by Max Jager
"The only thing that's gonna screen ya guys is common sense. We have a strict twenny minute deadline to get that behemoth back up ta speed and none o' us are gonna risk our lives making sure there ain't any color-blind rookies still stickin' around," Jim retorted sternly, drawing chuckles from many.
All donned their safety gear by the time the separator between Sector C and the turbine had parted. With a nod from Jim, the groups entered the chamber three and four at a time, filling it within two minutes. In no significant hurry, Jaren and his group entered a minute after opening and found a spot on the radiator marked by a small but bright red light. Upon removing the panel below the light, an acrid steam permeated the surrounding air and eventually whisked away to reveal a metal grill that had fallen out of place. The team made quick work of the displaced part and replaced the panel soon afterward. To affirm they did the job right, the red LED dimmed out. Based on a nearby timer clock, they still had seven minutes to clear out before code yellow. Appeasing his curious nature, Jaren elected to take his own tour of the innards of the turbine. Many teams were still inside working on faulty connections that related to regulating the speed of the turbines blades. Referring to the reference card, Jaren saw that the purpose of the blades was hardly to provide additional thrust to move the flagship but rather to further assist in the cooling of the fuel thrusters situated at the end. Thus, regulating the speed of the blades in the most efficient manner possible was crucial to getting the turbine as a whole to run efficiently.
Satisfied with his discoveries, Jaren headed back to Sector C with two minutes to spare. The sight of one worker failing to get a faulty connection to work caught him by surprise on his way out.
"Not so fast Trace... or rather, Jaren Sikel."
For an instant, Jaren felt as though his heart would stop beating. He could not see the man's face, as he too was wearing identical headgear with a shade over the face.
"Who the hell are you talk-"
"Cut the charade already, and don't waste my time, or else the authorities will know about the serial killer on board."
"Serial? What?"
"Haven't you been reading the headlines? Jaren Sikel is the prime suspect in the murders of Drek Black and Kraen Vendhal."
"Kraen? What the fuck? I didn't even touch him!"
"Heh, yeah right. Your fingerprints tell a completely different story, I'm afraid. All around the poor man's dainty little neck.
"Look, we got a minute thirty so let's make this quick. On grounds of your ID being exposed I'm warning you not to dig your nose where it doesn't belong regarding the use of slavery on this ship or any other governmental institution."
"Oh? So what if I do dig around?"
"I promise you that I'll know right away and the result ain't gonna be pretty."
Anger and frustration began to cloud Jaren's rationality and judgment. Out of sheer impulse, Jaren's right leg launched off the ground and connected with the other man's crotch. The man instantly fell to the ground screaming in agony.
"I'll have you know that I have no patience dealing with blackmailers. Good day to you, sir," Jaren uttered in a surprisingly smug and confident voice as he headed toward the exit. Deep inside, however, he was anything but confident about his situation. He knew he had to get out of the flagship immediately. His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the man he downed, "Oh, you think you can get away that easily, Jaren? I'm sorry to say that I have no other choice than to kill you."
On the word "you," Jaren heard a click, and the ambient light instantly changed from green to red. The suction force of the turbine asserted itself within seconds, immediately accelerating Jaren's pulse. He sprinted forward, only able to move about thirty feet before needing to find something to grip onto. The man, unable to move from the pain in his crotch started vibrating with the floor. Seconds later, Jaren had a steadfast grip on a cooling pipe, which he knew couldn't last for long - the man was already being dragged helplessly toward his doom by the blades of the turbine. With his final breath he yelled, "You're next, Jaren Sikel!" before quickly picking up speed and finally colliding with the turbine, causing fiber, shrapnel and other debris to scatter everywhere and making a sharp, high-pitched shredding noise. The ambient light changed from red to blinking red, and Jaren could now make out a siren blaring in the distance against the deafening din of the turbine's engine. At that point, he could barely stand, his death grip on the pipe weakening. For the third time in two days, his panic rush kicked in, strengthening his grip on the pipe two-fold just as the suction picked up enough to kick his legs off the ground, causing his body to be suspended in midair. He was now holding on by his hands alone and his grip through the padding of his gloves started to grow weak and slippery. Fifteen seconds later, his left hand gave way and limply hung parallel to the rest of his body. Lactic acid quickly started taking its toll on his right arm, and Jaren ensued a battle that required every last shred of his will and focus. He couldn't win the battle in time for help to arrive. His right hand gave way, and he tumbled several feet before his world blacked out.
"Hmm... a very close call indeed; we were on the brink of losing our most valuable subject."
"Got to the control room just in time to force disable the turbine, unfortunately causing it to sustain some hefty damage."
"You of course remembered to take a blood sample as soon as you found him, correct? Otherwise, that's five-hundred thousand GC's gone to waste."
"Yeap. Getting it analyzed as we speak."
