Insanity's Children

by Rolf Nelson

  “Only three?” Helton sounded surprised. “Wasn’t it pretty crowded a couple days ago?”

  “Three here; another eight local cruisers around the system, and a scattering of gunships and interceptors. No reports of carrier groups, frigates, or off-planet nation groups present.”

  “OK, we wait for everyone to report while we start running down the checklist. Got a lot of marginal systems.”

  “And a lot of new people are not used to this ship,” Helton reminded his other half. “They’ve been aboard for three days, but hardly slept. We should be sure to have everyone cross check each other, make sure nobody forgets anything, and we don’t forget anyone.” She nodded her agreement, and they start running down the slower than normal procedure.

  They finished the last of the checklists, noting that most of the new crew additions had dropped into bunks exhausted. The remaining handful of skilled local professionals had been paid off and disembarked, except the two that decided emigration had its appeal. The final checks were completed and cross-checked, prayers were said with eyes on marginal repairs, drives were spun up, and a few final “good-luck!” farewells said. Quiritis gently worked the controls, and a glow about Tajemnica appeared, then gradually intensified as she lifted gently off the hangar floor. The huge doors slid aside, letting Tajemnica’s newly rounded bulk float like a ghostly Zeppelin out into the stormy night. The remaining ground crew and workers shook heads in wonder, praying for her silently, as they waved her goodbye.

  On the bridge, the usual early flight tenseness gradually disappeared as systems continued to work as hoped-for, or at least as expected. Around five thousand meters a weld broke. The steel shuddering in the slipstream set up a vibration that indicated slowing significantly to make the trip out of the atmosphere would best be done immediately. On the com screen an orbital station icon blinked for an incoming call. Allonia reached out, then paused to look inquiringly at Helton. He nodded. She puts on a bright smile and tapped the screen. “This is the Sulaco.”

  On the screen a pleasant-looking young man looked out at her. “This is orbital transfer station three, Sulaco. Where are you from?”

  Allonia feigned a slightly bubble-headed confusion. “But, we just took off from… Can’t you tell?”

  “Oh, we have a clear radar track. But we have no records of your transponder codes. And what is your name, miss?”

  “Oh, sorry, I though you meant… I’m Morena. This is our first flight. The ship’s new. This is our final engineering shop project from Miskatonic Voc-tech. Eddie said he filed the paperwork.” She curled her lip a little as if she thought it’s all a little too much. “We can’t pass unless we can take our ship on one lap around gas giant thee, at least 6 AU out. They gave us a pretty tight schedule.” She smiled much more brightly at the man on the screen. “Doesn’t mean we can’t stop in on the way back.”

  “Ah, I understand, Morena. Sounds like an interesting trip, but it looks like Eddie missed the paperwork. Make sure the guys keep their eyes on the primary power; new systems are notoriously unstable. I look forward to hearing you’ve made it back successfully. Oh, my name is Skip. I’m working second shift right now.” He flashed his most endearing smile. “Good Luck!”

  “Thanks! It’ll be exciting! See you in a few days.” She waved at him and signed off.

  Helton chuckled and shook his head. “Better not let Dorek see you flirting like that,” he teased amid the general amusement at the exchange on the bridge.

  “Professional duty demands I take one for the team,” she replied dryly. “Never really realized how easy most men were to manipulate until that flight with the banker.”

  Another incoming call indicator flashed up on the screen, a much more military-looking pictograph. Taj’s armored women avatar appeared, a concerned expression on her eye-patched face. “The Kestrel, one of the cruisers we tangled with earlier, now docking at the station.”

  Helton winced. “Best answer it. Bubbly and innocent seems as good as any, Allonia.”

  She nodded at taps the screen to accept. A middle-aged man in uniform with commander tabs on his shoulders and a weary expression appeared on the screen, cutting off Allonia’s initial attempts at greeting with a tone of worn exasperation. “Please dock at Station Three to be inspected.”

  “But we were-”

  “All plans change, Miss.”

  “But we can’t graduate if we can’t get this shop project to fly and back on time!”

