The Falken Chronicles

by Piers Platt

  He signaled to the chef for the bill. “We better get going. I need to see if there are any tickets left for your flight back to Earth.”

  Chapter 4

  Amid a throng of other passengers, Falken shouldered his duffel bag, and walked beside Vina down the transport’s boarding tube. They stepped through the hatch onto the deep space transit hub, and followed a set of glowing arrows down a corridor into a large customs hall, with multiple lines of people waiting to have their biometrics scanned. Above the scanning booths, a wide window opened out onto space – through the window, Falken could see the graceful blue-green curve of Earth’s atmosphere. He stopped for a moment, holding up the line of people behind him as he stared at the sight.

  “Everything okay?” Vina asked, smiling at him quizzically.

  “Yeah,” Falken said, his voice heavy with emotion. “It’s just been a long time.”

  When it was their turn to be scanned, Falken let Vina step up to the booth first. She placed her hand on a palm scanner, and looked up into a camera that surveyed her face, then zoomed in on her right eye.

  “Vina Weaver,” the machine stated. “Welcome back to Earth.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Falken stepped up and let the machine scan him next.

  “Sirio Falken,” the machine said. “You are subject to certain travel restrictions, per Justice Department regulations. Would you like a reminder of those restrictions?”

  “No,” Falken said. “I remember.”

  “Attempting to board a vehicle with a restricted destination will violate the terms of your parole,” the machine cautioned him.

  “I know,” Falken said. “I’m just connecting here to another flight.”

  “Have a safe trip,” the machine told him.

  A barrier gate swung aside, and Falken and Vina stepped through it.

  “You’re not going to get in trouble for this, are you?” she asked, a frown creasing her brow.

  “I don’t think so,” Falken said. As long as I stay up here in orbit, and don’t try to catch a shuttle back down to Earth. “Come on,” he said, smiling to hide his nervousness. “Let’s go find a ride.”

  They made their way across the station, and eventually located a hallway lined with the booths of tour operators. Vina looked at Falken, who shrugged.

  “Let’s just try that one, I guess,” he said.

  The man behind the counter glanced up and saw them approaching. “Hi!” he said, smiling. “Looking for a private flight? Let me guess: it’s date night, and you guys want to do a sunset cruise.”

  “Ah, no,” Falken said, blushing. “We are looking for a private flight, though.”

  “Just some sightseeing? No problem. Name the place, and I’ll fly you there.” He stuck his hand out. “Bishna. Owner and pilot.”

  “Falken,” Falken said, shaking his hand. “This is Vina.”

  “A pleasure, ma’am,” Bishna said. He tapped on a button, and a hologram appeared over the counter, showing his ship, spinning slowly. The view changed after a moment, to show the vessel’s plush interior cabin, with leather couches and a number of wide portholes. “Here’s my ship. Now where can I take you two?”

  Falken cleared his throat. “We’d like to visit another ship,” he said. “But I’m not sure where it is.”

  Bishna frowned. “Okaaaay. Dropping in on a friend unannounced?”

  “Something like that,” Falken agreed. “If you could take us up into high orbit, I should be able to point it out.”

  “High orbit? Can do, but it will cost you, just to be up front. We charge a flat rate by the hour, plus a fuel surcharge for longer trips. And if we need to tool around a bit looking for this ship of yours, it’ll definitely be a longer trip.”

  “That’s fine,” Falken said, thinking of the insurance claim money from the Ecolympus.

  “Well, then, let’s open up a credit line, and we can get going,” Bishna said.

  Five minutes later, Vina and Falken were seated in the ship’s passenger compartment, which was roughly oval in shape, with thick carpets and wood-paneled cabinets above a well-stocked bar. At the front of the cabin, a panel slid down to reveal the back of Bishna’s head. He finished flipping a handful of switches at the pilot’s station, and then radioed the transit hub’s control tower for clearance to take off.

