by Ryk Brown
Jessica didn’t bother looking up when she heard the door at the far end of the detention block open, nor as the footsteps marked the approach of visitors.
“I’m told that our stunners are a bit more painful than others,” the commander said.
“I’ve experienced worse,” Jessica muttered, still not looking up. When a strange fizzling sound followed, she raised her head slightly, just in time to see Commander Manderon walking through the active force field. “One-way, huh?” she mumbled, one eyebrow raised. “We’re going to want that tech,” she added, closing her eyes again.
“Everything on Sanctuary is for sale,” the commander replied, as if repeating some long-held mantra. “For the right price.”
Jessica continued nursing her stunner hangover.
“Interesting negotiating tactic,” the commander continued. “Did you really think beating up my office staff was going to get you what you want?”
“I was trying to make a point,” Jessica told her, sounding slightly annoyed.
“What, that you’re stupid?” the commander laughed.
“Fuck you.”
The commander signaled the two guards still standing outside the restraint force field. The two men stepped through the force field, taking Jessica by her arms and raising her to her feet.
“That was a mistake,” Jessica muttered. In the blink of an eye, she swept the left foot of the guard to her right out from under him, pulling him forward and to the left. At the same time, she pivoted left, pulling her left arm from the grasp of the guard to her left, who was now taking the full weight of the other guard as he stumbled into him. Her left elbow came around, striking the second guard in the face as she made a complete rotation, after which her right hand struck downward into the back of the first guard’s head.
With her left hand, Jessica yanked the nameplate from the second guard’s uniform as she dove forward into a tumble. As she came over, she dragged the small, metal nameplate along the rough, rocky floor of her cell, quickly grinding its edge. She came up from her tumble in the face of the commander. The commander took a swing at her, which Jessica easily avoided as she twisted around and caught the commander in a choke hold, the sharpened edge of the stolen nameplate held firmly against the commander’s external jugular vein.
The two guards scrambled to their feet, ready to attack, but froze when they saw their commander’s life threatened.
“Half a kilogram of pressure and you’ll bleed out in seconds,” Jessica whispered. “You get my point now?”
“I got your point the first time,” the commander insisted. “Are you finished with the theatrics now?”
Jessica released the commander, tossing her makeshift weapon to the floor as she stepped back. “At least your men weren’t stupid enough to enter the cell with sidearms,” she said. “I’ll give them that.”
The commander nodded to her men, indicating for them to depart. The force field disengaged, and the men departed.
“You’re not going to activate it again?” Jessica wondered.
“What would be the point?” the commander admitted. “You’d find a way out no matter what.”
“True.”
“But that’s not part of your plan, is it.”
“You’re smarter than you look,” Jessica quipped, returning to her bunk and sitting down, her head still feeling like it was in a vise.
“Are you always this difficult?” the commander wondered.
“It’s been a rough week,” Jessica replied. “I’m usually a much more pleasant person.”
The commander laughed. “I suspect you’re generally hell on wheels, twenty-four seven.”
“Twenty-four seven?” Jessica laughed. “I haven’t heard that in a while.”
“Unlike most of the colonized worlds, Sanctuary still follows Earth’s old calendar and timekeeping standards,” the commander explained. “Zulu time, in fact. Is not your ship on Zulu time?”
“Yeah, but we call it Earth Mean Time or Ship Time.”
“So, I’m assuming the point you’ve been trying to make is that there are people who might visit this station, who are capable of circumventing our security measures, and causing harm to those your men are assigned to protect.”
“Precisely.”
“And by not allowing your men to carrying weapons, we are in fact putting everyone at risk,” the commander continued.
“Two for two.”
“Well, it seems to me you’ve just demonstrated that you are quite capable of protecting yourself against men with weapons, even when you have none.”
“If they come, they will not be carrying stunners,” Jessica told her.
“No one gets weapons into Sanctuary without our permission.”
“Weapons are for sale in your marketplace,” Jessica pointed out.
“Those models have been deactivated, and have been cleared for use as demonstrators only,” the commander insisted.
“And they couldn’t be re-activated?”
“Not a chance,” the commander assured her. “Their power conduits and firing mechanisms have been removed, and the spaces filled with perma-bond. It would be impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” Jessica insisted.
“Agreed. But…highly improbable.”
“And that is what I’m worried about,” Jessica said, looking up again. “As good as the Ghatazhak are, they are not invincible, and we cannot afford to lose any more of them.”
“And if we allow you to carry weapons, what assurances do we have that you will not use them against us?”
“We have no quarrel with you,” Jessica assured her.
“Not yet.”
“Hopefully, not ever.” Jessica took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Look, Commander, all we want to do is keep our captain’s sister and her children safe for the duration of their stay on Sanctuary.”
