Metal Boxes - At the Edge

by Alan Black

  He thought about why he pleaded guilty. The only reason he did it was because he had committed each offense. Each action he took was correct and necessary at the time. The UEN could second guess him all they wanted, but he would not hide nor deny his actions.

  He wondered if he had cheated Tim Dollish by not staying and fighting, but the lawyer said Tim had quit the UEN and disappeared to parts unknown before his arraignment started. “Why did he have to quit the navy? Tim had a good future ahead of him. With a bit more education, he could have become an officer, managing larger and larger kitchens on bases or planets from Lazzaroni all the way to the emperor’s palace.”

  Numos’s retiring from the marines was a different story. He had a long storied career. Taking early retirement was not unheard of in his case. Still, he never expected it of Numos. The man was a hard charger, not one to give up easily.

  Stone’s head was still throbbing, both from the trial and from the noisy atmosphere at La Rancid last night. He only thought briefly about why his nanites did not ease the pain. To a non-medical person, it was obvious the headache did not have a physical cause, but was mental and emotional. He closed his eyes to rest for a moment.

  The cab bumped to a stop, settling to the ground with a hiss. The jerk startled Stone awake. He pounded a fist on the driver’s protective shield, though he doubted she could hear him.

  “There.” He pointed at the opening to a parking garage. A wide portico stretched across the opening, providing shade for dropping off and picking up passengers. It wasn’t much, but at least he would be under cover. The driver moved the cab.

  Exiting the vehicle, he glanced upward, a solid ceiling blocked out the sky. He stretched his back and winced at the pain in his neck, though it was rapidly disappearing thanks to his nanites. The trip must have been much longer than he thought. He spotted a couple of drone camera’s tracking him. Both were painted in garish civilian colors. All he needed to do was press the appropriate app on his personal assistant stuck to the front of his jumpsuit and the tiny machine would emit a jamming frequency, giving him all the privacy he needed. His thoughts returned to a photo he had seen of a Hyrocanian prisoner named Dotty Nessayette. He made himself relax, fixed a placid expression on his face, stared at the vid drones, and rubbed his eyes with his middle fingers.

  “Let the bastards watch.” Stone thought. “Serve me right if they catch me scratching my butt or picking at boogers.” He kept his thoughts to himself. The cameras were sure to have audio pickups that could hear him breathing a kilometer away.

  The cab driver jerked the cab to one side, slipped out from under the portico and shot skyward, the motion slamming the cab’s back door closed. Stone watched the cab spin around and head back towards the city.

  It was time to move inside, not only to get him away from the open air, but beyond the prying eyes of the drone cameras. The gate to the compound next to the parking structure was wide open, but blocked by three young men standing shoulder to shoulder.

  Stone approached the gate, smiled and nodded, “Excuse me, gentlemen. I have an appointment in F-19.”

  The tallest man stood in the center. He was three or four inches shorter than Stone, but wider. He had the look of a heavy-worlder gone soft. His plaid red work shirt barely contained his belly. He could not have been older than Stone by more than two or three years.

  Redshirt sneered, “Lookee what we got fellas. The hero hisself.”

  The young man on his right should have given up trying to grow his scraggly beard. It looked like a mangy alley cat had fallen asleep on his neck. He snickered, “Hero? Ain’t that some kind of sandwich?”

  Redshirt guffawed along with the man wearing a tri-cornered, three-colored hat with a feather. Both seemed to think BeardBoy was hilarious. Stone was not amused and tried to slide around Redshirt’s left side, but Hatboy blocked him.

  Redshirt said, “I think this puke didn’t get what’s coming to him. My father was in the navy, and I don’t like people being dishonoristic to my dad.”

  Stone said, “I thank your father for his service, sir. If you want to honor your father’s service, I think you should enlist in the UEN.”

  Hatboy snorted, “Go on! Only morons join the UEN.”

  Redshirt nodded, “Yeah, you a moron, rich boy?” Before he could answer, Redshirt swung a wild roundhouse punch at him.

