Sleeping in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 1)
Page 4
Looking at her broach and trying to not look at Keiko’s bust, the young man proudly stated, “Of course we can. Where are you sending it?”
“Dorogon system, on Nyu-Nippon,” she answered. “General Delivery. I’ll pick it up when I arrive. Would you have the shipping company hold my package?” she asked. “I’ll be leaving in a couple of days, so I can pick it up when I arrive.”
“No problem. Let me check the scheduling.”
Keiko had surveilled the small shop and knew that it did not use x-ray equipment. As though without a care, she watched as Dave placed the bear on a pad, tapped a button, took the card and turned to a monitor. The infrared scan and sensors in the pad recorded dimensions, weight and ultimate cost.
Looking up, he stated, “There is a Galactic Spacelines leaving tomorrow. We can have your package on board, this evening. The trip is scheduled for seventeen days. So figure three weeks for your package to be at the destination. Will that do?”
Keiko knew about the flight. That was part of her plan. “Yes, that’s perfect,” Keiko gushed. “Would you box this for me? Please?”
“Absolutely,” the boy beamed as he hustled around to get the packing materials.
Keiko watched as he pulled the proper sized box from a rack and placed the bear inside. Placing the box under a large-mouthed hose hanging from the ceiling, Dave opened a valve and packing foam filled the box, covering the bear. Keiko placed the envelope on top and the clerk sealed everything up, using lots of tape.
Returning to the monitor, Dave asked, “Name, address?”
Keiko gave him the false Id she was using and the address of the hotel. She watched as he keyed in the information, printed a label and slapped it on the box. Placing the package on a rack labeled ‘pick-up’, Dave stated, “Done, ready to go. Can I do anything else for you?” he placed an invoice on the counter, facing Keiko.
“No. That was all that I needed. Thank you for your help,” she replied as she paid the bill in credits. Now, if anyone discovered her ploy, there would be only a fictitious name at a hotel and no electronic path of payment.
Leaving the shop and mounting her bike, “I love my life,” she thought as she fired up her motorcycle and pointed it towards her hotel. “Definitely.”
Keiko almost whistled a happy tune as she rode on the remnants of her adrenalin rush towards her hotel.
Olympia
Sue Benton hated her life. She hated her job. She sat in her work cubical, wore her virtual interface goggles and stared at the three dimensional representation of her latest coding efforts. With her one-piece sterile suite and the goggles that covered her eyes, she looked like a white bug hunched over her work desk, waving her hands, flicking fingers, brushing the air. And she wallowed in her apathetic morass. Because of one screw-up she was condemned to doing nothing of importance, nothing that would make her son proud, nothing to win back his desire to come home. When her boy had turned twelve, he had chosen to live with his father and the resultant richer, more exciting life. Sitting morosely at her workstation, Sue continued to design, program and document simple business applications, a far cry from the exciting, cutting edge development that she had done for the Federacy’s Military Intelligence Agency.
True, she was getting an annual stipend for work that she had done five years ago for Major Marston, but that was just money. For five years she had hoped that it would lead her back to the bright lights of her past and the excitement of cutting edge development. But nothing more had come of the clandestine work that she had done. It hadn’t rectified the major mistake that her natural curiosity and off-the-charts intelligence had driven her to commit. And so she sat and coded simple programs and systems that gave her no challenge, no sense of accomplishment, no sense of self-worth.
Sue Benton, mother and divorcee, had been a senior system kernel developer for the Military’s combat AI’s. When the Federacy had hired her, she had been one of the youngest to hold such a powerful position, with all the accompanying clearances, perks and benefits. And she had thrown it all away. One hack. One peek and she was gone. She didn’t even know what she had opened.
An alert had come across her desk about a mysterious data-comp core. Searching for it on her network, she had found a folder of information on the Security Research servers. With her level three security clearance she wasn’t authorized to open the data package. But, being who she was, Sue had hacked the folder, had spent about thirty minutes reading through the documents and was gone the same day. The Federacy black-flagged her. She would never get another top job in her life.
Now, at thirty-three, Sue Benton, one of the best software designers, programmers and hackers in the galaxy, sat at a dead-end job, living out her dead-end life.
Pausing her work, Sue remembered the work she had done for Major Marston. With a small smile, she remembered her designs and cutting-edge software creations. The smile widened as she remembered her recommendations and how the Major had accepted them, how he had complimented her for her insight and foresight. And then the smile faded as she sighed and returned to her humdrum work and her humdrum life.
Aboard Odin
Vice-Admiral Theodore Millhouse Weiskoff the Third’s career and family proved to be everything that an entitled member of the political and military royalty could want. His loving wife and two children lived in his midsized mansion on the family estate. His rise through the space navel ranks was a combination of his actual talents and his family’s connections. But still, with all of his success and accomplishments he still nursed an inner flame, a flame of self-doubt, a flame of self-contempt. Regardless of his accomplishments he still felt inadequate. How could he stand up, be measured with his father, Fleet Admiral Theodore Millhouse Weiskoff the Second? But he hid it well in his rigid discipline and his stoic forbearance.