  The man’s faces softened a bit. “I’m sorry, Miss. We are being required to stop and inspect every ship coming and going. If everything is in order, I’m sure it won’t take long. If it causes any problems with that class project we overheard you telling the station controller about, say something on the way back and I’ll drop a line to the engineering school. I’m sure they’ll understand. Talk to the controller to see what docking point you should come in at.”

  Looking a bit uncomfortable, Allonia nodded and signed off without saying a word before looking at Helton with a now what? expression.

  “I guess we dock. Wait just a minute, then get the station controller back on line.” He thumbed a switch to talk over the ship PA system. “Attention all hands. We are being required to dock and be inspected. The cover story is you are all engineering class students and this ship is your final project. Get into civvies if you aren’t already, secure all the camo and guns, try to sound like geeky wanna-be engineers, but don’t saying anything if you don’t have to. Silence is good. We’ll likely be inspected by space marines, so sporting an attitude would be a really bad idea. We have about… twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour. More details on everyone’s cover story will be sent shortly. Make it happen.” He releases the mic and looked around the bridge. “We need to know everything we can about the station, all the ships docked, and everyone aboard. And I’m wide open to ideas.”

  The two marines in powered space armor stood at each side of the airlock door with weapons at port arms waiting for it to cycle and show clear. The closed visors and monumental forms were impressive and impassive. Behind them was a squad with a dozen men, stacked up six to a side, who also stood motionlessly by with weapons at a relaxed low-ready, wearing standard on-ship armor with minimal pressure-suit ability.

  “Any idea why they docked here?” one of the squaddies asked nobody in particular.

  “Something about a non-standard airlock. A retro design, they said,” the heavily armored figure with sergeant stripes pained on his shoulder replied.

  “Oh, well. Closer than most of the civvy ships the others have to cover.”

  “Ninety more minutes until leave. Then this. Hope it’s small.”

  After a few moments, the other armored figure replied. “Seventy five meter class, prelim says. Tech college shop project, first flight.”

  “Ohhhh…. Co-eds. Like the sound of that. Might need an especially close inspection.”

  “Tech college, Private. Engineering geeks. Didn’t think you swung that way.”

  “Technos get issued in at least two sexes, Sergeant.”

  The light on the airlock changed color, and the hatch swung open to reveal Harbin’s still-healing but broadly grinning face. “Ah, good to see friendly faces!”

  The marine squad members looked skeptical and cautious, suspecting a snow-job.

  The armored sergeant snorted sarcastically. “Been called a lot of things, but a friendly face is a new one.”

  “I said friendly, Sergeant, not handsome. I assume that’s why they gave you the visor.” The easy and comfortable banter was not expected, and started setting off flags with the marines who subtly moved into more action-oriented posture. “Easy, marines,” Harbin said gently, keeping his hands visible, empty, and motionless.

  “You the captain?” the other armored figure queried.

  “Nope, just hitching a ride with an old friend. I’m on leave myself. Emilio and Jason still on the Kestrel? Figured if they had time I’d love to catch up on things over a beer a
nd real food.”

  “Got a lot of people on board.”

  “Emilio Escovedo and Jason Boxler. I’m sure if they are on board you know them, Sergeant” Harbin replied confidently.

  “You know the El Tee and Master Sarg?” a private pipes up, curious.

  Harbin nodded. “Trained with them, ran an op together. I know you have to search the ship, and I expect you to do it properly and professionally… but if you could first tell them an old friend is aboard I’d greatly appreciate it. It may simplify matters, make the search easier for everyone, keep us on schedule… and it’s not like we can really go anywhere.” The marine sergeant’s armored suit stood silent as he contacted the Kestrel.

  A minute later the sergeant’s voice issues from his suit speaker again. “Master Sergeant Escovedo wants to know which admiral’s wife you slept with to get beaten so badly, and if you are here to turn yourself in.”