“And how long will that be?”
“At this point, I have no way of knowing,” Jessica admitted.
“I see,” the commander sighed. She paced the width of the cell for a minute before continuing. “We have heard stories of the Ghatazhak,” she began. “Horrible stories. Acts of violence and terror that sour the expressions of good people.”
“The stories you have heard are not of the true Ghatazhak,” Jessica corrected. “They are of the Ybaran Legions. Brutal men dressed in Ghatazhak armor, trained to fight like Ghatazhak, but without the intelligence or education that make the Ghatazhak the remarkable warriors they are.”
Commander Manderon looked at Jessica. “It is true that abilities such as theirs require considerable commitment and training, as well as an unwavering sense of right and wrong, but…”
“I know,” Jessica said, cutting her off. “They do things at times that even the most hardened soldier cannot comprehend. That is what makes them Ghatazhak, the fact that they are able to do what must be done, regardless of how distasteful they may find it. Those are the men you want on your side.”
“If they are allowed to carry weapons, others will make similar requests,” the commander said. “It will lead us back to the chaos that plagued us in our early days.”
“Then make them members of your security force,” Jessica suggested.
“Excuse me?” the commander said, not sure that she heard Jessica correctly.
“Not officially. Just put them in uniform so everyone thinks they are Sanctuary Security.”
“My people worked hard to earn their uniforms,” the commander told her.
“Not as hard as the Ghatazhak have worked to earn theirs, I assure you,” Jessica replied.
“Perhaps, but…”
“If they come,” Jessica interrupted, “you will wish you had armed the Ghatazhak…believe me.”
“Twenty, maybe, thirty at the most,” Jessica replied. “And we will need full control over the security systems in both the medical center and our quarters.”
“Twenty, no more, and they are to be in TRT uniforms at all times,” the commander insisted.
“TRT?”
“Tactical Response Team.”
“And they can carry their own weapons?”
“No, they must carry TRT weapons. And, they must wear trackers and be on our comms at all times.”
“Agreed.”
“And if one of my officers gives them an order, they are to comply.”
“As long as that order does not jeopardize the ones they are protecting,” Jessica insisted.
“Agreed.”
“Then, we have a deal?” Jessica asked, standing.
“Pending congressional approval, yes,” the commander replied.
“How long will that take?” Jessica wondered.
“An hour,” the commander replied. “Two, at the most.”
“Good enough.”
“And next time, Lieutenant Commander…please, no theatrics.”
Jessica patted the commander on the shoulder as she walked past her, toward the exit, smiling. “Hell on wheels, remember?”
* * *
Abby and Deliza stood on the observation platform overlooking pier one-fourteen south. The pier contained several large buildings surrounded by access roads and a few smaller buildings.
“This?” Abby wondered. “This is one-fourteen south?”
“Yes,” Deliza replied. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s more than enough space, and it’s easy to isolate, thus making it more secure.”
“What about its defense?”
“General Telles suggested that no defenses be placed near this pier, so as not to draw attention.”
“What if we’re attacked?” Abby asked.
“My plant is only eight piers over, so we can defend this pier from there,” Deliza explained. “There are also several underwater transit tubes, one of which is designed for cargo, which feed this pier, so we can move people and supplies to and from here without detection.”
“So, we’re hiding in plain sight, then,” Abby surmised.
“That’s the idea,” Deliza replied. “The transit tubes will also make it quick and easy to evacuate, in case of attack.”
“What about the piers on either side?” Abby asked.
“Both are populated primarily by automated warehouses, so staffing is minimal.”
“Then some people will be at risk.” Abby didn’t sound happy.
“If we put the facility in an isolated location, it would be difficult to support and defend, not to mention it would look suspicious to the Dusahn,” Deliza explained. “This pier is the best balance of safety and functionality we could find. Besides, Yokimah owns it, so we don’t have to pay to use it.”
“I wasn’t aware that Ito Yokimah was into real estate,” Abby commented.
“Ito Yokimah is into anything that will make him money,” Deliza replied. “Personally, I think he bought most of the south-side piers when I purchased one-twenty-two south, just to prevent me from expanding…or to make a profit from me when I did.”
“I guess the joke is on him, then,” Abby said.
Deliza smiled.
“When can we move in?” Abby asked.
“It will take a few days to beef up the power systems for the entire pier, but we can begin setting up in the meantime.”
“So, we’re going to have to shuttle down for work, I suppose,” Abby commented.
“Yanni and I are getting a place in the city,” Deliza told her. “Vinto district. A ten-minute transit ride to the plant. Maybe you should do the same?”
“I hate the idea of moving the kids again,” Abby said, “and Erik is actually enjoying the work he is doing for Lieutenant Commander Shinoda.”