He had come in top of his class academically. He had come in first in strategy. Intellectually, organizationally, Theodore Weiskoff proved he had no peers. Tactically, thinking under pressure in the heat of the battle, creating on the fly, he didn’t come in first. He came in second. Second to that dirt digger, Marston. Every time he thought of that oversized farm boy, Theodore Millhouse Weiskoff the third either flew into a rage or sank into self-contempt.
And physically he also came up short. At five foot nine and a slender build he measured as strictly average. And that stuck in his craw like a chicken bone splinter. His upbringing and training should have put him first in his class, first at everything. It was his right, his entitlement. Not being given these honorifics produced a primary motivating emotion of resentment with a dose of inadequacy, fueled by his larger-than-life father.
He resented all people that he perceived to be better than him. He resented anyone or anything that he couldn’t control. But he hid it well. To his family, superiors, peers and underlings, he presented the facade of the calculating disciplinarian, driven by the need for perfection. The military portion of his family saw him as the perfect embodiment of the Federacy space officer. The political portion of his family saw him as a political tool for controlling the military purse. No one ever saw the resentment that hid behind his eyes nor the pathological need for control. No one saw the moments when this deep-seeded character flaw would flash to the fore and result in an almost maniacal need to take and smash. Everyone saw the brilliant, but slightly cold, fleet admiral that was destined for a brilliant future in the Federacy.
Standing in his customary, imperious pose on the bridge of his flagship, Vice-Admiral Theodore Weiskoff surveyed his fleet steaming through space, powering towards his next conquest. His flagship, the Federacy dreadnaught Odin, stood up and behind the sixteen ship armada. Looking down at the formation, Weiskoff saw his two carriers cocooned in a bubble of four heavy cruisers, six destroyers, and four supply barges.
None of the crew on the bridge saw the satisfying sense of power that his fleet brought him. They didn’t see the eagerness in the eyes of the Vice-Admiral as he anticipated the punishing of another hate
d rebel planet. None imagined his eager anticipation as Weiskoff envisioned the retribution that he would inflict on the world that dared to disagree with him and the Federation.
In the far distance, the Admiral saw the glowing star that was the warmth for the planet that he had been mandated to bring to heel. The Amazon system, the Brazilia planet had gone too far. It needed to be taught that it could not defy the Federacy. His current regret was that he wouldn’t be able to test the new experimental weapon that had been installed on his flagship. He wondered how the overly powerful X-ray cannon would perform.
Mortek Fleet-4 years Ago
Once again the council sat and planned the next step in its expedition. The Lord Minister stood, inspecting his counselors, deciding on how to proceed. He watched as every Mortek at the table almost vibrated with anticipation of finally achieving landfall. Focusing on his Science Counselor, he demanded in the hissing, clicking voice of the Mortek, “Well, Science, how do we stand on the selection of our satellite home world?”
Science preened and responded, “The historical records are true, Lord Minister. We have found the planet described by our ancestors. It contains water, has abundant wildlife for food and sport and the middle regions are warm enough to not require artificial heat.”
“Excellent. Then the planet’s ecosystem has grown back from our ancestral scourge?
“Yes, My Lord.”
What about space gate?”
Astrogation answered, “Just as described in our histories, Lord Minister.”
“Do any of our historical writings describe the gate’s exit?”
“Yes, Lord. The destination is in one of the closer systems which the soft skins now control.”
“Navy, launch probes as soon as we enter the system. Find out what is on the other side of that gate. Get as much information you can concerning these soft skins.”
“As you wish, Lord Minister.”
Lord Minister redirected his attention. “Astrogation, how soon until we establish orbit around our target planet?”
“Just less than one-half cycle, Lord.”
“One-half.” After a thoughtful pause, the Lord Minister continued. “It is time. Medical, huddle with Occupation and devise a plan for wakening administrators and planners to begin designs for building homesteads on the planet. Also, begin setting up the processing plants. Our population is going to need to eat.”
Both the Medical Counselor and Occupation Counselor flexed their head spikes in acknowledgement.
“Science, stay involved to guide them on environmental requirements.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Lord Minister paused to organize his thoughts, then he continued. “Engineer, work with medical and begin waking your work force to assemble the construction station. I want assembly of that space station to begin as soon as possible.”
“As you command, Lord Minister.”
“War, get with Engineer and Navy. Plan for weapons platforms. Also, after the probes return, get with Science to determine the types of weapons and armor these soft skins possess.”
Recognizing the acknowledgements, the Lord Minister continued. “War, plan for an assault on the soft skins. We may want a pre-emptive strike before we are completely settled.”
Rising, the Counselor of War fully extended his blood-red wings, beat his fist once on his chest and announced, “It will be done, Lord Minister”
Bowing his head in acknowledgement, Lord Minister rose, signifying the closure of the meeting. The Counselors left in groups, discussing their plans and actions.