  Helton addressed the small suit-camera on the space-armor with a devilish grin, made more wicked-looking by the damage. “As I recall it was you with a penchant for scoring commander’s wives, I preferred daughters…. Local press gang tried to conscript a few of my men, wouldn’t take no for an answer. I had to spell it out for them. That went about as you would expect.” Several of the nearby marines nodded understandingly. “Got lots going on to talk about right now.”

  A minute later the Sergeant replied. “He’s on his way. He says we are to hold here, and no offense, but he said we should not let you go anywhere.”

  “Understood. We both have our jobs.” He stood casually, at a relaxed parade rest after turning slightly so they can see there are no obvious weapons tucked into his belt. “Can you tell me who or what you’re looking for?”

  After a few long moments as the squad members shifted slightly, uncomfortable at this odd sort of standoff, the heavily armored sergeant replied. “We’re to ID everyone, search every ship for weapons or anyone of interest.”

  “They tell you who is interesting or why?”

  “With respect, I’m not authorized to say anything about that.”

  Harbin gives a curt nod of approval. “Good answer. Boxler always ran a tight crew.”

  The next couple of minutes passed quietly, with Harbin standing silent and relaxed but with an unmistakable military posture, and the squad of marines doing more or less the same. They heard rapid footsteps coming down the corridor before Escovedo, a tall and handsome Spaniard, came striding around a corner into view wearing a very serious expression. He had donned light space armor and packed a full complement of weapons, carrying his rifle at port arms as if ready for action. Seeing his expression and manner the rest of the marines assume a less-relaxed posture. The Master Sergeant stopped right in front of Harbin and looked at him hard, eyes searching for clues upon the battered but grinning countenance.

  “They didn’t tell me anything other than they need to ID everyone and search the ship.”

  Escovedo nodded at the recognition and approval of his soldiers’ professionalism, but he didn’t smile. “What did you tell them?”

  “Just that we have a lot to talk about. It’s complicated.” He inclined his head slightly toward the hatch behind him. “The airlock would give us some privacy.”

  “Any weapons or mercs aboard?”

  “Personal weapons, legal and authorized where the ship is registered. Most of the men aboard have served in uniform, but are on new career tracks now.”

  The marine Master Sergeant considered Reel’s carefully chosen words. He kept his eyes on the First Sergeant while giving terse orders to the inspection squad. “Visors down, full seal. I think we’re safe, but this guy is a fan of the Korben Dallas Negotiation Academy. If I’m not back in ten minutes, assume I’m already dead and red alert Alpha One the ship and company. Unrestricted power-armor assault, use any and all force required to secure or destroy the ship and persons aboard expeditiously, civilian casualties are a non-issue…. Time starts now.” He motioned to Harbin to lead the way into the airlock while the marines all dropped their space suit visors and double-check seals and weapons while visually checking those around them knowing that something big was on the horizon, with discussions way above their pay-grade. The two privates at the end of each line turned and knelt, covering the passage in each direction with their rifles at high ready, while the rest spread out from their closely-spaced stacks near the hatch to minimize explosion risks.

  The seconds ticked slowly by. A couple walking down the passage looking for an out of way corner of the station to get a little more friendly beat a hasty retreat at finding themselves staring at several silent rifle muzzles when they came around a corner. Around the eight minute mark several marines checked their chronometers. At nine minutes there was a dramatic increase in the nervous shuffling and glances at the sergeant in charge. At nine and a half minutes the airlock lights blinked and the hatch opened. The sight of Escovedo stepping out unharmed drew an audible sigh of relief and noticeable relaxing of postures. He wasn’t smiling, but at least he didn’t look as if trouble were imminent. When he spoke, it was in the serious but not stressed version of his normal clipped and military tone.

  “Sergeant. Post two guards here. Nobody boards or leaves without my approval, lethal force is authorized. Search the ship. Personal weapons are allowed, and expect at least one per person. The on-board computer’s identification of personnel is to be considered reliable. If you find something questionable, ask me personally on a direct channel. Be as thorough as you can be in-” he glances at his chronometer- “twenty three minutes. I will have further orders by then. When done leave two guards and return to Kestrel in time for equipment check-in and reassignment formation after you issue me a verbal report. Guards will be relieved by 2100.” He started to turn away when he paused and looked back. “Oh, yes. Who’s going off-contract today has had a bad attitude lately and might need to make a little extra money on a private contract?”