  Stone ducked. The fat man telegraphed his punch so much Stone could have RSVP’d and still had time to catch an early supper. As Redshirt’s fist flew over Stone’s head, he put a hand on the man’s elbow and pushed. Redshirt’s fist continued on around and the force of Stone’s push drove the fist deep into BeardBoy’s face, looking like cat fur flying everywhere. BeardBoy fell to the ground as Stone continued driving Redshirt’s elbow forward until the man was faced away from him. Stone placed the sole of his boot against Redshirt’s ample bottom and pushed, sending the man sprawling to the ground next to BeardBoy.

  Stone intercepted Hatboy’s fist before it was halfway to his face. Rather than duck under it or step back, he grabbed the wrist, pushed upward, then pulled, yanking Hatboy off balance. Taking a step backward, he pulled Hatboy with him. Thrusting one leg between Hatboy’s legs, he pulled on Hatboy’s wrist sending him sprawling to the ground as he tripped over Stone’s leg.

  The whole tussle was over in a matter of seconds or should have been. Stone was not even breathing hard. The only damage to Hatboy and Redshirt could be a few scrapes from the asphalt. BeardBoy might be missing a few teeth and have a split lip, but Stone’s knuckles were clean. Stone started to step over the downed hooligans until Redshirt rolled to his feet. The man was more agile than he appeared. Backing up a couple of steps, he watched all three men get to their feet. BeardBoy got up slowly, but he got up. As predicted, he was missing a front tooth and his lip was bleeding.

  Redshirt snarled. “You ain’t so fancy, Signore Fancy-pants; you may be some kind of rich shit, but that don’t mean nothing to me. I don’t never liked no snotty richsters.”

  BeardBoy fingered the gap in his teeth. “A-hole knocked my tooth out.”

  Hatboy grunted, “I tell ya, he ain’t good enough for my Bethy.”

  Stone shook his head. He must have heard wrong. “Your Bethy? You’re dating Bethy Stone?”

  Hatboy stood tall, thrusting out his pitiful looking chest. “Not yet, but we will. You’ll see.”

  Stone smiled, “I hope so. She’s my cousin, sir, and I’d be the last one to stand in the way of true love.”

  Hatboy nodded with finality, “That’s right. I love her and she’ll love me, soon enough. You’ll see. But I ain’t planning on giving you the chance to stick your rich nose in my business.” Arms windmilling, he lowered his head and rushed forward.

  Stone backed away, fending off the blows. “Stop or you’ll get hurt.” He noticed Redshirt and BeardBoy moving around his flanks. He didn’t have time to be nice. Three against one was usually bad odds, but not against these three clowns. He spotted an opening.

  Redshirt grunted, and BeardBoy yelled, both rushing in at the same time with fists flying.

  Stone deflected Redshirt’s clenched fist and grabbed his wrist as it passed his face. He yanked hard, turning Redshirt into Hatboy’s windmilling arms. Hatboy’s flailing connected into Redshirt’s gut, doubling him over. Redshirt’s fist continued on around. Missing Stone, it impacted BeardBoy’s face…again. Stone heard bones crunch. He didn’t know which was broken, Redshirt’s hand or BeardBoy’s nose.

  A quick flick of Stone’s left hand turned aside Hatboy’s flailing fist. Rather than back away, Stone grabbed a handful of Hatboy’s hair, knocking his hat off. Redshirt was still bent over when Stone put his right hand under the fat man's chin. He forced the back of Redshirt’s head into Hatboy’s face.

  Both men dropped to the ground atop their friend.

  Stone stepped around the men. They had delayed him long enough. Who or what was waiting for him in F-19 had waited long enough. He was tired and had f
ar too many unanswered questions.

  Why had his grandfather hired him a legal team months before he knew he was even in trouble?

  How had EMIS Agent Ryte gathered so much information on him so fast? Rusty Hinges had only returned to human space a short time ago.

  Where was Allie? Why had she retired from the marines and joined the Galactic Marshals, Q-Force? Leaving the marines wasn’t like Allie or Hammer. What was the Galactic Marshals, Q-Force?

  How did Beffie-pie get to Lazzaroni so quickly?

  It seemed like everyone knew he was in trouble months before he even returned to human space. Someone had better provide some answers soon or he was going to do more than knock three hooligans around.