"Anything interesting come up from preliminary examination?"
"His adrenaline concentration at time of extraction measured 4 mg per liter."
"Holy fucking cow!"
"That's not the only thing I got. He's also got a meg of titroxin per liter coursing through his veins."
"I see. Send me the full report as soon as it becomes available."
"Sure thing, Captain."
B1 Chapter 4
IV
11:56 a.m.
"Heart rate: 61 bpm. Blood pressure: 110 over 73. He's gonna be alright, just a bit lax at the moment."
"Roger that. Are we clear to take him off tranquilimine?"
"Yep, he should come to in around twenty minutes."
12:21 p.m.
Greeted by blurry vision, Jaren awoke in a solitary hospital bed, the only piece of furniture in the small patient's room he currently resided in. The white bed blended in with the white, evenly-painted walls, giving the room a cramped and monotonous feel. The room, in Jaren's eyes, was no better than a prison cell, the monotony of it as choking as the dank, putrid fumes of a real prison. He left the bed and searched around the room finding no sign of a door or any other kind of portal to and from the area. Puzzled, he sat back on the bed and stared up at the blank ceiling. As he did customarily in a cryptic situation, he tried to recall the last thing he remembered, but doing so only gave him a sharp headache. Massaging his head, he fell back on the bed and continued to stare at the roof, hoping the next not-so-dull moment of his life would come soon.
Within the next minute, Jaren's stupor of boredom ended with a flash of blue light coming from one of the broader walls and tracing a door-like shape. The shape became a portal of blue force, and Jaren gazed at it in bemusement. A few seconds after the portal formed, a figure strode through, the same bounty hunter Jaren saw earlier in prison.
"Long time no see, Jaren."
"Don't make me laugh. So, what're you here for this time?"
"Well, I can't bail you out of this joint. This is no second-rate, understaffed prison, I'm afraid."
"I figured as much. Why are you here then?"
"To bail you out, of course."
Jaren blinked and stuffed his finger in his ear as though he hadn't heard the hunter properly, "What? Didn't you say earlier that you couldn't bail me out?"
"Not me, kid; Erand Drel, the greatest defense lawyer this side of the universe. I personally brought him here to defend you."
Jaren nodded and
continued to stare blankly back at the bounty hunter as though the encounter was just a dream.
"Alright, can't keep the security cam that's keeping an eye on this place disabled for too long. I gotta go for now."
The hunter turned back toward the portal.
"Hold it! Who are you, and why did you get me into this joint when you knew from the beginning my life would be at stake? Oh! And why did you change my identity and get me into even deeper shit, huh?"
"The answers to those questions will become apparent soon enough, Jaren. Farewell."
The hunter vanished in a blink, and, moments later, a figure clad in formal, silver-trimmed white robes entered the room. His face was young-looking with firm skin, and Jaren could notice a twinkle in his confident, black eyes. His naturally silver hair extended to just past his neck, giving him an elegant, but authoritative feel.
"I believe no introduction is necessary, Mr. Sikel."
"You are Erand, my defense attorney?"
"Yes. Before we begin, I would like to tell you that our conversation is recorded, so please refrain from mentioning anything outside the case at hand."
Jaren nodded and Erand continued, "I'm not sure how knowledgeable you are on the capital trial system, so let's get a few facts cleared up.
"Firstly, your fate will be decided by none other than the great Emperor himself. Secondly, trials like this will usually take place in one hearing after which the Emperor will immediately hand down his decision unless there has been a sufficient dispute between the prosecution and defense warranting a delay of the decision. Lastly, if you are found guilty of your charges, you will be brought to the arena the very next day, where torture and execution will be brutally administered to you, depending on what you're convicted of."
Jaren did not flinch at the prospect of death, having cheated it twice in the past two days. He continued to listen intently.
"Now," Erand began after a short pause, "we discuss your charges. Allow me to read the list provided by the Order of the Emperor: Jaren Sikel is hereby indicted on the following level two charge: unlawful possession of potent substances; the following level four charges: murder of Drek Black, capital deception through the assumption of a false identity; and the following level five charge: murder of respected overseer, Kraen Vendhal."
"But wai-"
"I know which charges are true, Jaren; the level two, the level four murder of Drek Black and the level four deception charge."
"Excuse me, but as far as I know, I have not possessed any potent substances. And it wasn't my freakin fault that I look like a red-haired dude with a damn pony-tail!"
Erand ignored the latter statement. "Allow me to present the results of a diagnostic test from the biological analysis lab of this hospital. The test indicates that at the time your blood was sampled, you had over one-hundred times the normal level of adrenaline in your blood as well as a significant amount of a substance known as titroxin. As for the deception charge, I know nothing of it."