  “Normally I’d give you guys a little privacy,” Bishna said, indicating the open panel with a jerk of his thumb. “But I’ll just leave it open so you can tell me when you see your ship.”

  “Sounds good,” Falken said.

  Through the forward viewport, he watched as the hull of the transit hub slid away, and then the craft spun through a slow turn, and accelerated away from Earth and the station above it, joining a line of traffic headed for deep space. For a time, Falken and Vina just watched the space traffic, taking in the sights of transports and cargo vessels maneuvering for position amongst the trade lanes.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” Vina whispered to Falken, checking to ensure that Bishna could not hear them.

  “Sorry,” Falken said, keeping his voice low. “We’re looking for a Justice Department ship.”

  “A prison ship?” she asked.

  Careful, Falken, he chided himself. “Sort of. It’s where they process inmates when they come in and out of prison.”

  “You went through there?” she asked.

  “This is the outer orbit zone,” Bishna called, interrupting them. “I’m going to pull off here, otherwise we’ll find ourselves at the moon.” He pointed through the viewport. “Big cluster of freighters over that way. Want to start looking there?”

  Falken shook his head. “No. This ship will be off on its own.”

  “Okay, hang on. Let’s be smart about this,” Bishna said. He typed on his terminal for a moment, and then a vidscreen in the cabin flipped on, and began cycling through images of ships. “Computer’s showing you all solitary vessels in outer orbit. Holler when you see it.”

  Falken watched the screen as a procession of ships flickered across it. Then his eyebrows shot up in recognition.

  “That’s it.”

  “Coming up as the UNCS Sydney,” Bishna said.

  Sydney, Falken thought, smiling. As in Sydney, Australia. “That’s the one.”

  Bishna tapped on his screen again, and a red outline appeared on the forward viewport, highlighting the distant ship. “Got it.”

  “Are they going to let us in?” Vina asked, whispering again.

  “I have no idea,” Falken replied.

  Vina was quiet for a moment. “I think I need a drink,” she said, eyeing the bottles in the sideboard.

  “Yeah,” Falken said.

  Past Bishna, the familiar shape of the ship loomed larger in the viewport. Falken could see running lights blinking along its side, and a set of turret-mounted cannons just below the ship’s bow.

  “Uh … what kind of ship did you say this was?” Bishna asked.

  A blinding red light flashed through the viewport, dazzling them momentarily. Squinting, Falken saw the nearest turret spin, the cannon rotating to line up on the shuttle.

  A stern voice emanated from the shuttle’s speakers. “Unidentified shuttle, this is the UNCS Sydney. You are entering a restricted area,” it told them. “If you do not maintain one kilometer of separation, you will be fired on.”

  “What the fuck!” Bishna protested. He yanked on the shuttle’s controls, turning sharply away from the larger ship. “What the hell have you gotten me into?” he asked, frowning over his shoulder at Falken.

  “Wait!” Falken said, standing up. “Hail them.”

  “What? No!”

  “Just try it, please,” Falken said. “I’m not asking you to fly any closer, I just want to talk to them.”

  “I don’t think so,” Bishna said.

  “I’ll double your fee,” Falken promised.

  Bishna sighed. “God save us,” he grumbled, but he tapped on his screen. �
�Radio’s on. Say your piece.”

  “I’m trying to reach Captain Peshai,” Falken said. “Please tell him that Sirio Falken would like to see him.”

  Chapter 5

  The radio was silent.

  “Did they hear?” Falken asked.

  Bishna nodded. “They heard.”

  Falken could feel his blood pounding in his ears. Then the radio crackled again.

  “You’re cleared to dock at tube three. Be advised that this is an active prisoner facility. Your ship and all passengers will be searched upon docking. Noncompliance will be viewed as an act of aggression.”

  “Understood,” Falken said. “Take us in.”