  Negotiations

  The ambassador, an elderly but erect man, was immaculately dressed, his stylish suit and graying hair (but only slightly, and exactly even, at the temples) perfect. He wore the easy smile and unflustered manner of a man comfortable with power and parties, knowing that whatever the outcome for the little people, his life would always be ease and deference. He walked down the luxurious starliner corridor beside a newly assigned aid, the nephew of a friend, dropping pearls of wisdom in the young man’s eager ears, the voice of old power to the next generation. His friend would owe him a favor after this mission. His escort was a primly clad space station crewman, the requisite three steps ahead.

  “The key to negotiation is: always remember the goal is to get everything, but not expect to get it all at once. You must nibble at the edges, gain advantages in a hundred little ways, put them off-balance first and continually by always making them seem demanding or be apologizing. If they ask if you are thirsty and would like a drink, as the rules of hospitality demand, then ask for something they are unlikely to have. If they happen to mix some grossly inferior imitation of a simple but refined drink like a mint julep, you don’t need to pour it out or make a fuss that makes you seem unreasonable, just make a face a set it aside. They will notice. These are not professionals, they will embarrass themselves making many small mistakes, then either bend to our will, or take a hard line that will alienate everyone else, leaving them adrift and alone, seeking any ally they can find. Then, they come begging. Seeing a once-proud man beg is marvelous thing. Based on the brief report I was given a short time ago these people are only slightly more than common criminals, likely nothing but bluster and ego. One claims to be an officer, the other I’m told was once nothing but a corporal, and they have wild tales of ancient artifacts and intelligent robots.” He sighed elaborately. “But, I was the only man available, so I got the call.”

  He paused in the passageway, turned to face a wall screen. “Please display exterior camera view of the ship Tag… Tagemnika.”

  The station AI repli
ed in a neutral contralto. “No such ship by that name currently docked. Do you mean Tajemnica?“it asked, pronouncing it properly.

  “Yes, that must be the one.” The screen lit up with a view of nothing but blank gray, possibly with a shadow of a deeper gray. “What’s that?”

  “The closest camera view.”

  “Zoom out a bit.”

  “At widest angle. No other current views available. Would you like a stock photo?”

  “Yes, if there are no live feeds.”

  The image was replaced by a news image of Tajemnica offloading refugees at the temporary refugee center, ramp down, angular and slab-sided, weaponless.

  “I thought she was a warship… Doesn’t look big enough. Any more recent images?” the aide asked. It was replaced by an image taken by the Borealis at Tau Piper. Dimly lit, surrounded by a powerful glow, and bristling with tanks, turrets, and missile pods, it looked dramatically different. He made a slightly startled sound. “Is that the same ship?”

  “Both are imaged tagged as that ship and time-stamped within the last year.”

  “So which one are we working with? A dumpy cargo hauler or a… whatever that is?” the aide asked, indicating the second image.

  “Welding on fake armaments to intimidate civilians is an old trick among pirates. Likely nothing to speak of. Some of the details in the report are so over the top I think someone may have been medicating themselves a little too heavily when they wrote it, but it is flagged as serious enough for us to take it. We ask lots of questions, we offer little, we let them box themselves in…” He examined the image more closely. “Sinister looking thing, isn’t she? We will know soon enough, I suppose. Well, lead on.”

  They arrived at the airlock door, where two guards, space marines in battle armor, visors closed, stand like superhuman metal statues, rifles at port arms. The airlock hatch was closed, and there didn’t appear to be anyone waiting for them. The escort turned and addressed them crisply. “Here you are, Mister Ambassador. I’m sure they will be out shortly to lead you to the meeting room. I have other duties to attend to, so if you will please excuse me.” The ambassador nodded acknowledgment of the information, and the crewman briskly marched away, leaving them in silence.