RELIC TECH
Terry W. Ervin II
Relic Tech
The Silicate War has been over for fifteen years, and the tension among the dominant galactic races is growing. Many fear that the Umblegarri, the ancient alien race that ushered humanity into the interstellar galactic community during the Silicate War, have been targeted for conquest by the Crax and their allies.
It’s no longer speculation. The invasion is underway and Kra finds himself strapped to a hospital bed, critically injured and surrounded by hostile corporate lawyers, high ranking military and intelligence officials, ambitious members of the criminal justice apparatus, and an Umbelgarri diplomat. All are demanding answers or their pound of flesh.
Krakista Keesay, a Class 4 Security Specialist, doesn’t have the answers they demand. Why did he sabotage a top secret research facility? What was he doing on a quarantined planet? Why did he set up the civil transport Kalavar for destruction? Is that all? Not even close.
Kra turns to his only option: Allow his brain to be hooked up to an experimental device so that he might prove his innocence.
Or lose his mind.
Chapter 1
I was on my back. Acid needles assaulted every nerve ending, and I knew the wracking pain was just the tip of the iceberg. Some folks say your first impression is the best one. If that’s the case, instinct signaled I was in trouble...deep trouble.
I must have been on pain meds. They were keeping intolerable suffering at bay. With them I could handle it, just barely. Why did I need pain meds? The faint whir of small fans caught my ear. Probably cooling electronic equipment. I tried to open my eyes. Only the left responded. Blurred vision revealed a low, tiled ceiling. I made my first mistake when I tried to sit up. Straps held me down. Trying a little harder proved to be my second mistake. Searing pain shot from my stomach out to arms and legs. I fought against blacking out.
Just before losing consciousness I heard a man’s voice. “He’s awake.”
When I came to, I was lying slightly elevated. Without moving my head, I observed my surroundings with my left eye. I was in a large one-door, sterile room. White walls with metallic accents suggested I was aboard a military vessel. A slight effort with my wrists indicated I wasn’t going anywhere. I had pain to keep me company. Thin blankets matching the décor covered my legs. A lumpy inconsistency suggested a bandaged left leg. Tubes emerged from under the covers and swung around behind me, likely connected to computer monitoring equipment. Instead of an infirmary, I was in a conference room. My mind raced with questions. I wondered where I was and if I’d been caught up in some sort of accident. Where was my surgeon?
The door opened. In silence, military aides—low-ranking colonial marine officers—began setting up chairs and a long table. They placed computer clipboards on the table along with paper files. The aides filed out and a number of men and one woman entered. Suits and uniforms. From holo-news reports and my security training I surmised I was about to participate in a judicial pretrial proceeding. My vision still cloudy, I focused on listening.
A man seated at the left end of the table, tapping at a computer clipboard, cleared his throat. “Good to be alive?”
“Yeah,” I responded in a dry whisper.
From behind, a man approached and held a clear cup of water with a white straw to my lips. I sipped. Moving my eye slowly, I found I could focus better. I took another drink. The water tasted metallic. My cup-bearing nurse retreated to his original position behind me, still in view of the assembled inquisitors.
I observed the seven men and one woman at the table. Their uniform medals and insignias of rank were impressive. The black suits looked tailored, with matching yellow and black patterned silk ties. Yellow and black meant corporate lawyers.
I looked down at my mangled left leg. It hurt marginally less than my face, and slightly more than my side. Maybe the tubes made a difference. Maybe seeing them made the perceived pain worse.
The nameless assembly waited a few minutes. There looked to be only two corporate lawyers, seated on the left end of the table. Next to them sat a colonial marine general. He was whispering to a fleet admiral with fewer medals and less gray in his mustache. The other three seated individuals included a rep from the criminal justice investigatory squad, a nondescript individual—probably an intelligence agency official, and the lady who wore the insignia of an intragalactic diplomat. An I-Tech technician stood at the end of the white table, readying some holographic recording equipment. Somewhere a judge would be observing the pretrial proceedings. Judges tended to be cold and anonymous, like all corporate actions they presided over.
This looked to be big, but how was I involved? I couldn’t remember.
The lawyer who’d addressed me before cleared his throat again. “Krakista Keesay?”
I nodded ever so slightly. I recalled my name. Always a positive in a judicial hearing.
“Relic Tech, Class 4 Transport Security Specialist?”
I nodded again. I recognized the voice and looked closer. It was Falshire Hawks! He was the most prominent publicized corporate lawyer—always in the news. He stood perched, tall and angular with confident, cold blue eyes. He looked older than in the holo-newscasts. At least I knew one of my accusers, but why would he be attending a pretrial, addressing me?
Hawks feigned reading from a computer clipboard as he moved around the table. “Most recent assignment, Negral Corporation, aboard the civil transport Kalavar.”
I recalled being assigned to the Kalavar. Had I boarded?
The lawyer cleared his throat impatiently and stepped closer. I nodded. It’s not that I hate silk ties. I normally don’t even despise those who can afford them. But Hawks’s was an obnoxious yellow. I hated it with a surprising deep-rooted ferocity.
