Under the careful supervision of Jo, we were able to push her almost to her limits and keep the readouts in the green.

  When we found ourselves at a safe distance from any other ships Mason ran some firing drills, giving a few broadsides to empty space and blasting debris with the forward plasma lances.

  “Happy?” I asked.

  “Very,” he replied. “There's a slight issue with the targeting array but I think I should be able to recalibrate that.”

  I turned to Baz who was sat at the comms and scanner console. He had a knotted brow and was leaning quite close to the display, squinting – the universal sign for confusion.

  “Well?” I said. “Mastered it yet?”

  “I was a grunt back on Mars,” he replied. “Not a signalman. Give me some time with the manual.”

  “You handled it well enough on the Helios,” cried Mason. “What's the problem?”

  “It's broken.”

  “I doubt that,” I laughed.

  “It is. I'm doing what it tells me to do but I'm getting nothing.”

  I got up and went to look over his shoulder. On one side of the display was a long set of user notes and on the other nothing but a blank screen.

  “Have you turned it on?” I asked.

  “Of course I have, you dick!”

  “Where?”

  “There, on the side. The rectangle icon.”

  “And what happened when you did?”

  “Nothing – that's what I'm trying to tell you. It's faulty.”

  “That's the internal comms icon, buddy. THAT is the standby icon.”

  I pressed the lightning bolt image and the console came to life.

  “We've been sailing blind since we left dry dock,” said Mason. “Nice going, buddy.”

  “Piss off!” he responded and flushed red. “I'm sure I must have pressed that before, I'm sure.”

  I looked at the display and saw a flashing icon in the top right-hand corner. I tapped it and the audio nearly deafened me.

  “TO ANY SHIPS, THIS IS THE EARTH GOVERNMENT VESSEL, THE PEARL, PLEASE RESPOND. WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. PLEASE RESPOND. THIS IS THE EARTH-”

  I swore under my breath and hit the wrong icon, sending a blast of static all around the ship. Then I hit the correct one.

  “Call up the star chart and show me where she is,” I said. Baz nodded and went to work on the controls with more success than before. Soon I was looking at a stretch of empty space not far from our rendezvous point with the Agamemnon. “Pearl, this is the Hikane. We will assist. Please stand by.”

  “Action?” said Mason, grinning. I wasn't as happy as he was – maybe this would be the start of things going wrong.

  “What are the odds of the Pearl being one of Argo's ships?” I asked.

  “I might be able to tell you,” said Baz. The screen changed. A single blue dot appeared, surrounded by at least a dozen red ones. They buzzed around like flies, having no real pattern. An opportunistic strike on a weakened vessel by some rogue element maybe?

  “Well?”

  “She's surrounded by a level 2 classified protocol. All I know is that she's called the Pearl.”

  “Mason?”

  “I've been idle long enough. Let's go help her out. It's maritime law to get involved anyway.”

  I took another look at the screen and sighed. Without a deeper scan, we wouldn't know what we were up against until it was too late to withdraw. Risky at best.

  “Okay, let's do this,” I said. Then, to Jo in engineering, “Are you seeing this?”

  “Yeah, got the same feed down here. You thinking of getting stuck in?”

  “If you and Thor can handle damage control, then yes. ETA to the Pearl, six minutes.”

  “Gotcha. We'll be ready.”

  “Suit up?” said Mason. I nodded. “Let's do this.”

  Without the drills, I had to wing my first time in the exo-shell and I quickly felt like a child who'd just learned to walk. Years spent in models that offered at least some lag between action and deed had made me adapt without realizing it and when I stepped into a new lag-free world I found myself struggling. That was until the first shot struck our starboard shields and nearly sent me reeling drunkenly sideways.

  “According to the comms that was their way of welcoming us,” laughed Baz.

  “It would be rude not to respond. Mason, if you please.”

  “I'll send them our calling card.”

  I looked at the viewer which now gave us a good idea of what we were up against. The Pearl, a Legion-class ship of some 800 crewmen, sat dead in the water, barely able to fire off its few remaining plasma batteries. Swarming around it were a dozen Corvettes and, according to the scanner, they were being supported by a larger Corsair, the Wayward, two points off our port side.

  “ID puts it under the jurisdiction of Athens 6. We're legally allowed to engage,” said Baz.

  “Always good to know,” I grinned. “Any ideas, Mason?”

  “I'm not a sailor,” he said. “But one did say that you should 'forget tactics and sail straight at 'em'.”

  “Sound advice. If we hit the Corvettes, what's the Wayward going to do?”

  “Move to engage I guess.”

  “Do we just hit it first and go for the serp
ent's head?”

  “That would be my preferred choice.”

  “What's it putting out?” I asked.

  “Only 25 cannon on its broadside,” said Baz. “No lancers. It's a Corsair, they generally don't carry much firepower. They're support vessels.”

  I tapped the comms.

  “Pearl, this is the Hikane. Your pests are being supported by a Corsair in the region. I suggest we take it out of the battle first. Can you hold out against the Corvettes while we do this?”

  “Hikane, this is Captain Sole. That'd be mighty nice of you. Our shields can take a bit more of their stings yet.”

  “Captain, we'd be happy to oblige. Moving to engage.”

  I plotted our intercept course into the NavCom and confirmed it. The ship banked to port, fired its main engines and shot like an arrow towards the Wayward.

  “Cripple and board?” I asked.

  “Maybe just cripple,” said Mason. “That should be enough to put them off any further action.”

  “I hope your shooting is up to scratch then.”

  “I'll leave that to the computer.”

  We were approaching the Wayward from her starboard side and a little beneath her, exposing her underbelly without directly flying into her cannon. Of course, no ship would let this happen so she began to turn down and to port, bringing her full weight of broadside to bear on us.

  “Increase speed to 12.6,” said Mason and I did so. “That should outrun those guns.”

  “Done.”

  “Firing pattern is locked. Going for a sweep across her starboard batteries. Plasma lances should strike her engines as we pass.”

  “Sounds easy,” I said.

  “Time to find out. Hit the AUTO icon when it lights up, pal.”

  I watched the console on my right, letting my armored digit hover over it. Then, when the icon appeared, I pressed.

  “Right, she's all yours,” I said.

  “Well, not mine. We're going too fast for me to control the weapons. NavCom will do the rest. Hopefully.”

  “I admire your confidence,” I grinned.

  “When we pass, move to re-engage as soon as possible.”

  There was no point watching the viewer now. All we'd have seen was space and a fraction of a blur. Instead, I put the star chart up on the screen and we all watched the dots move about. Each one was now named and there, in green, was the Hikane as she drew closer and closer to the Wayward in red.