“The children are likely to be even happier on Rakuen,” Deliza pointed out, “and couldn’t your husband do his work from Rakuen just as easily as from the Mystic Empress?”
“I suppose he could,” Abby agreed, sighing. She looked out at the ocean beyond the piers. “I think my children would like it here. But, now that Rakuen has joined the Karuzari Alliance, it does make it a target.”
“No more so than any ship in the fleet, including the Mystic,” Deliza said. “And if Rakuen is attacked, you and your family would be among the first to be evacuated.”
“I suppose.” Abby looked out at the ocean again, noticing several odd-looking ships approaching the next pier over. “What are those?”
Deliza looked at the ships and smiled. “Those are Orochi carriers…our first project.”
* * *
Vladimir and Dalen followed Marcus through the maze of vendor booths, racks of parts, and tables full of various tools and equipment.
“This place is like a giant flea market, but of technology,” Vladimir said, pausing to examine a strange-looking piece of equipment.
“I bet we could find some JT8s here,” Dalen suggested.
“What are JT8s?”
“Pieces of garbage,” Marcus muttered, stopping to look back at Vladimir and Dalen. “You two need to keep up.”
“How are we going to find anything if we plow through without stopping to look at stuff?” Vladimir wondered.
“This is all crap,” Marcus insisted. “The good stuff is always at the center.”
“JT8s are not garbage,” Dalen argued.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.”
“Is someone going to tell me what JT8s are?” Vladimir wondered.
“What, you prefer the two-twenties we have on there now?” Dalen asked, laughing.
“The two-twenties don’t blow out as often,” Marcus insisted.
“That’s cuz they got too much resistance, so they never get up to full power,” Dalen argued. “Which means the stream accelerators never run at full power.”
“We don’t need them to run at full power,” Marcus replied.
“Oh, now I know what you’re talking about,” Vladimir realized. “Those little flow regulators.”
“Of course we need them to run at full power,” Dalen argued. “Why the hell wouldn’t you want them to run at full power? They’re engines. That’s what they’re supposed to do.”
“No, he’s right,” Vladimir told Dalen as they continued following Marcus through the crowded market. “Full power is not good if you have to constantly make repairs. Better to run at less than full power, and run reliably.”
“Don’t agree with me,” Marcus grumbled. “It makes me nervous.” Marcus suddenly stopped. “This is where the good stuff is,” he announced, spreading his arms wide.
Vladimir and Dalen both stood with their mouths agape. Before them was the central square of the tech market on Sanctuary. While the space they had been walking through was a single level, the central square—which was actually round—was four levels high, two of which were below them. And these vendors were unlike those they had seen thus far. These vendors were selling new tech, not broken down, used stuff like everyone else. Before them lay the cutting edges of technology, from as many as seven different sectors of space.
“Bozhe moi,” Vladimir exclaimed.
“Screw the JT8s,” Dalen added.
Vladimir looked
at Marcus. “How did you ever pull yourself away from this place?”
Marcus laughed. “It wasn’t always like this,” he pointed out as he led them around to the right. “It’s grown tenfold, at least, since the last time I was here. Probably because of the jump drive.”
“Just how far has the jump drive spread?” Vladimir wondered.
“Best I can tell, across nine sectors, not including Sol and Pentaurus,” Marcus replied.
“This is going to take awhile,” Vladimir realized.
“Just remember one thing,” Marcus warned. “Never pay asking. Hell, don’t even pay half what they ask. Otherwise, you’ll become a mark for every other vendor in the market.”
“Please,” Vladimir replied. “I once watched my mother argue over the price of an apple for twenty minutes, just to save half a credit. I know how to haggle.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Marcus grumbled.
* * *
“One more thing,” Cameron said. “Commander Kaguchi is requesting use of the fleet’s boxcars.”
“Don’t the Rakuen have their own haulers?” Nathan wondered.
“They do, but most of them are busy moving materials from the belt to Rakuen and Neramese, to feed the fabricators,” Cameron explained.
Nathan leaned back in his chair, turning to study the view screen on his ready room wall, as he called up the mission schedules for the Karuzari fleet. “They’re busy rearranging pods on the Inman and the Manamu,” Nathan observed. “Did the commander say why he needed them?”
“He said they are not getting materials up to them in a timely fashion.”
“What about those spectator haulers?” Nathan wondered. “Those things were pretty big. Maybe he can strip the seats out of a few and use them to haul cargo?”
“He’s already done that,” Cameron replied. “We’ve got all four boxcars working on the Inman and the Manamu. Maybe we can cut that number in half and assign two of them to Commander Kaguchi for awhile?”
“I suppose so,” Nathan agreed, “but only long enough to get him stocked up for a few days. We need to finish converting those ships into carriers if we’re ever going to take the fight to the Dusahn.”