  Bishna swore under his breath, but the red light faded abruptly, and he turned the shuttle, pointing it at the side of the Justice Department ship. They docked a moment later, and when the hatch slid open, four armed guards strode into the shuttle. Two of them frisked Bishna, Falken, and Vina, waving oddly-shaped wands across their bodies, while the other pair of guards searched the ship thoroughly, opening every compartment and cabinet, and then scanning the entirety of the ship with a set of handheld sensors.

  “The warden will see you now,” one of the guards told Falken, holstering his scanner.

  “She’s with me,” Falken said, indicating Vina.

  The guard nodded, and gestured that they should follow his colleague through the hatch.

  “Wait here?” Falken asked Bishna.

  The pilot shrugged, raising his eyebrows. “I’m just doing exactly what I’m told from here on out.”

  The guards led Falken and Vina through several corridors and onto an elevator, which rode upward several levels, and then opened into a hallway lined with offices. As he walked, Falken’s feet squeaked on the polished linoleum floors of the corridor – he winced at the loud noise. At the end of the hall, a hatch slid open when they approached, and revealed a wide desk sitting under a viewport, which offered a panoramic view of Earth. The office was spare and unadorned – a painting of a courtyard and fountain hung on one bulkhead wall, and the other wall was taken up with a large vidscreen that appeared to show a status board of some type, though Falken couldn’t quite puzzle out the meaning of the various icons.

  Captain Peshai sat at the desk, reading a report on his computer screen. He looked up when the door opened. He was wearing the same clothes as the rest of the crew, Falken noted – a blue-and-gray Corrections uniform, though Peshai’s sported a pair of gold-braided shoulder boards denoting his rank.

  “Come in,” he told them, standing up.

  “You want us to stay, sir?” the guard asked.

  “No,” Peshai said. “Thank you. It’s good to see you again, Falken,” he said, walking around the desk to shake hands with him. “And this is …?”

  “Vina,” she said, shaking his hand. “Vina Weaver.”

  “Nice to meet you, too. Please – have a seat.”

  “Thanks for seeing us,” Falken said, sitting. “I apologize for … well, for springing this on you.”

  “It’s certainly unusual to see one of our former charges come back,” Peshai agreed. He sat back down at his desk. He eyed Vina warily for a moment, then he faced Falken. “I don’t need to remind you that the terms of your parole include several clauses concerning the details of your incarceration. And not sharing those details with members of the general public.”

  “I remember,” Falken said.

  “Very well. So … why are you back, Falken?”

  Falken glanced over at Vina, then took a deep breath. “I want to go back in.”

  Peshai raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “While I was in, I became close friends with a man called Sef Weaver. Her father,” Falken said, indicating Vina.

  The warden turned to look at her. “Your father? And then you two met, years later?”

  Vina nodded. “It’s a crazy coincidence. I was on vacation, and Falken was my tour guide … we got to talking, he learned my last name … we couldn’t believe it, at first.”

  “When Vina told me that her father was still in prison, I decided to come here to talk to you,” Falken continued. “He’s a good man. He helped me earn my parole.”

  “And you want to try to repay the favor,” Peshai said.

  “Right,” Falken agreed.

  Peshai exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, Falken. What you’re asking is … not a minor thing.”

  “Has no one ever gone back in?” Falken said.

  “You would be the first,” Peshai said. “No one’s ever wanted to go back in, so I don’t think we even have a protocol for this. I certainly can’t authorize it without Justice Department approval.”

  “Would you be willing to try to get that approval?” Vina asked.

  “I’d follow whatever rules or conditions you put in place,” Falken added.

  Peshai pursed his lips. “What makes you think you could help him?” he asked.

  “I know him, probably better than anyone,” Falken said. “Whatever’s holding him back, I can help him work through it, just like he helped me. I know the … system … has been doing this a long time. But maybe it needs a more human touch.”

  Peshai held up his hand, silencing Falken. “Ms. Weaver, would you mind if Falken and I talk in private for a bit?”

  “No,” she said, frowning.

  “Thank you,” Peshai said. He stood up and walked Vina to the door. “The office next to mine is empty right now – you can make yourself at home.”