  Chapter Twelve

  Stone wandered through the open gate. There were no guards to stop him. The media drones stopped at the spaceport perimeter, not willing to trespass on private airspace. He looked around for someone to ask about F-19. Was it a shuttle-docking cradle or a simple grid name for space on the open tarmac? He didn’t know. Spotting the letter F on a wall, he wandered down a long run-down hallway. There was no office listing or facility map for the building. He reversed direction once he determined the direction of the numbers. Stone was pleased that it did not take long to find F-19.

  The name on the door said, “Lowther Expeditors.” Stone did a quick search of the unfamiliar company name on his personal assistant, it found no information even with its extensive database.

  He knocked on the door and waited. When it popped open a few inches his ears were assaulted by a riot of noise that would deafen the average listener. Stone heard voices shouting to be heard above the din, personal assistants jangling for attention and doors and drawers slamming closed. It sounded like dozens of people in a fury, working against each other to complete a task before a looming deadline.

  Stone pushed through the open door, astonished to see only two people in the room. They appeared to be trying to make more noise than each other, like the sound was more important than the task. Neither appeared to be accomplishing much work. He took a quick sniff in the air, but only caught the smell of dust.

  The woman brushed a hand across her jet black hair. “Signore? Speak up—wait! You’re him! Glory be!” She stumbled over a pile of shipping boxes while rushing toward him.

  Stone noticed the boxes were all marked, “Rush Delivery,” “Sprint Transfer,” and “Expedited Order.” The boxes stacked around the woman were covered with dozens of station shipping labels, manifests, and dust. Their purpose seemed to be to give the woman extra desk space or to get in her way.

  She ran up to him, and much to his surprise, yanked her P.A. off a breast pocket and snapped a quick video of her standing next to him as if they were old friends. She grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, recording the whole chance meeting. She smiled at him like he had just donated a kidney to save her only child’s life.

  The nametag on her blouse read Melanie.

  The name reminded him of a pretty, young marine he met back on Allie’s World. Melanie Tighe was a sociopathic killer, who might still be alive today if he had not pulled her into his circle of influence. Injured by the Hyrocanians, she was frustrated, so Stone gave her a job to boost her moral and make her feel useful. He assigned her to watch Doctor Triplett, a Hyrocanian spy and traitor. That job had gotten Melanie killed.

  So many people were dead, simply because they were around Stone. Retired marine Major Numos once called him a trouble magnet. Numos was in hiding now, probably too embarrassed to be associated with a dishonored UEN officer. His cousins Marvin and Vance and their families died when the Iridium Rock was attacked. Marine officers, Heller and Escamilla, were dead. Dollish had disappeared like Numos, forfeiting a bright future because of his association with a trouble magnet. Worst of all, Allie was gone to parts unknown. Would she know how to find him when she had time to look? Maybe the UEN was right to get rid of him.

  Melanie shouted, “Manny, he’s here.”

  Manny yelled back without turning as he tossed boxes around with wild abandon, digging elbow deep into the pile. “Who’s here? Melanie, where is that crate going to…” His voice faded as he turned around. “You!” he sighed. “Okay, yeah.” He pointed at a chair covered in packages. “Clear a spot and sit. I got your stuff right here.”

  “What stuff?” Stone asked. He picked the packages up from the chair, but there was no place to set them down, so he put them back on the chair and continued to stand.

  “What do you mean, what stuff? Your stuff. Damned celebrities come in and interrupt my work. You expect me to drop what I’m doing just to cater to you?”

  Stone was confused. There were no celebrities, just Melanie, Manny and him.

  Manny said, “Go ahead and say it. Say it, man and let’s get on with it. Say it, dammit. You know you want to.”

  Stone was baffled. “Say what? I don’t know who you think I am, signore.”

  Manny sighed, “There it is. The celebrity’s battle cry: do you know who I am? Sheesh, man. Of course, I know who you are. Everybody in eyesight of a media screen for a hundred light years knows your face. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t you.” He tossed a few packages out of his way. “Now where…here it is.”