As the last of the Counselors left the room, Lord Minister called to Logistics, “Logistics, a moment.”
Hearing the request, Logistics stopped, waited until all the others were gone, pressed the pad to close the door and turned to face his Lord and friend.
“Yes?”
The Lord Minister went to a counter, poured two glasses of yellow liquid and placed one in front of a seat. “Sit.”
Placing his four legs around the stool, Logistics sat. “Lord, what’s on your mind?” he asked as he clutched his drink.
“What are we looking at? How much of a threat do you think these soft skins pose?” Lord responded as he sat, extended his proboscis into the glass and slurped a swallow.
“Officially or off the record?”
“Off the record.”
“The soft skins pose a threat. How much, I don’t know. But they could be formidable.”
“War doesn’t think so.”
“He’s War. He’s always been overly aggressive, filled with his own invincibility.”
“True.”
“But, for this campaign, that might be a good thing.”
“How so?”
“We’re on the other side of Ballison space. They will never know we are here. We set up our primary base then hit the soft skins hard and fast. We might be able plow through them like harvesting grain fields. War would like that. That’s how he likes to work.”
“Good thoughts. When is your life mate being awakened?”
Sighing, and letting his green wings sag, Logistics responded, “Not until land fall. As a teacher, she’ll be one of the last.”
“To bad,” Lord laughed. “More lonely nights.”
“Not funny, Lord, not funny.” Logistics sighed again and took a slurp of his own.
“Yes, well we all must sacrifice.”
“So says the devout bachelor.”
“Set up a plan to awaken the Assault Queens and get their breeding dome built. We need them to begin laying as soon as possible. And get their feeders awakened also. Begin growing the warrior embryos. I want a strong ground army, one ready for conquest.”
“I’ll get right on it, Lord.”
“Good. You are a good friend and councilor. Back to work. See you, later, my friend.”
“Until then, Lord Minister.”
Gregor’s Shipyard
Henry McCauley-Then
Doctor Henry Stewart McCauley had three PH.D’s. During his college years he picked up his structural engineering PH.D. Then after, following his curious bent, he picked up doctorates in chemical and theoretical engineering.
His imagination wasn’t creative, but instead, supportive. In other words, he would never come up with a new invention but, if someone else came up with an idea, he could improve, design and build it. And he loved to improve, design and build things.
Unfortunately, that had put him directly in the crosshairs of the Federacy. The federacy grabbed him up as a civilian contractor after his second PH.D and assigned him to making weapons and machines of mass destruction. That wasn’t Henry, or Hank as his friends called him. He wasn’t a pacifist, but he couldn’t cope with the idea that his creations were used to kill large groups of people in the name of Federacy ‘Peace’. Over the course of his fifteen years in government, those dead people more and more became civilians and private citizens. He couldn’t take it. So he quit.
For the next five years Hank shuttled his wife and baby from planet to planet, trying to work on cutting edge technology in the private sector. And, for five years he and his family kept running into the realization that the big funding and resultant development kept forcing him back into military applications. He jumped from company to company to company, constantly quitting because he wanted to work more on societal applications rather than Federacy military applications. Each time he quit, the opportunities became less and less. Finally, out of desperation, Hank McCauley, triple PH.D, married with a son, hired on with Lawrence Gregor, a known shady character with deep pockets and need for top flight structural engineers.
Gregor’s people put Hank through multiple interviews and tests, mostly technical but many psychological. What he didn’t know was that most of those interviews were not only to determine if he possessed the desired skill sets but to also determine if he had a psychological resentment towards authority in general and the Federacy in particular. He did. He became an employee of Gregor, Inc.
Gregor moved Hank and his family to the shipyard, gave him luxurious living quarters, a lavish salary and even his own experimental bay to build his own creations. In return Hank became Lawrence Gregor’s chief engineer and architect, expanding and improving the settlement, known as Sanctuary. He also became the chief engineer and designer for the crime lord’s small but efficient fleet.
He studied previous smugglers’ designs and techniques then came up with his own. Hank invented the smuggler’s locker that was not only concealed, but undetectable to sensory searches. He dismantled an ID transponder and designed a way to forge the signal or even turn it off. He studied light distortion and bending and came up with ship visual distorting. As his creative bent dictated, he never invented anything new. But he could take a current product and improve it, reverse engineer it or figure out ways to beat it. By the time he reached his late fifties, he had become a very important part of Lawrence Gregor’s criminal empire.
That was when he met Major Krag Marston.
With Gregor’s blessing and open wallet, the major had flown a luxury yacht into the shipyard, towing a wrecked Federacy space fighter. His personal star fighter followed him in, under Buster’s control, following Krag’s directions.
After all three ships landed inside the asteroid, Krag met with Hank. Marston had one request-put everything from the star fighter into the yacht.
Hank checked with Lawrence. Gregor told him to make it happen and to add all of the goodies that Hank could think of. Hank learned that Gregor felt that Marston and his ship would become the best transporter of the Arium fleet so he took Gregor’s edict to heart.