  Vina nodded and headed into the spare office, and Peshai stepped back inside his own office. The hatch closed behind him.

  “Let’s speak plainly,” he told Falken, returning to his desk. “Without me worrying about you violating your parole.”

  “Okay,” Falken said. “I haven’t told her anything about Oz.”

  “Good,” Peshai grunted. “Let’s keep it that way. You must have been surprised when you made the connection between her and her father.”

  “I was. I thought there was no way … I really thought Weaver was part of the simulation, like Archos, or Saltari. I think I even asked you about him when I got out.”

  “Mm,” Peshai said. “Hang on.” He typed on a set of holographic keys on his desktop for a moment. “Sef Weaver. Ah, now I remember. You were concerned he was innocent, and falsely imprisoned. I looked into it for you.” He looked up at Falken. “I remember reading through his case files, as you asked, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It certainly didn’t look like he was innocent.”

  “I was convinced that he was,” Falken said. “But Vina thinks he probably is guilty.”

  “Well, Oz – the program – may have altered his story for your specific simulation, to help you. It told you what you needed to hear, basically,” Peshai said. “It can and does do that, based on what it judges to be the best course of action for rehabilitation. Most times it will just let the real humans on Oz interact naturally with one another. But at other times, it will replace the people with a simulated version, if it wants to alter your progression in some way.”

  “So sometimes I was talking to the real Weaver, and other times it was just to the simulation?” Falken asked.

  “Exactly. Just as some of his interactions with you were actually with a simulated version of you. Which means you might not know him as well as you think you do.”

  Falken rubbed his forehead, thinking. “I still feel like I owe him,” he said, after a time. “I want to try to help.”

  “It’s a noble sentiment. And frankly, I believe you might be right: Oz might be more effective with a human agent inside it, working alongside the artificial intelligence to help reform a prisoner.”

  “What’s holding him back?” Falken asked. “Why hasn’t he been able to graduate from the program?”

  Peshai turned back to his screen and tapped on the keyboard again, skimming through several paragraphs of text. “He hasn’t taken responsibility for his crime,” the warden said, reading from the screen. �
�According to this, the program has assessed that he can function just fine in normal society – he’s not a threat to anyone, and he already had the skills he needed to hold down a normal job. But without showing some accountability for his actions … he can’t get out.”

  “He just needs to confess?” Falken asked.

  “Essentially,” Peshai agreed. “And express some remorse. But he hasn’t responded to any of the simulation’s attempts to get him to do so.”

  “I can get through to him,” Falken said, with conviction. “I know Weaver. He’d talk to me.”

  Peshai frowned and studied Falken, then sighed and shook his head. “I believe he probably would.”

  “But …?” Falken asked.

  “But … as I said, I can’t just put you back in. It’s against all our protocols.”

  “Who would I need to talk to, then?”

  “My supervisors,” Peshai said. “The Corrections Committee. And I can pretty much guarantee that they will not approve your request. They’re not ex-cons, like you and me … they’re lawyers, judges … politicians.”

  “Can we try?” Falken asked.

  Peshai nodded, smiling sadly. “Yes. We can try.”

  *

  The guards escorted Falken and Vina back to the shuttle. They stopped outside the entrance to the docking tube, and Vina grasped Falken’s hands in hers.

  “So there’s a chance?” she asked.

  Falken squeezed her hand reassuringly. “A slim one. I’ve got to make my case to a special committee.”

  “Can I help at all?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s just me from here on out.”

  “Will you tell me if they approve your request?”

  “Of course,” he said. “And you have Captain Peshai’s number, in case you need to reach him for any reason.”

  “Right,” she said. “If they let you back in, will you call me and tell me how it’s going?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to do that,” Falken said. “But I’ll call you the moment I get out.”

  “Okay. I’d like to see you again, whatever happens,” Vina said.

  “I’d like that, too,” Falken said.