"Sorry, mister, but I'll have you know that that whacko bou-"
Erand shoved his hand to Jaren's mouth, "May I remind you that this conversation is recorded? You are currently not at liberty to discuss such things.
"Anyway, I hate to break it that testimony that isn't substantiated with evidence will take you nowhere in court. The last person the judge is going to believe is the defendant himself."
Jaren grunted, "Now that's what I call unbiased."
Erand sighed, "Luckily, the way the system works, you are only punished for the highest level charge for which you are found guilty, regardless of the number of other crimes you committed or their severity. I can acquit you of the level five but not of the level four against Drek or the level four deception. You will need to plead guilty to those."
"But doesn't guilt of any murder charge result in the death penalty?"
"If convicted of a level five charge or above, you have virtually no hope of avoiding the death penalty. In a level four, however, you are sentenced to fight everyday in the arena until you are killed."
Jaren spat on the ground, then slowly turned his gaze back to Erand, "Yeah, great, so you're saying I plead to be made the feature entertainment on this dump? I'd rather die, thank you very much."
"This is the only hope we have, Jaren. With your ability, I believe you will have no problem surviving in the arena. That should buy us time for further action."
Erand stood up and strode out of the room. "Good luck, Jaren."
12:45 p.m.
Sitting in his prison cell and surrounded by darkness, Jaren couldn't feel calmer. The prospect of standing trial in the empire's highest court could not even slightly agitate his nerves. Not one bit. Not after he had already evaded two murder attempts by the skin of his teeth. From the way his life was heading, he surmised he would have too many more close calls with death if he continued to live. A rational thinker, Jaren refused to have his life put in the hands of chance. To him, certain death seemed more appealing than a life controlled by random probability every waking moment. Slowly, he closed his eyes and entered a state of deep thought. He reached a decision. To plead guilty at the fifth level and end his game of chance once and for all. Besides, as the blackmailer at the turbine had said, Jaren's fingerprints had found their way to Kraen's filthy little neck. How could Erand, let alone anyone, disprove that evidence?
Rather suddenly, a voice, a whisper, seeped into Jaren's ear from an adjacent cell, breaking his train of thought.
"Hey, kid, how're you faring in there?"
Jaren's heart warmed to the sudden outburst of compassion, which felt like a weak ray of light in the black void.
"I'm alright, I guess," he replied quite timidly. "What are you in for?"
"Rebellion, son... 'gainst the empire, a level four. The corruption going on in the capital was drivin' me bazooka, and I had to do something about it. Haven't caught your name by the way."
After a moment's hesitation, Jaren stated his name, realizing that continuing his charade was no longer necessary.
"Jonathan Altmann," spat the prisoner after Jaren's query, "but my friends, my fellow rebels, used to call me Harrison Fire. I be a demolitionist expert you see, and I kinda dyed my hair orange and red to give that vibe. You can just call me Jon."
"I see," Jaren managed after a deep sigh. Expecting to hear the worst, he inquired about the fate of Jon's comrades.
"Dead, every last one of them. Just dead. Wiped out by sniper rifles, artillery, you name it... they're just dead, man," he regurgitated in an emotionless manner.
"I'm... sorry," Jaren muttered as if he had lost control of his lips, which were acting on etiquette rather than true emotion.
They fell silent. For hours, they just sat against their adjoining walls hearing nothing but each other's breathing. Deep inhalations. Two-second pauses. And finally an exhale that lasted several seconds and sounded like a sigh of relief. Or grief. But they didn't care to read emotions. Until Jaren broke the silence again.
"So d'you wanna live or die?"
"Funny you ask that," Jon whispered hoarsely several moments later.
"Y'know, kid, I haven't seen ya in person or asked you the meaning of life. But somehow, something inside me tells me that ya got good character. Some retarded instinct tells me that this pathetic parliament needs to be brought to its knees. I'll tell you what, bro, I might be as scared of death as you are, but if you really could do something about this mess, I'd give my ectoplasm up in a heartbeat."
Jaren pondered telling Jon what he thought of death, but kept the matter silent. He hadn't realized how badly he needed a comrade at this time, someone he could trust. Someone whom he could confide in and communicate with. And he needed that comrade to seem as strong as possible. As intently as he had made up his mind, he changed it. He couldn't die. Not until he knew he had done everything in his power to stop the inhumanity the government had deteriorated into practicing.
Light started to flood the chamber.
"Sikel!" boomed a strong voice. "The high court is ready for you."
Defend me well, Erand, Jaren thought with optimism, my fate is in your hands. But somehow, I think it's gonna be alright.
B1 Chapter 5
V
5:36 p.m.
"Titroxin, eh? How in the hell did that get in his system?"
"I'm not sure. We have a few theories, none of which seem to be accurate based on the very minor trace we found in him."
"I see, but you're suggesting that it is this chemical that gives him the unwavering ability to survive in even the most dire situations?"