“Specialist Keesay, you have been accused of the following crimes.” He held the computer clip up to my face.
My vision close up was still cloudy, but not as much as my memory. I couldn’t make out the lines of script, and there were a lot of them.
“Please voice-acknowledge these indictments.”
“I can’t read them,” I said.
“Are you illiterate? Should we add falsification of credentials to the list?”
“I request assistance of a corporate lawyer,” I said in a steady but weak voice. “Negral Corp is my sponsor.” Hawks wasn’t impressed. I watched his smile broaden.
“That option is not available to you.” He hardly waited for me to inhale before continuing. “Negral Corporation has been acquired by the Capital Galactic Investment Group, whom I represent. Thus, I represent you.”
I didn’t know precisely how, but I was about to be warp-screwed. A common occurrence when an I-Tech gets the upper hand.
“Specialist Keesay, I, as I said, represent Capital Galactic Investment. I represent you. I am the least of your problems. These individuals, however...” He scanned the long table. “They can speak for themselves.”
They looked ready. But from my limited training in jurisdiction and the law, I guessed corporate-political protocol was keeping them at bay, for the moment.
My physical pain retreated to the background as concern over my situation grew. “Then whose side are you on? Theirs?”
“I am on the side of the investor. You are my client, as CGIG is now your sponsor.” His musk-scented cologne mingled with his wintergreen breath mint. I found the combination repugnant.
Falshire Hawks stood with his chest puffed out and licked his teeth. “By default you are an investor, minor though it may be.”
Maybe he could have put a little more sarcasm into his use of the word minor. “Could you please then read the list of accusations
to me?” I asked. “I am having trouble focusing.”
My lawyer sneered and tapped an activation region on the computer clipboard. The synthesized voice began as he tossed it on my lap. In my condition, even four ounces sent shockwaves of pain through my body. Still, I managed to listen.
“Krakista Keesay, R-Tech rated, Class 4 Transport Security Specialist, formerly endued service skilled investor of the Negral Corporation.”
I fought bewilderment more than pain as it droned on.
“You are accused of the following crimes as described in common terms of understanding code, reference 44.6 section 119.4 subsection 2, under the joint jurisdiction of the corporate, civil and military codes. Aiding and abetting a non-human enemy, dereliction of duty, desertion, intragalactic espionage against the corporate state, abduction, planetary quarantine violation, sabotage of corporate property, two counts, subsequent destruction of corporate property, two counts, theft of corporate property, three counts, insurrection, and first degree treason.”
“What?” I asked. “I don’t remember any of that...I didn’t do any...” Everyone was listening. The criminal justice official struggled to remain seated. The final charge, first degree treason, hit me the hardest. It meant my actions resulted in the deaths of over 100 military or corporate personnel! I couldn’t even recall how I became injured. Something wasn’t right. That yellow tie Hawks wore, I despised it. And it was coming closer.
“Well,” said my lawyer, “you have heard the charges. Trust me, the evidence against you is overwhelming. As your representative I recommend you plead guilty to charges two, four, six, seven, eight and nine under the corporate code and accept your punishment. Don’t you agree?” He leaned forward, pressing his hand on my mangled leg. “How do you plead?”
I gritted my teeth, struggling against the pain, hating that black and yellow tie and the torturing hand connected to it. Everything started to go black. Computer generated medical alarms sounded.
Falshire Hawks stepped back. “As the Capital Galactic Investment Group is currently represented by fifty-four percent of the Earth Alliance House of Corporate Representatives, our charges take precedence. Prodigious as your crimes are, as a rule we don’t execute violators. However, the military does, after a satisfactory interrogation.”
My mind spun. I needed time. Those crimes? What evidence? It took only a few seconds to finally realize that I was being set up. It was simple enough to frame someone, especially someone with no recollection of the facts. The last thing I recalled was boarding the shuttle to the space dock, from the Mavinrom 1 Colony in the Gliese 876 system. An I-Tech doctor or psychiatrist could wipe my memory. But why do that? And why would they send Falshire Hawks?
He wasn’t going to give me time to think. “Well, Specialist Keesay?”
I stalled. “Could you repeat the charges?”
He frowned.
“Remove my straps,” I said, “and I’ll reactivate the clip.”
The criminal justice official stood. “Absolutely not!” His eyes locked with Hawks’s.
My lawyer raised an eyebrow in response to the CJO. “It is unlikely the…” Hawks started, but conceded the point. With an arcing motion he tapped the computer clipboard.
I ignored the synthesized voice repeating the charges. I had to think. I scanned the assembly. The general and the admiral displayed stern faces. The loud mouth CJO wore a frustrated expression. The diplomat was trying to appear disinterested and the intel man’s face held no emotion at all. The other lawyer was shifting his attention between the recording technician and me.
All this top brass. War! Desertion and aiding the enemy, treason. The diplomat had to be attached to the Phibs. I examined the insignia more closely. It was mottled gray, green and brown. Correct, the Umbelgarri. Humanity was at war with the Crax and supporting our interstellar patron race. The Umbelgarri were A-Tech. I’d read volumes about them. That was the key.