  He tossed a package to Stone. The large padded envelope was safety-sealed. The only thing written on it was “3 Stone,” not Trey, just the number three.

  Manny looked behind him. “You didn’t bring your cousin with you, did you? Bethy Stone.” When Stone failed to answer, he added, “Damn shame. That’s one hot babe. Youngish, but tight, you know what I mean? I got a nephew who’s got a real thing for her.”

  Stone nodded, “He wears a tri-cornered, tri-colored hat with a feather?”

  Manny smiled, “That’s Riley Lowther. That moron is my younger brother’s boy. You musta seen him hanging around her. He’s going to get a restraining order slapped on him if he doesn’t quit stalking her. That fool follows her from planet to planet like some lovesick puppy. I guess you and Bethy being on Lazzaroni will have him back on my doorstep asking for money before long.”

  Stone said, “I met him at the gate a few minutes ago.”

  “Him and two moron buddies? They act like some kind of tough street gang. It’ll serve ‘em right when they meet up with someone really tough. Still, he’s family, and you know what that’s like.”

  Stone agreed. He did know what family was like.

  Manny kept talking as he shuffled through boxes, apparently looking for something to expedite. “You open that damn package and then get out of my office. This isn’t some kind of celebrity lounge. We all work here for a living.”

  On the outside of the envelope, Stone saw half a dozen shipping transfer tickets tracking the package from wherever it came from to finally reaching Lazzaroni. The safety-seal popped open when Stone spoke into the keyhole and held his thumb against the biometric lock. He shook a tiny data crystal into the palm of his hand.

  Every wastebasket in the office was filled to overflowing, so he folded up the envelope. His jumpsuit did not have pockets, so he slipped it inside, planning to throw it away at the first opportunity.

  He fed the crystal into his P.A. His grandfather’s image popped up on a data screen. The backside of the screen was blanked for privacy. Grandpa looked stern, eyebrows furrowed into a half-angry, half-worried knot, his eyes blazing focus and concentration. His gray hair stuck out every which way and his beard was cut back like he had hacked at it with tin snips. To many people, the old man looked crazy, but Stone knew his face looked that way most of the time.

  “Sorry for your navy discharge, boy. I know this feels wrong, but we have our reasons. You’ll learn why in a timely manner. Still, the family needs you. I know many people think that wealthy children who stand to inherit the family fortune should be kept safely locked away, taught to manage the business, and fed from a silver spoon. I don’t believe that and neither have any of our forefathers. Treating your generation that way
would only give us weak-willed bean counters and entitled spoiled brats. Your parents and I pushed you out into the galaxy, knowing there was a strong possibility it might kill you. Success can lead to strength. Failure can also lead to success, if—and I mean a big if you can rise above that failure and try harder. Why do you think your grandmother never, ever let you win at checkers? We’ve sent a ship to pick you up.”

  Stone hit the pause button. “How did Grandpa know about my discharge?” He had noticed the dates on the shipping transfer tickets attached to the packing envelope were months old.

  “What the—” he mumbled.

  Melanie was still staring at him like he was a museum exhibit.

  Keeping his mouth shut, he thought, “Did Grandpa orchestrate my dishonorable discharge? Is that what’s going on?” That did not make sense. His parents and grandparents had encouraged him to join the UEN. One of the shipping tickets was dated when he was on Rusty Hinges in Hyrocanian held space.

  Quickly calculating the dates, he discovered this crystal was shipped to him a few weeks after Rusty Hinges sent their first shuttle back to Allie’s World. That shuttle contained mounds of information gathered on the Hyrocanians in the system beyond the piglet’s homeworld. How could his grandfather send condolences for his dishonorable discharge on charges he had not yet committed at the time the crystal was recorded?

  He hit the play button again.

  “The Platinum Pebble just underwent a major retrofit. It’s a good ship with an excellent handpicked crew. Stone Freight Company needs you to tour new planets at the edge of human space to set up new shipping lanes. We need to expand quickly into these new worlds. You are in charge, but trust your captain and crew. Your captain already has your itinerary; he’ll give you further instructions. Be safe, boy. Oh, Emperor Garza sends his regards.”