The room fell silent, except for breathing and the cooling fans. They always underestimate us R-Techs. Contrary to common I-Tech belief, the R does not stand for retarded. Something was hiding behind that yellow tie. I might live if I plead guilty for CGIG, or at least until I encountered an industrial accident. The absolute best I could hope for would be permanent indenture if I agreed to even a fraction of the charges. Somehow I knew the truth was behind the tie.
“Well?” asked Falshire Hawks. “Clearly state your plea.”
I’d never played Russian Roulette, and certainly not with five chambers loaded, but it was worth a shot. “I divest myself of all investment and interest in the Capital Galactic Investment Group.”
The statement stunned Falshire Hawks along with the rest of the assembly. An R-Tech in the depths of space without substantial assets going independent? Charity being an antonym for corporation, under normal circumstances I’d just condemned myself to a decade of indentured servitude. Damn the legal consequences. It was my chance!
Without taking a breath I said to the lady diplomat, “As an autonomous individual, I formally request political association with the Umbelgarri and subsequent protection under such association.”
Almost before I finished, the diplomat stood and replied, “As an official representative of the Umbelgarri, and vested with proper authority, I acknowledge your request and shall take it under consideration on their behalf.”
I hoped this would hold the military at bay. Advanced military tech support and alliance matters should encourage them to proceed with caution. Capital Galactic, on the other hand, was a corporate organization and another matter. I’d managed to catch Hawks off guard. Everyone underestimates relic techs.
Falshire Hawks’s partner whispered something into his ear. Calmly the senior corporate lawyer addressed the diplomat. “As you well know, it is against the Earth Alliance – Umbelgarri Treaty for you to offer political association to one under such charges. He must be tried, found innocent or guilty, and serve his punishment before he can be released to form any association.”
With nods, everyone around the table leaned back, seeming to accept this without question.
A toothy smile spread across Hawks’s face. “Further, as he has divested himself after having been informed of the accusations, he now lacks the ability to acquire legal representation.” His eyes sparkled. “I can assure you that the Capital Galactic Investment Group will not allow this individual to avail himself of Umbelgarri or any other assistance.”
I expected something like this as well. It appeared that the diplomat was interested in this case, and in me. Her quick action on my behalf, and the venomous look that she sent Hawks bolstered my resolve.
Hawks and his yellow tie faced me. “As his crimes against the Capital Galactic Investment Group supersede the others, as previously stated, he will be remanded to our custody pending judgment and assigned punishment by an appointed judiciary official.”
I could see the diplomat expected this. She looked at me even as I stared at Hawks. I knew she was hoping I had something planned other than assuring my own execution. I really despised that yellow tie, but my emotions began to focus on the man behind it. I would try anything to get back at him.
“I acknowledge that as an independent, lacking a corporate sponsor, I cannot acquire legal counsel. Nor can I speak before a court with respect to the corporate code allegations, having divested myself of any corporate ties. However, it is also my understanding under the corporate code, any relevant evidence recorded prior to divestment indicating innocence of the accused, presented to the court by verifiable hard copy or a computer devoid of artificial intelligence programming, is permissible and may be submitted.”
Hawks snorted. “You have no such evidence.”
It was my turn to smile, but I didn’t. With a straight face I said, “I do. I only require a computer to retrieve it and display it to the court.”
He suspected something was behind my request. Now, I was the one who couldn’t allow him time to think.
The Umbe
lgarri diplomat cut in, “If you deny the accused his legal request, the Umbelgarri will deem the Capital Galactic Investment Group to be acting in violation of the Earth Alliance – Umbelgarri Treaty and will immediately grant political association to the individual.”
The two corporate lawyers began to confer. The diplomat apparently overheard. “This is pretrial. There is no appeal on this request. The Umbelgarri will grant immediate political association. You may appeal that if your corporation desires.”
The diplomat, for the first time, viewed the holographic recorder. She addressed the judge on the other end. “May the Umbelgarri grant political association to the accused?”
A moment passed. Just before the small indication light flashed green, Falshire Hawks stepped forward. “The request of the accused is deemed admissible and granted.”
All in the assembly looked relieved, except the diplomat, until I opened my mouth. “I request data retrieval and presentation via the Cranaltar IV.”
Chapter 2
The Cranaltar IV is a 4th generation A-Tech or advanced technology brain-scanning device. It is being developed by several of the larger corporations with substantial Umbelgarri support. Some people consider A-Tech to stand for alien technology, which is in essence true, as humans are currently considered to be I-Tech or at the intermediate stage of technological advancement. Mankind probably would not have yet reached I-Tech if it were not for the Umbelgarri intervention during the Silicate War.
The previous Cranaltar prototypes were less than stellar successes. Any human hooked up to one came out somewhat addled at best. The ultimate purpose of the device is unclear, but it is purported to have the ability to draw information from an individual’s memory and store it as any combination of audio, visual, or even text files. It has even been suggested that advancements in the Cranaltar Project could eventually lead to information retrieval from recently deceased individuals. It has been asserted that is how the Umbelgarri utilize their more advanced version of the device.
Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) Page 1
